Stinky Frenchman?

Bathroom/shower room with bucket/ladle to either flush or shower

I have not had a hot shower in days.

No, I do not smell like an overripe French cheese. I have still been able to wash. But not with hot water, and sometimes not with any running water, let alone running water from a shower head.

This is one of the joys of adventure travel. This morning, I did have running water, and a little shower head at the end of a hose tied to the wall with a string. But there was only one tap, which had a little blue dot on it, and you know what that means: prepare to go glacial.

You would think, in a tropical country, that the water would naturally be warm. Not so. The gods and the laws of physics conspire to make the water feel unnaturally cold. I’m not sure how this can be, but this is the way it is. Run the water down your bare back and every single muscle in your body will seize up and your teeth will clench in a herculean effort not to gasp out loud. After all, if you can hear everyone talking in the street below through the open-air vents, they can hear you too.

At least this morning I had some semblance of a shower. Sprinkles of water were indeed following gravity’s call and splashing down on me from above. A couple of days ago, it was the big-bucket-of-water, little-scoop washing trick. Dip the scoop in the big bucket, and pour it on you. Using a flashlight as illumination because there was no electricity. Even from the bucket, which as far as I could tell in the semi-darkness had not somehow been magically filled with ice cubes, the water was still cold. More clenching of teeth.

Funny thing is, sometimes even the bucket feels like a welcome luxury. After trekking for a few days with no reasonable washing options, I remember coming back to the bathroom/shower pictured above and feeling truly happy and pampered. It’s all relative. It’s all part of the fun.