This isn’t the one where a sea lion takes umbrage with me

17 June 2006

You know, maybe my body clock wasn’t quite right. Going to sleep at 3am and waking at 12.30pm just doesn’t sound to me like someone who’s accepted which country they’re in. In any case, having fallen asleep on the floor after my dinner last night (but not like this) I think I might finally be back in line with British Summer Time today.

The first photos are up on Flickr, taking you from landing at Madrid to arrival in Quito and the first part of our first proper day there. I didn’t see much of Madrid apart from the airport and the disabled toilet there. So let me tell you a story about toilets.

Only in recent years have I started using the disabled toilets, recognising that, hey, they might just be advantageous for me. I’ve also been having fun judging the various facilities I use. The one in Madrid airport seemed to offer so much, and yet gave so little. The room was big and the lock worked securely, leaving me free to pee and poop in peace, without the fear that someone would waltz in and be faced with not only me on the throne, but me on the throne several feet away, which is somehow much sillier.

There were two metal handles folded up against the wall, one either side of the toilet. I pulled them, shook them, heaved and ho-ed on them, but they would not budge. They weren’t about to help me get onto the 9-foot-high toilet. Why is it that some disabled loos are so frigging high?

Anyway, finally ensconced and doing my thang, I saw that the sink looked rather clever. And I don’t mean that it was wearing glasses. It looked height adjustable: the pipes for the water beneath the sink were flexible, the whole thing was mounted on a big shaft and there was a handle at the side.

So, trousers up (I liked my red trousers, but the two buttons, one zip and waist ties were time-consuming – and confusing when tired) and time to flush. Instructions in English said not to touch the sensor-looking thing, it’s automatic. I waved my hand in front of it in case it was movement-sensitive. Ha, movement! Nothing happened. I gave it a poke. Nothing happened. I gave up, thinking maybe it operates when the door opens again.

Now for the flashy sink. Having just abseiled off the toilet, I was looking forward to something I could bring down to the perfect height. Ha! I tried the handle. It didn’t move. I pulled it, twisted it, pushed it, wangled it, cursed it and gave the whole sink a bit of a thump before finally giving up. Bastard sink, looking so full of promise. I have absolutely no idea what I was meant to do with that handle. Is there a magic handle release tool that comes free with every wheelchair?

I opened the door to the cubicle. The toilet didn’t flush. I went outside, shut the door, waited, went back in and the toilet still hadn’t flushed. I was really wishing it had. I waited a few more moments, did the whole weather house routine again, but still it hadn’t flushed. So I gave up and flew to Quito.

12 days later, I was back in Madrid on my way home. I decided to pay the (in)conveniences another visit, to see if I could master the things that had defeated me before. Handles first. Shake, rattle … nothing. Ooh, lift? Yes! Lift! Down came the handles and I somersaulted up onto the toilet like an Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars. An Olympic gymnast with her confusing trousers around her ankles.

The flush was the next thing to overcome, though granted, I didn’t overcome it, it rather overcame me, flushing while I was still seated. As well as being both somewhat surprising and unexpectedly refreshing, this was also quite fortunate, for had it not flushed, the chances are I wouldn’t have been allowed back into the country again. I’d had a lot of fruit.

So, 2 down, 1 to go. Bastard sink. It didn’t move an inch.

There’ll be stories about the unique wildlife of the Galapagos Islands too, I promise. Just not yet.

Click for the set.