Confucius
said “Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.”
Too true.
I was
reminded of this in China last week. Coming off the 8 hour flight, we survived
the manic car journey through Beijing to arrive, miraculously unscathed, at the
calm, air-conditioned inner sanctuary of the Shangri-La hotel. Past the plush atrium
we entered a room equipped with a pristine modern bathroom boasting three types
of shower, including a rainforest one. Looked complex, but I managed to work it
out.
I sat
down with relief on the lavatory seat.
What
the...!
The blasted
thing lit up and started making mechanical whirring noises.
In my
extremely vulnerable position, (like Tywin Lannister on his privy in Game of Thrones, shot with a crossbow
through the heart), I found it deeply worrying. What exactly was stirring
beneath my delicate nether regions?
To my
right, on the wall was a contraption with about six buttons, top and bottom,
which I couldn’t read. I mean, after all, who expects to take their reading
glasses in to the bathroom?
Having
availed myself of the facility, as I got up to peer myopically at the buttons,
the thing automatically flushed itself.
Thank
God!
No embarrassment
when the maid comes in to turn down the room, sniggering as she leaves a
meaningful chocolate on the pillow.
Not
wishing to investigate further and risk an abdominal malfunction I decided I
had learnt quite enough that was necessary and left it at that. Besides, we were due to meet business
colleagues in one of the nicest Peking Duck restaurants in Beijing in a couple
of hours. The restaurant had one of these private circular rooms with its own
bathroom to the side.
Everything
was going swimmingly.
I entered
said bathroom, then lifted my posterior with bravado.
No flush.
So I was
in there, having used a non-flushing toilet and they were right outside,
probably waiting to come in. You know those Freudian nightmares when, somehow,
you’re walking around stark naked in a crowd of people?
With
mounting panic I could see about 10 buttons on the wall, all in Chinese script.
Thankfully, the only English wording was on a rectangular lever marked FLUSH.
So I pressed it, and it did! Hooray! I could now go back outside and not lose face
(very important in Chinese culture) before my fellow diners.
It was
then I remembered my husband’s hellish first encounter with this type of
discomfort station. In a similar dining room he was, thankfully, the last to
use the adjoining bathroom. The contraption had an array of fiendish buttons,
all in Chinese. Having valiantly tried all of them in vain he pressed them all
at the same time.
Malfunction. Bang! The top blew off and rolled
around on the floor.
So he did
what any self- respecting person would do - he fled the scene of the crime, his
DNA very much in evidence.
I took a picture of our hotel lavatory to show
our hoped - for grandchildren, as an example of 21st century ground-breaking
technology. God knows what the future might bring.
Optional
types of posterior ablutions included rear
and front cleansing, with variable pressure and position of water jets. I did not try the oscillating or pulsating
options before selecting the dryer.
The next
time I’m offered a wash and blow-dry at the hairdresser’s I’m afraid it will
have a whole different Chinese connotation.
Our next
Shangri-La hotel in Hong Kong was unbelievably posh, festooned with crystal
chandeliers and magnificent silk rugs and paintings.
Thankfully,
in the bathroom, to my profound relief, square on the floor, was a nice, old-fashioned,
French- style bidet.
Vive la
difference!
Or, as Confucius
might have said -
If it
ain’t broke, don’t fix it!
