Life is lived at Lavatory Level

People are crammed into the Business Class Lounge at Livingstone airport. “Air-conditioned Lounge” the sign says – the fans are working furiously. I hesitate, briefly considering staying outside in the general lounge – it seems more peaceful. But I hesitate too long and the seats I spotted have been taken. So it is into the Business Class lounge which resembles an obstacle course. Every time someone opens the door, the receptionist is in danger of being squashed behind it.

I am not surprised at the basicness of it – our boarding passes were manually ticked off by someone sitting at a little desk as we came through security. My husband has cut a path for us and has found a corner to squeeze into. We are so tightly packed that he feels compelled to start a conversation with the people who he is sitting almost knee-to-knee with.

The décor in the lounge is from another era – all chintzy, chunky and dark furniture with amateur paintings adorning the walls. Against the opposite wall is a table with an electric kettle and jars of tea, coffee and creamer. Next to that is a table with boxes of wine and plastic-wrapped bowls of curly yellow chips and popcorn.

There are two doors opposite us – one marked with a rose, the other a thorny branch. “No seats on the toilet” my husband announces as he comes out of the thorny door. I wonder if the rose signifies any better. I am suspicious of public toilets after 20 years of travelling around the world.  A suspicion that was nurtured by the squatting toilets of India! 

Super-clean toilets in Thailand. We had to remove our shoes
and wear the plastic ones on the shelf outside.

One of my travel maxims has been “Life is lived at lavatory level”. When I was a first year Occupational Therapy student, learning about independence training for people in wheelchairs, our lecturer chanted this mantra to us all the time. She believed that being able to use the toilet in a dignified manner, in spite of disability, was of paramount importance to assisting our patients to become functional. Years later it took on a slightly different significance for me!

We have more than an hour’s wait before boarding if all goes according to plan, so I am forced to heed the call of nature.So I gingerly enter the door with the rose.  I have to hold the door shut with my foot because it does not stay closed, never mind lock. The toilet seat is there but the lid of the cistern has gone missing. But I have seen worse. This is reasonably clean and I have learnt to use the reasonably clean toilet because you never know what you will find next. 

As I return to the lounge, my husband is looking at some of our pictures on his laptop. The picture of my son soaring into the air almost over the edge of Victoria Falls, reminds me that you have to traverse the rough parts to get to the high points.