Poop and a Picnic: On the Road in Iran

 

Somewhere between Kerman and Shiraz (my memory is a little hazy) our coach stopped at some services. I use the term loosely, as the facilities offered were sparse. There was a gold-domed mosque, as I recall, but we didn’t visit.

However, we were given the opportunity to visit the conveniences before embarking on a picnic lunch. Got to make room, haven’t you? My (rather prim) hopes weren’t high, but I had to lower the bar to ground level on this occasion. The door handles on the outside were encrusted with bird poop. I considered this a not very encouraging sign. Thumb and forefinger facilitated opening of the door. Oh dear. Within was a stinky hole, a jug (in lieu of cistern, you see), and hovering above the fetid abyss was a swarm of flies.

I withdrew speedily. What to do? Now, the thing is, when you tour somewhere like Iran, you tend to be accompanied by people who are extremely well travelled and are therefore worldly, practical individuals. One such on this trip was an older lady from Yorkshire. She saw me emerge from the terrible toilet, and I briefly outlined my predicament and the general horribleness of the situation. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you either go behind a bush, you go in there, or you don’t go.’ Well, thought I, she’s not wrong. I determined that going behind a bush in Iran might be problematic. The dreadful possibility of being caught mooning in the Islamic Republic was unappealing. Potential newspaper headlines briefly trotted across my consciousness. I did not want to be remembered for this ignominious infamy. On the other hand, not going was not going to work. So, I had to get on with it.

I am not known for my athletic abilities. Quite the reverse. However, I am still proud of the fact that I managed to relieve myself in this malodorous, fly-ridden shack without any part of me or my clothing making contact with any surface (other than my shoes touching the ground, obvs. I’m not that good). I do remember mounting anxiety as I peed concerning where the flies might be going. I tried consoling myself with the thought that they’re probably too sensible to launch themselves headlong into the dark side of the moon. They might never fly free again.

Momentarily traumatised (I’m good at being overly dramatic as well as being prim), I left the lavs and made my way to the shaded seating area where our coach driver and his assistant (his son) were setting up the picnic lunch for us. And it was a lovely picnic. Many of my fellow travellers were already tucking in. The only problem for me was that the dishes of food were mobbed by…flies. And I knew where they’d just been. Appetite duly diminished, I merely nibbled a crisp or two, as the flies ignored them. This must have implications regarding crisps, but let’s not upset ourselves further.

I have no photos of the toilet. Wasn’t uppermost in my mind at the time. But here is the picnic, because, as the flies agreed, it looked nice.