Donde es los aseos? Or my kingdom for a bathroom...

Now I don’t view myself as a princess or one of those girly girls who’s afraid of a speck of dirt.  I have no problem using a porta-potty or even a hole in the ground when it comes right down to it.  However, if you point me to a bathroom, I have certain expectations as to what I’m going to find.  So, I traveled to Spain recently.  This isn’t a third world country, it’s a first world county, thus I had the silly idea that things wouldn’t be too different from what I’m used to.  Wrong, so very wrong.  There I was out sightseeing all day long.  It was hot, I was drinking a lot.  Okay, okay, I must admit I wasn’t drinking much water since water was 2 or 3 times the price of sangria or vino de Verano.  No, I wasn’t getting drunk since those drinks are fairly watered down.  Thus, I needed to find places to do my private business often.  First problem was many establishments felt the need to hide the bathroom in the oddest of places.  And I do mean hide – no signage to lead the way down the dark corridor, up or down the narrow steps and down another dark corridor.  Once you found the right place it was often a guessing game on if it was a women’s room or a men’s room – again no signage.  And since I found bathrooms with everything from a flimsy sliding door which covered only half the doorway space to a see-through glass door, well it was a virtual free-for-all.  Then there was the issue of what was in the bathroom itself.  Sometimes there was only a toilet, no sink to be had unless you went on another scavenger hunt around the building.  Oh, and yeah, there was also the toilet paper problem.  Sometimes it wasn’t in a nice roll but rather in tiny squares with each one being dealt out individually like playing cards.  So hard to use it in that form.  Often there was no paper towels or hand drier anywhere near the sink.  And, no, I never opted to go on another hunt to find a way to dry my hands – I just let them drip dry.  And to top it all off, the stall area was usually smaller than the bathroom on an airplane.  I often found myself accordioned with my knees tucked under my chin while trying to do my business.  And I’m a tiny little person, I have no clue how an average size adult fit in there.  Don’t get me wrong, this was actually a good thing.  Most of the doors didn’t have locks, if I wasn’t wedged in there anyone could’ve walked in on me.  After a week of this, I was beginning to understand why I saw people urinating in the street – it was easier and about as private as finding a bathroom.  Then I found something magical – an American style bathroom!  Yes, yes, yes.  Clearly marked signage, toilet, toilet paper in a huge roll, sink, paper towels, and lots and lots of space to stretch out plus a lock on the door.  I had been avoiding the McDonalds, Burger Kings, and Starbucks because their prices were twice that of what you see in the states.  But one day I really needed to use the facilities and there was nothing on this particular corner but American places so in I go.  A little slice of heaven.  However, there was no way I was going to purchase anything just for the privilege of using their toilet – the sign said a Big Mac was 7 euros, ouch. (You can get salad, entrée, desert, plus an alcoholic beverage for 8-10 euros from local places).  Thus, for the rest of my visit, I found myself frequently using the bathroom of places I had no intention of purchasing anything at.  Did I feel bad about that?  Not in the least.  Sometime a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.