One of the things I love about China is that every few blocks there is a public toilet. Even Bailongsi's not fully paved main street boasts three. These are not for the convenience of small-bladdered tourists, but for all the Chinese who lack plumbing in their homes or workplaces. These are the same people we see brushing their teeth or washing their hair in public.

There is a small fee, almost always two jiao (not even three cents). Public restrooms are generally covered with white tile, and these are generally clean, except in the rainy season when everything gets muddy. There is a long trough on both sides of the room, and waist-high dividers for the illusion of privacy. Doors are rare, and if you are a foreigner, people will be very curious about your underwear, peeing technique, and God only knows what else. You squat over the trough to do your business. Every time you eat in a restaurant, you take the packet of kleenex they give you for napkins, and you use this for toilet paper. (Interestingly, ages ago, the Chinese were the first to ever use toilet paper!) A few times a day, the attendant turns on a hose and water rushes through the troughs, carrying everything away. This means that unless you've arrived soon after a flushing, you will very likely be squatting over someone else's excrement. Believe me, you get used to it! Now the only thing that bothers me is when the previous occupant had intestinal worms. Seeing those writhing white worms below me gives me the willies every time.

in more rural places, there is no charge for a public restroom because your remains will be gratefully used for nightsoil. Rural toilets are a very different affair, typically featuring wooden boards and pits below. Since these are shoveled out infrequently, the semi-open air design of rural toilet huts makes it possible to actually breathe. Rural toilets often lack dividers, and users do not even pretend there is privacy. While I am squatting and trying to mind my own business, I have had the woman next to me cheerfully ask where I am from, where I work, and announce that I am the first foreigner she has ever met--all while our underpants are bunched around our knees!

Then there are the insanely designed toilets like the ones in our school. These can appear in both rural and urban settings because as we know, idiocy has no geographic limits. These stalls feature individual slots in the floor. You squat over the slot and face out the doorless opening so everyone doesn't look at your butt. Theoretically, your deposit is supposed to slide down the not very sharply angled slot, but frankly, unless we are talking about urine, it doesn't. It piles up. These toilets are usually cleaned only once a day, so it really piles up.

What I have found most surprising is the bathrooms in Chinese teachers' homes. First let me first tell you about ours. We have a western toilet that flushes reliably. Our bathroom here resembles an American one in most respects except that the shower curtain is strung up on a bungi cord. If you washed your hands, you would notice that the sink delivers only cold water. That's why you'll also see a red plastic bowl. When we wash our faces, we pour hot water from our thermoses into the bowl. If you took a shower--and we do have hot water for that--maybe you would be surprised by the small window that has a screen, but no glass. But aside from these features, it's rather normal and nice. The floor to ceiling tiles are attractive and there's a granite counter around the sink.

However, the three bathrooms I have used in my colleagues' homes are nothing like ours. I wasn't surprised that two out of three have squat toilets. But I was surprised that those two bathrooms, even in the otherwise spacious and impressive home of the college's most highly respected professor, were the size of airplane restrooms. Both had a shower head, but no stall or tub, so the entire tiny room, sink and toilet included, served as a shower stall. No small wonder everything was wet.

In the third bathroom, that of my best Chinese friend, there is a western toilet and bathtub. However, it is pretty clear that that the tub is not used as we might expect because it is completely filled with multi-colored plastic vessels ranging from dippers to basins to buckets. It looks like the tub was last cleaned in the same year it was last used for a western bath. The bathroom floor is often soaking wet, leading me to believe that household favors the scoop and pour method of bathing.

My Chinese professor's mother, when she visited Belmont from Beijing, commented that the best thing about America is the bathrooms, and living here, I can understand her perspective. But is that really what you want to consider the most positive feature of your homeland?