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When in Rome

Well, Actually, France

By Cleve Taylor Published 3 years ago 3 min read
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When in Rome
Photo by Stephanie LeBlanc on Unsplash

When in Rome

I have always believed the advice, that when in Rome, do as the Romans do. And on a trip to France I had memorable opportunities to do so, culminating in a spectacular embarrassment. But let me tell you how I was culturally groomed for that moment.

First stop, Versailles. Who doesn’t love Versailles, the beautiful grounds and landscaping, the Hall of Mirrors, Antoinette’s play houses, the fabulous furnishings, the history, the majesty of it all. But Versaille, like all tourist destinations, must make arrangements for the necessary bathroom breaks, that alas are part of the human condition.

And so they had. I found the men’s room in one of the buildings, walked up to the urine trough to lighten my bladder, and while in the midst of doing so chanced to look off to my right. There, only a few feet away, separated by only a large floor to ceiling, clean, clear sheet of glass was a family (father, mother, small girl child, small boy child) the father on a pay phone but the rest of the family engaged in watching me. There was a micro moment of modesty but not enough to interfere with the completion of my task.

A couple of days later, stopping in a French town, I went to the Tourist Information Center and asked the whereabouts of the facilities. I was directed to go outside and around to the backside of the building. I did so, but instead of finding a men's room, I found a half dozen urinals arrayed across the back of the building, none of them currently occupied. A gentle slope of open ground led up to a very busy car park, the urinals being in clear view, but presumably of no interest to the car park patrons. But, hey, when in Rome, right?

At Mont Saint-Michel, in preparation for the long climb up to the cathedral, I stood in line with a priest to use the facilities. Both sexes were in a single line, entering through a single entrance but as best as I could determine the men went left after entering, and the women went right. So, of course the priest went right. I went left, as was my original determination, and left was right.

Then, on another day, near Agincourt, signage indicated a rest stop adjoining the road. I pulled in and, of course, there were no facilities, only a small clump of trees from which a man was emerging and returning to his car. Actually the clump of trees provided more privacy than was available at Versailles.

And finally on to Grasse, the perfume capital of the world since the 18th century. Just north and inland of Cannes, Grasse is a must stop for the ladies and for the men determined to purchase a few drops of liquid gold for the ladies left at home. The day I was there several tourist buses had just dropped off their passengers, and perfume factories, inside and out were brimming with tourists.

The men’s room, despite signs suggesting there was one, was exceedingly well hidden. I wandered around looking for the facility to no avail. I followed a couple of potential men's room patrons but those proved to be wasted efforts. Tourists I questioned were as much at a loss as I was.

Then eureka, how could I not have identified the common public latrine located prominently amongst all the meandering tourists. Stylish Grasse had fashioned the public latrine in the shape of a large round fountain that could accommodate twenty or thirty men at a time but strangely, in full view of both sexes. And so I used it, getting only a few cursory glances as I relieved myself.

You guessed it. Turned out, it was a fountain! Though I later was assured that a latrine was nearby, I never found it.

europe
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About the Creator

Cleve Taylor

Published author of three books: Ricky Pardue US Marshal, A Collection of Cleve's Short Stories and Poems, and Johnny Duwell and the Silver Coins, all available in paperback and e-books on Amazon. Over 160 Vocal.media stories and poems.

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