The Things We Take For Granted

I am from the United States of America. I have a house, a car, a digital television with high speed 5g Wi-Fi, and basically anything I want or need.

I have easy access to gasoline, grocery stores, fast food and most importantly, drive up mochas. If I am out on the road, I can find my way to the fanciest hotels by using my guidance systems or I can hop on a jet with the flash of a credit card.

I can believe what I want and have the freedom to write and speak what I want. I have no trouble communicating because English is my native language and almost everyone in the 50 states speaks it. These are all things I take for granted because again, I live in the United States.

But what happens when we leave our cushy land of comforts?

My mom enjoyed the opportunity of traveling all over the world. You name a continent and country, and she was most likely there. On one of her trips, she went on a river cruise up the Yangtze River in China to see the Three Rivers Dam which is the largest dam and the highest producer of power in the world. It is also known for having displaced 1.9 million people and destroying natural features and countless rare architectural and archaeological sites. Oh well, some things just get in the way of progress.

On one of the shore excursions at a city bustling with thousands of people in the streets, the Chinese guide led the single file line of tourists through the streets. He held his guide sign on a pole, high above the heads of the mobs.

“Stay in a single file line behind me,” he ordered. “Do not get left behind!”

Now, let me explain my mom. She liked to flitter around and see the shops and the local non-tourist regular people, so when she stepped out of the tour group to investigate a shop, the tour group continued without her. When she came out of the shop, the group was long gone in the sea of people.

Now here was an example of something she took for granted: being a part of the majority. Here she was in the middle of a Chinese city, the only white-haired Caucasian woman who only spoke one language and it wasn’t the native tongue and absolutely no one else spoke English. She had no idea how to find her tour group or how to get back to the boat. Finally, she did what any woman who was possibly going to be sold as a slave in the human trafficking market would do; she sat on the curb and cried.

Fortunately, her tour guide retraced his steps and found her. She was officially chewed out in Mandarin. This would not have happened in Seattle.

The things she took for granted.

My grandson, Cameron, lives in Haiti. He is there to teach English. As you may know, the government is corrupt and unstable. Riots, kidnappings, and killings happen every day. The whole infrastructure since the earthquakes has been destroyed. It is therefore impossible to send electricity to the residents of the country. The country gets its power from generators which are expensive to operate, they run them for only a few hours each day and then they are shut down. So, if you don’t have a solar power collector, you have nothing to charge your phones or laptop.

Imagine the heat in Haiti and no AC or the power to run a fan. Imagine no stove, microwave, or refrigerator. You buy enough food for one day because on day two it will be rotten.

Oh, the things we take for granted.

My wife, Cheryl, and I, went to Mexico. I’m sure that many of you have experienced this elsewhere, but it was a first for me. Walking through the shops in the village, I encountered the extreme need to find a toilet. I believe that Montezuma was getting his revenge.

In what can only be described as my own interpretation of The Boot Scootin’ Boogie, I shuffled through the alleys yelling, “Dónde está el baño? Dónde está el baño?” (Where is the bathroom?)

Finally, a young man who was obviously tired of hearing me butcher his language, pointed to a door which said Hombre.

Now making noises like a steam engine, I ran to push the door open. That is when I noticed an elderly woman standing by the entrance.

“El papel higiénico?” (toilet paper?)

“Que?” I asked.

“El papel higiénico?”

She held a roll of toilet paper in her hands.

“How much?” I squeaked.

“Un peso,” she said quietly.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a peso and handed it to her. She tore off five squares.

“Only five?”

She smiled at me and nodded.

Once inside and seated, I noticed a sign on the inside of the door. It was written in English.

Put toilet paper in the garbage can only.

What? I investigated the can and sure enough, that is what was in there. Unfortunately, the five squares didn’t do the job, so I slid another peso under the outside door. Five more squares slid back to me.

The things we take for granted.

Bedlington Richmond was a friend who took a business trip to India. He was hosted in the home of the corporate CEO. After the long flight he was aware that his dress shirt was stained with sweat and smelled of body odor.

Unaware of how the family washed their clothes and not wanting to cause them extra work, Bedlington elected to wash the shirt himself. In the bathroom was a bucket of water and a ladle. He found a box of borax and tossed a handful of the flakes into the water, dissolving them by stirring with the ladle. He then submerged his shirt in the bucket and scrubbed the stains clean. Dumping the soapy water, he refilled the bucket with clean water and rinsed the soap from the shirt. Then he hung it to dry in the Indian heat.

The next day, he rode on the back of a scooter through the packed streets of the city to the corporate office.

At lunch, he went to the restroom. Sitting on the floor next to the toilet was a bucket of water and a ladle. Strange, he thought.

Sitting across from the CEO in the cafeteria and trying to make small talk, Bedlington commented, “I see that there are buckets of water and ladles next to the toilets. Why is that?”

The CEO looked embarrassed and uneasy.

“It is to wash yourself. A bidet,” he said.

Quite possibly it was the borax on the shirt which caused Bedlington to itch uncontrollably. Maybe it was the knowledge that he had washed his shirt in the butt bucket. We will never know.

The important thing to remember and the theme of this story is: the things we take for granted in the United States can be far different once you leave. So, for safety’s sake, bring your own toilet paper and travel with someone who knows the area.

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