Bi the way

When one is in a lesbian relationship, it’s really hard to convince hotels to give you a double bed. Partly it’s the language barrier – I refuse to make cunnilingus gestures to the concierge – but mostly it’s the assumption that two same sex people want to sleep in their own bed. I remember when Ammie and I were driving to Alaska and we stopped somewhere in the Yukon to sleep. The hotel receptionist scrunched up her face and apologized that they only had rooms with double beds available.

Oh geez, I said, adopting the Canadian vernacular, well if that’s all ya got.

She never stopped apologizing though and I wonder now if we could’ve gotten a discount or something.

It’s been a big annoyance in Europe too. I’m not paying 60 € a night to spoon myself, dammit. In hostels, sure, I’ll suffer through for the cheaper board but man am I tired of pushing twin beds together then falling through the crack of our shoddy, make-shift double

But let me continue to digress further and take us back to Turkey, the second country we visited.

Our lesbian excursion to Lesvos led us to Ayavalik, a mere 1.5 hour boat ride away. Once we landed, t
Customs told us we needed a visa to enter Turkey and we of course had no money on us since we planned on getting Turkish lira after we arrived. Naturally, Ellie then jumped over the partition, scissor kicking up into the ventilation system, which created enough of a diversion for me to slip past them and high tail it to the McDonalds with the parking spaces for camels, a place we designated as our “emergency” spot in case something like this ever happened.

Or rather, Ellie went to an ATM, or bancomat as she found out they were called. We walked along the ocean for lack of knowing which direction to go and eventually stumbled across some teenagers who tried to give us directions by pointing in the air. We thanked them and turned back. Then, two minutes later, there they were, but in a car this time and gestured for us to get in. They drove us to the bus station, proving that genies do in fact exist.

On the 9 hour bus ride to Istanbul, we tried to learn Turkish by watching the soap opera that was playing, which didn’t really work because no one actually speaks on soap operas. I can, however, cry and glower over my shoulder like a REAL Turkish person.

Halfway through, they let us off to use the “bathroom” which was actually a hole in the ground, or a “squat pot” as they’re affectionately referred to by no one. Afterward, Ellie said, if all the toilets are like THAT, I’m not going to poop until we get back to Greece. And true to her word. . . Just kidding

I rather don’t mind the squat pots. From a purely physical standpoint, it’s an ideal position to relieve yourself. However, from a urinating-on-your-shoes position, I could do without it. Also, how do old ladies with arthritis and long flowy skirts do it? They must be genies too.


One Response

  1. Yeah the Eastern European toilets take some getting used to. It’s awesome when the stall doesn’t go all the way down.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: