Dusk Through Narrow Streets

You know what probably the worst part of coach travel is? Aside from the impossibility of sleeping, which seems to bother others far less than it does me (this is no surprise; I’m the worst at sleeping anywhere but a bed of almost everyone I know), especially since I’ve actually observed others sacked out in buses sound asleep and wondered how they managed it. No, the worst part is the lavatory.

I mean, at least they’ve got one. That’s obviously good. You don’t want to go four hours or ten hours or whatever without easy access to a bathroom. The only thing is–well, first, take a basic airplane lavatory; they’re all pretty much the same. Now assume that one or more of its basic components (flush, faucet, soap, paper towels) doesn’t work and that it smells funnier, take away any handlebars or other things to hold onto, and put the mechanisms for flushing the toilet and getting water from the tap (if they even work) in confusing places like the floor. Oh, and then keep in mind that you are not in an airplane, which is pretty steady during flight unless there’s a patch of turbulence, nor even in a train, which does stop at different stations but at least is generally going in a constant direction. No, you are in a bus, which bounces at every tiny irregularity in the road and makes frequent turns, stops, and decelerations, which means that even if everything in the lavatory works the way it ought (this happens maybe half the time at best), the movement of the bus will jounce and jostle you around all the freaking time, such that you’re hard-pressed enough to keep your seat while you’re doing your business (remember that you have nothing to hold onto except maybe the edge of the sink) but it’s basically impossible not to be thrown into the wall/door handle/toilet once you stand up to wash your hands. Good luck getting back out the door and down the aisle to your seat without lurching into some other hard object, too. I collected so many bruises just from my coach trip, it was ridiculous–I think I had about 15 bruises of varying sizes on my legs when I got home, and at least half of those were from the coach ride to London, not from all the suitcase-wrangling that came after (though that caused plenty, let me tell you).