Ode to the Mandi

A large part of travel is learning to make fine adjustments to our assumptions about life. After being away from my village for a while, I have had to re-calibrate myself to the slower pace of life, the lack of English speakers, and the cold bucket baths. In light of that latter joy, I give to you this little essay I wrote after first coming to Indonesia. It stands true to this day, and is a daily metaphor for getting over myself and diving in. Enjoy!

Before I traveled to Asia, I took my bathroom for granted. I took for granted that people sat on toilets, spit their toothpaste in sinks, and, if they were polite, put a towel on the floor to keep it dry when they showered. But a change in place often brings a change in perspective, and as anyone else who has abdicated the porcelain throne can attest, a change in perspective may mean getting your feet wet.

My mandi, aka. Home sweet home.

Many travelers to Asia have come to love or loathe what some call the “wet bathroom.” Here in Indonesia, where I work as a Peace Corps education volunteer, we say “mandi”. Mandi is both a noun and a verb. To mandi is to take a cold bucket bath, and the place in which you perform this activity (and others) is called the mandi.

The mandi consists of three major areas. The first is the infamous squat toilet (more affectionately, the squatty potty). Set into the floor, it requires one to – as the name suggests – squat. As a result of performing this action multiple times a day, Indonesians are remarkably good at squatting as they complete many of their daily tasks. I have seen children under the age of one and old men and women with wrinkle-worn faces squatting with perfect form as they play or shell beans.

The mandi’s second area of interest is the water source. In many Indonesian homes this is a tiled, square or rectangular tub that holds anywhere from a few to many gallons of water. In less homey atmospheres, you may just get a large bucket. This water is essential in all the tasks that are undertaken in the mandi, because there is no toilet paper. This water is also the source of the mandi’s wetness, from which it receives its “wet bathroom” reputation.

After brushing your teeth, relieving yourself, soaping up your body, or any other activity, it is recommended that you splash some water around the whole room and on yourself in order to remove any possible residue. Unless you are very unlucky, a scoop will be provided to assist you in these duties. Wetter is cleaner, therefore wetter is better.

The final area of import is the floor itself. Tile, linoleum, concrete, or dirt, it slopes slightly towards the drain. This feature is specially designed to carry away soap, toothpaste, or any other unwanted material.

Skeptical to say the least.

Experiencing the mandi for the first time was like traveling to a new country. Everything I had read and heard about it couldn’t compare with actually standing there and facing the invigorating, cold, wet reality. This place felt totally foreign, and I definitely didn’t speak the language. I stared at the water for a few moments, bracing for the cold. But I knew that, eventually, I would have to take the plunge – or rather the splash. I would have to get low, and just embrace this new, uncharted territory. Sure, the water was cold, my quadriceps burned, and I missed my target many times, but I was there. I was immersed in something so foreign, so startling, and so wonderfully different.

At first I hated it. I wondered how anyone in their right mind could possibly live without toilet paper. I pined for a hot shower and dry bathroom floor. I cursed myself and the world when I missed my target for the tenth time, hitting my feet instead. But then, slowly, things started to change.

I learned that when Indonesians bathe in the mandi, they splash themselves with ferocious speed. If you have ever passed the mandi while a native Indonesian is bathing, it sounds like a hurricane has been unleashed. I started splashing myself with as much speed as I could muster, and found the water didn’t feel quite so cold.

Then I discover the beautiful efficiency of spitting out my mouthwash and relieving my bladder simultaneously. I practiced until I could expertly wield the bucket in my right hand and splash with my left while perching with newfound balance. I began to wonder why I had ever used toilet paper in the first place, and I found myself regarding the western world flushing millions of scratchy, papery sheets down toilets every day with scorn. In this environment where I once felt so strange, uncomfortable, wet, and cold, I began to feel at home.

I learned from the locals, and I learned from experience. Through trial and error I discovered the hidden beauty and ingenuity of the mandi. My world was graced with a new perspective and a new appreciation of a different way of life. From now on, both the quick efficiency of the wet mandi and the luxurious comfort of my hot shower back home will hold special places in my heart.