One of the peculiarities of  travelling is coming across a wider variety of toilets than we are used to.  We do get to use them daily, and, inevitably, some make an impression – from the simple bucolic pleasure of a forest tree, the unsavoury back room of a pub, to a technological miracle like the public pay-toilet in Te Anau.

I felt somewhat under-dressed for the occasion – at least compared to the carefully-coiffured Japanese ladies and gentlemen passing in and out.  I sat  in the ante-room of this toilet, waiting for Sally to use up her dollar admission fee (down to the last cent, she reported), when the concierge, sitting behind his broad and imposing desk, looked across and said “Where you from, boy?”

Boy? This guy had a gold necklace, a diamond ear-stud and a black t-shirt.  Twerp.

“Tasmania”, I said.

“I suppose you’re not used to paying for the toilet there”, he replied.

“No, mate, I piss in the bush like the rest of them”, I said.

“Well,” he said, “we get international visitors in Te Anau, and we want to deliver a quality experience.  People tend to remember if they go to a bad toilet, don’t they”

“I’ll certainly remember this one”, I told him.