Turkey in the European Union

On the drive back up to Paris from Lyon, as I was dodging the semi trailers sharing the highway with me, I had many moments to ponder Turkey's chances of making it into the European Union...

Some of my friends are quite frankly against Turkey's inclusion. Their argument is that, surface-wise, there is very little of Turkey on the European continent (like 5%). Claiming European status is a bit... of a stretch. Regardless of the west using Turkish soil in times past to stick it to the Russians during wartime.

Afterwards there are claims that Turkey isn't wanted in the European Union because it is largely Islamic. To that I have to say, as long as they aren't fundamentalists, I'm OK with Islamics. After all... doesn't the Qur'an have clauses that say "be nice to other religions because, heck, you never know through what religion God is speaking?"... or something. The guide in Marrakech might have been selling us hooey on that one, everything was in Arabic.

But I prefer to think that most Islamics are taught to love thy neighbor... even if he's got this thing with sheep.

Or fish.

But I won't even pretend to understand politics or religion here. Heavy stuff at NPLI? Not bloody likely [to make sense]. We are a stream of ... consciousness blog.

All that being said, on the way back from Lyon, I had a choice to make: Hold it? Or fold?

I was the one driving and it was getting increasingly uncomfortable so I opted for one of the many many many highway time out spots that dot every toll highway in France.

There are literally thousands of these things.

Some of them will offer you a gas pump and a restaurant, but others are picnic sites and almost all of them have a jungle gym for the monkeys that are making your life freaking miserable from the back seat.

As I hopped over to the outdoor loo, I came face to face with what the French call the "Turkish Toilet" (and the reason why I think that Turkey will never win over the French: It's hard to take a country seriously that has this kind of namesake)...

My first encounter with the Squatter came when I visited France during a school trip while I was in high school. I will never forget the look of horror on Darcy's face when she realised that she would have to go... there.

The bus rang with our laughter afterwards when she told us how she dealt with the situation. She said that first she undid her shoes. Then she stepped out of her pants while carefully... carefully keeping her feet on her shoes so that her socks wouldn't be sacrificed to the gods of dodgy toilets (remember Trainspotting)... Half naked, she leaned out backwards, narrowly missing a nasty slip as one of her shoes skittered out from under a pink foot.

To this day, I cannot see a Turkish toilet without thinking of that class trip and Darcy. I wonder what she's up to now? I sort of hope that she's a wrinkled old crone with saggy boobs and one eye. She was so slim and gorgeous at 17 that my nasty self hopes for... retribution. Sad.

I need a life.

Anyway, Brenna's reaction to the toilet was amusing. She took one look at it, stuck up a "no no" finger, shook it and her head back and forth a few times in a clipped fashion and said, "No. I can wait."

God I envy her her bladder...

Though I have developed quite the technique for avoiding spillage on my shoes.

The indignity of it all...