Dead Straight Meanders

Another minor bugbear involved the toilets. In most respects they were okay; spacious, equipped with running water; even their odour was inoffensive, as Phillip had installed exhaust shafts to prevent the build-up of methane. And if the condition of La Solitaria Caseta Verda’s crops were anything to go by, the composting of human waste was worthy of full-hearted praise. What bothered Bryan about the toilets were their doors. From the waist up, the only barrier between him and anyone else was a piece of translucent Perspex. This was, as Phillip said, an attempt to “naturalise an act that religion and plastic society have deemed shameful, ungodly but which is inseparable from who we are. By poking fun, we make it less serious. If it isn’t serious it is no longer a vice.”
Bryan found this position over the top and rather unnecessary. If cats, who had never postulated the immorality of shit, could still appear so private in the act, then surely there was something natural about a human not wanting to be ogled either? And besides, few questions were asked when a person wanted to shower – or think, for that matter – alone: Phillip’s logic appeared to consider those instances grounds for naturalising as well.
One day, returning from the valley for lunch, he noticed in the distance that one of the volunteer builders was standing by a cubicle. He had already moved on when the door opened. Dagmar, the new masseuse, greeted Bryan on her way out. She was pale-faced but in high spirits. They walked to the main building together. The incident was quickly forgotten; the ravine and – and his desire to reach it – dominated Bryan’s thoughts.

As planned, the entire La Solitaria Caseta Verda contingent boarded a small Balearia ferry on Saturday, headed for the Majorca Recycling Plant. A public tour had been organised, followed by a demonstration to promote better recycling practices and the benefits of decentralising the archipelago’s waste management.