Making a Splash
Beijing is a dry place, as dry as Melbourne where I grew up. Both cities struggle to supply sufficient water to their inhabitants. Now, in Kyushu southern Japan, the atmosphere comprises small pockets of moist air fitted between grape sized raindrops.
Showering at the gym, which is done seated at a low apparatus, there is a hand held shower head, and a hydrant. This is an inch diameter pipe that sluices water into ‘the splashing bowl’. Warm, clean, drinkable water flows in quantities suitable for fire suppression and can be left to gush, guilt free, for the duration of a shower and shave.
The locals enjoy bathing and have perfected the art. There is a practiced nonchalance about the flick of the wrist that sends the contents of the splashing bowl in a clear arc across the shower area, chest or floor. It is accompanied by a careful look of indifference that seems intended to deny the obvious fact that we are grown men enjoying playing splashy-splashy.
The splashing bowl has a volume of about three litres and is emptied vigorously over the floor, shower area and oneself a minimum of 10 times in any proper shower - and one showers before and after one bathes. I have long suffered shower guilt. The water saving lessons of my youth clashing with my simple love of 30 minute showers. Bathing here I feel like a child that has found parentally approved chocolate coated sugar puffs or perhaps a smoker who has discovered healthy cigarettes. Withdrawal is guaranteed to be swift, sharp and sobering; imposed by my meagre 40 litre electric water heater.
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