WHEN NATURE CALLED

“Make sure you don’t click the door shut. You’ll be locked out.”

And don’t expect me to wake up to let you in – that bit hung there, unsaid between me and this matron-owner-manager of the youth hostel. Her words, said and unsaid, rang in my ears as I contemplated my options. It was 2:00am. Dark and cold. I was the only occupant of the 20-bunkbed female dorm in the hostel. And I had to pee. No, an hour ago I had to pee. Now, I had to twist-my-legs-in-a-knot pee. I contemplated the basin in the corner of the room. The image of the porcelain crashing to the floor stopped that thought. There was no way I was going to be able to hold it in till sun dawn. There was no choice but to woman up and make my way to the facilities in the outhouse.

Making sure the latch was holding the door in place, I squiggle, dance, run to the washroom and relieve myself. The bladder at peace, I look around as I walk back to the main house. It is a silence like I have never heard. Bustling with tourists in the day, by night the town of Blois surrenders to its citizens’ need for quiet. As my ears accustom to the silence, I catch the swish of the waters of the Loire.

I stand at the door, one hand on the latch, and take in the silhouettes of the houses that line the street. Not one window is lit. Blois is too quaint to deserve residents troubled by insomnia. A cold wind nudges me towards the door, reminding me I was a guest and honour-bound to abide by the town's bedtime.