The bathroom was barely a bathroom. It had three walls and a toilet. But no toilet seat. No light.
We were in the middle of the Andes Mountains and had spent the last eight hours hiking, the last two uphill. My legs could barely sustain my own weight. Which meant hovering over a seat less toilet was not an option. Even if it was an option, popping a squat in the brush seemed far more hygienic than this bathroom.
So I grabbed the headlamp and toilet paper and made my way behind the school room and kitchen. It was the farthest point from everyone else and conveniently dark. As I stepped around the corner of the building the light from the lamp swept across a layer of used corn cobs and some trash. Obviously no one was using this area. But as I slowly lifted my head to look ahead, two small eyes gleamed back at me. I tensed for a moment until I realized it was simply a cat on top of a pile of the corn cobs. I laughed at myself and turned to give the cat some space. But as I turned, I was met with a massive snort and hot breath that coated my legs. My single beam of light washed over a 200 pound hog that was staring up at me. Apparently I was standing in its home. And I was not welcomed. It snorted again and stomped its foot.
I quickly left and ran down the small hill looking for another spot to safely pee. But moments later I heard Steve call out, “Holy shit, did you see that pig?”
“Already tried that spot. It’s occupied!”