A few years back there was an incident in which a young woman in the prime of her 20’s walked out of an unlit porta-potty (a portable outdoor toilet) and exclaimed how pleasant it was these “new” porta-potties had small sinks installed next to the toilet. Even though the smell was a bit unbearable inside she was happy she had been able to wash her hands before exiting. The young woman’s friends, who had just availed themselves of the facilities themselves, turned to her with a look of shock. The shock quickly turned to disturbed laughter as it was explained to the young woman that there were no sinks in these porta-potties they were in fact urinals. Whatever substance she had just bathed her hands in was most certainly not tap water. Disbelief and denial was her reaction, but it was on that day that she knew she had crossed a line, a very dirty line, from which she could never return. No amount of soap, Purell, or caustic acid could ever unsoil her after such an incident. I credit my brother Skip with first realizing that this young woman had just joined the ranks of a notorious society. A society which must, for the good of the public, be labeled. Thus the Permanently Unclean Club was founded.

Over the years I have witnessed several more inductions into this modern day untouchable society, some more ghastly, some less than that of our charter member. For obvious reasons the members of this society prefer to remain anonymous and bear their shame in private so I can not give you any details of the constituents. What I can say is that the ranks are much larger than you might suspect and one should always look deep into the eyes of a stranger before shaking hands. I myself can no longer deny my membership, after a year of travel in Asia it is just not statistically possible to have avoided induction. The cities, towns, and villages of Asia are frought with innumerable possibilities for befoulment.

So as the public face of this society I take it upon myself to inform current members (you know who you are) and the general public that we have a new president. Her name I can not say (quite literally, I keep screwing it up), but we will just refer to her as the tarnished Ms L. Like so many of our unfortunate members  Ms. L’s cleanliness was stripped from her in the blossom of her twenties. She will never know the light hearted gaiety of turning 30 untainted. What makes this tale all the more tragic was that her case was preventable. With a modicum of common sense, or any remaining shred of western hygiene she could have avoided her fate. Sadly Ms. L had been traveling in Asia for too long. Her eagerness to participate in local customs and the realities of India’s public places had muted the inner voice of western hygiene.

She bathed in the Ganges River in Varanasi!

For those unfamiliar with the Ganges, it is said to be India’s holiest of rivers. A place scared in the Hindu religion where one’s bad karma can be washed free and the cycle of rebirth and atonement can be broken. It is said that bathing in the Ganges cleanses the soul and can return one to a spiritual innocence. The unfortunate reality of the Ganges is that it lies downstream of millions of people for whom it is a sewer. The local conditions and practices in Varanasi only add to the grim reality. The scene at the bathing ghats in Varanasi is quite unbelievable. People dumping trash, washing buffalos, relieving themselves from both directions, brushing their teeth, washing their hair, washing their clothes and swimming. All this happens side by side, simultaneously, day after day. For those brave enough to look carefully along the edges of the river, the floating corpses of the unfortunate souls who could not afford to be burned on a proper funeral pyre can also be seen bobbing along.

It is in this spiritual stew that Ms. L sought renewal. Her spiritual desires overcame her common sense. In the auspicious moments after the recent solar eclipse she darkened her body in this murk in an effort to reveal some inner light. Side by side with thousands of pilgrims, toe to toe in the gray-brown gravy of the Ganges the Tarnished Ms. L. bathed away her long months of travel and emerged as the new president of the Permanently Unclean Club.

So long to L.M.S., a flower of a girl who once smelled like soap and the body lotions of the west. All hail our new president.

Condolences to the passengers who had to sit beside Ms. L on her long transatlantic flight home.