Our world overflows with wondrous new experiences

I was recently standing in a hotel bathroom in Egypt trying to figure out how to flush the toilet. There were all sorts of gizmos and appendages to this porcelain appliance, and I couldn't determine which one would actually cause water to gush in and out of the bowl.

And I had an epiphany: I realized that this is why I travel. Seriously. It really is. Hear me out before you start rolling your eyes.

I travel so I can stand in strange bathrooms in foreign countries and try to figure out their plumbing.

See, plumbing in America is boring. There are only a couple of different ways to flush the toilet, and I have long since mastered all of them.

Whereas in other countries, plumbing can be surprisingly mysterious.

In countries like Japan, toilets can heat your tush. They can provide automatic plastic seat covers that move around so you always get a fresh one. They can give your private parts a little squirt of water that allows you to feel fresh all day.

Whereas in other places, your toilet might consist of a hole in the ground, surrounded by porcelain, over which you're supposed to squat. (These are not my favorites. I can't squat.)

The reason I'm blathering on about plumbing is to point out that travel in other countries is endlessly interesting, even in the bathroom.

And I realized that I just need the stimulation of strange pipes and faucets. Among other things.

I need to walk outside and spend a few minutes pondering exactly how I'm going to cross this street full of maniacal drivers with no traffic lights or crosswalks. (Answer: Just dive in and pray.)

At home, humdrum days follow each other in endless succession. Wash the dishes, yell at my son for losing all the forks (I just saw two on his bedroom floor yesterday), put gas in the car, check the mailbox that never has anything in it but bills and solicitations for funeral plans.

When my kids were little, life was never dull, because they kept me on the run all the time, trying to predict their next move so I could head it off.

There was the call from the principal, telling me my son got caught climbing on the school roof at night to collect errant balls. Again.

And the call from the police officer at 4 a.m. “I bet you think your 14-yearold daughter is asleep in her bed, don't you?” he said to me, as I groggily tried to focus.

Well, as you have guessed, she was not. She was in the nearby park with a strange guy she'd met online, who begged for her help. Luckily, the police patrol that park after dark, so they detained her and the guy, who announced when I went to pick her up in my pajamas, “Why do you cops keep bothering me? I did my time.”

Yes, in those days, life was a hilarious, never-ending comedy drama. Now that Curly Girl has married and moved out, not so much — although she is having a baby in a few weeks, so that promises some excitement.

Her brother still lives at home, but these days he doesn't do a lot to thrill me except occasionally wash some towels.

So, this is why I have to travel. So I can have fun trying to drive on the left side of the road in England. (Don't do it.) Accompanied by a Greek chorus of companions who shriek at me every time I turned into the wrong lane. (Seriously. Just say no.)

So I can figure out how to get into a tuk-tuk in India, and then close my eyes so I don't have to watch it dodge cows and other motorists in the road.

So I can get lost and frightened outside the municipal cemetery in Oaxaca, Mexico, during the Day of the Dead festivities, unable to find a taxi in the dark, and end up following a conga line of dancing people who led me straight back to the town square.

You really can get around these days in other countries, because, luckily for us, English is the international language. Still, I have also learned to use a variety of hand gestures to supplement any lack of knowledge. It's my own sort of sign language, and it often works.

This can be endlessly entertaining, especially if you're watching.

At home, a trip to the grocery store is usually tedious and mundane, at least until you see the receipt total in the checkout lane.

In a foreign country, you might be miming putting a spoon to your mouth, to indicate you want to buy some soup. Or drinking a phantom soda, to ask for a Coke.

I never do this at Stater Bros.

Right now, I can't travel anywhere, because I've spent all my money for the foreseeable future. So I'll just have to read travel guidebooks until I can afford to go somewhere new with inscrutable plumbing. You'll be the first to know.