Composting Toilets: An Honest Review From a Skeptic

I’d forgotten the matches. Not for the fire—the wood stove was already crackling, filling the canvas tent with a glow that softened the Colorado pines outside. For the composting toilet. The site host had warned me: “You’ll need a lighter for the fan switch. Battery’s dead otherwise.” I’d nodded, packed my flannel and whiskey, and left the matches sitting on my kitchen counter. Now I stood in the corner of the tent, staring at a black box with a toilet seat and a vent pipe, the high-altitude air thin and sharp against my bare knees. The bucket inside was empty, but the instructions taped to the lid said to activate the fan first. I held my breath and pressed the button. Nothing.

My gut reaction? Nope. No way. I almost drove to the nearest gas station.

But it was raining. I was tired. And the yurt was paid for. So I took a deep breath and tried it. That first night, I was so paranoid I barely used it. By day two, I was a convert. Here’s my honest journey from skeptic to advocate—and the tips I wish someone had told me.

The Ick Factor Is Real (and Temporary)

Let’s address the elephant: pooping into a box you don’t flush feels wrong. We’ve been trained that waste should vanish with a whoosh. A composting toilet asks you to stay present. No flush button. You add a scoop of coconut coir or peat moss. You see what you left behind.

But here’s the thing: a well-maintained composting toilet doesn’t smell. At all. I’ve been in portable toilets that could knock out a horse. The composting kind, when properly aerated and covered, is odorless. The trick is the urine diverter—most models separate liquid from solid. The liquid goes to a tank (which can stink if left too long), but the solids mix with carbon material and stay dry. No smell. No flies.

My first real test came at a cabin in Vermont where the composting toilet was the only option. It was January. Pipes frozen. No choice. By the end of that weekend, I was impressed. The toilet didn’t smell, didn’t need emptying during my stay, and the host turned waste into usable compost. It felt less gross than a regular toilet—because I knew exactly where everything went.

The Learning Curve: Two Tips the Listicles Won’t Give You

Tip #1: Bring a spray bottle with water and a drop of essential oil. Most composting toilets lack a bidet, and toilet paper works fine—but a quick spritz keeps the bowl clean between uses. Plus, the oil makes it feel spa-like. I use lavender or tea tree. It masks any initial hesitation.

Tip #2: Do your business, add the cover material, then close the lid. Don’t rush. That cover (sawdust, coir, or peat) prevents odor. Skip it or skimp, and the toilet gets funky. I once read a review that said “composting toilets stink”—that person wasn’t using enough cover. Trust me: a generous scoop solves everything.

The Unexpected Upsides

After Vermont, I started seeking out glamping spots with composting toilets. Why? Because they mean the site is off-grid and truly immersed in nature. No septic systems. No water waste. The toilets are part of a sustainable loop. Plus, they’re quieter. No flushing at 3am. No pipes rattling. Just you and the forest.

I’ve since stayed in domes in Arizona, treehouses in North Carolina, and safari tents in California—all with composting toilets. Each was different. Some had electric fans for ventilation; others were passive. The best had clear instructions and a pre-dosed bucket of cover material. The worst? A poorly labeled system where I accidentally dropped TP in the urine tank. Don’t do that. It clogs.

But Is It for Everyone?

No. If you’re squeamish about touching anything waste-related, a composting toilet might not be your jam. You’ll occasionally need to empty the urine tank if you’re staying longer than a weekend. Some sites have staff do it—but not all. And if the toilet isn’t emptied regularly, the liquid can smell.

Also, be prepared for the “deposit” to look different. No water means the solids are more compact and mixed with coir. It’s not gross, but it’s a visual reminder that waste exists. For me, that was grounding. It connected me to the reality of living off the land.

The Verdict

I went from “no way” to “why don’t we have these at home?” Composting toilets aren’t for everyone. But for glamping? Perfect fit. They allow remote locations without plumbing. They’re eco-friendly. And when maintained, they beat chemical toilets or pit latrines.

If you’re curious, start with a short stay at a site that uses them. Bring a spray bottle. Read the instructions. Keep an open mind. You might find yourself converted—like I was, in a rainy yurt in Oregon.

A Final Word

Composting toilets are a small part of the larger glamping experience. They signal that the site is committed to sustainability and low-impact living. So next time you’re browsing glamping.directory and see “composting toilet” in the amenities, don’t scroll past. Give it a chance. Your comfort zone will expand—and the planet will thank you.