I Never Feel More American…

I never feel more American than when I have to use the loo abroad.  There never seems to be more of a personal cultural clash than when you have to go.

I’ve stayed in many hotels equipped with bidets.  I confess; I have never used one.  This fact also makes me feel like I’m not as clean as I ought to be.  But seriously, have you ever turned one on?  It’s scary! The water comes out really fast!  Are you meant to spray it towards your bum? What’s the proper procedure?  Do you wipe on the toilet then hop over to the other porcelain throne?  I guess I could YouTube it, but it’s a lot easier to stick with I’ve always done.  Skip it.

Hole in the Floor in Italy

I had read about the “hole in the floor” style toilets long before I ever encountered one.  I don’t know that that is what they are actually called, but that’s what I refer to them as.  These look sort of like a porcelain shower basin with two moon-boot imprints to place your feet on.  Then you squat camping style, and do your business down into a large hole between the footrests.

Whenever I take a trip with inexperienced travelers, I always warn them about this style of toilet.  It’s not that they shouldn’t use it; it’s just that it can be off-putting upon first glance.  There were quite a few this time.  It didn’t surprise me at all, and I just did what I normally do.  As I was working out my leg muscles, hovering and aiming (girl-style), I was wondering how older people handle this.  What if your knees were bad? I’m never sure which way I’m supposed to face—the door or the wall. Because I was traveling with a delegation of 50 people, there were always many people waiting to use the bathroom.  It was funny to listen to the rookie travelers’ reactions while inside the stall.  A few girls were laughing at a boy saying that he should have no problem using the hole-in-the-floor toilet because he just had to aim.  He sounded scared and unsure when he sheepishly said, “What if I have to squat?”  Silence from the girls….

After traveling around Europe for two weeks, I didn’t expect to be surprised by Greece.  As we transferred from the ferry to our first hotel, the delegation leader began educating us about Greek traditions and customs to our group so we would behave appropriately.  We were told about sudden stairwells in the sidewalk and to watch where we were walking.  She said traffic wouldn’t stop for you when you’re crossing the street, even with a signal.  The microphone was handed over to our European delegation manager so he could explain the even finer points of Greek living.  He explained that water was at a premium.  He asked us to limit our showers to three minutes or less. Then he dropped the bomb telling us that the plumbing in the country is old and clogs a lot.  For that reason, the Greeks do not flush anything down the toilet.  “You cannot put any toilet paper into the toilet.  After you wipe, you need to put it in the trash can next to the toilet,” he sternly warned.  More silence…

I imagine for men urinating under this “no paper” regulation; it probably doesn’t feel any different than it would in the US.  Not so for girls– we are taught to wipe from front to back and drop the wad on the way there.  The first time I went to the bathroom in Greece was uncomfortable.  It was a different routine and felt dirty, but I did it.  I wiped and popped open the trashcan with the foot pedal, then immediately washed my hands. Ewww. 

We had had a couple of days of Greek disposal practices when we went to a local school to learn how to do traditional dances.  During a

break in the lesson, I went to the restroom.  I discovered a triple treat!

The room was just like any school, stark and industrial looking with about ten stalls in all.   You needed to know your business before you locked the door because the toilet paper rolls were sitting on top of a radiator near the main door—not in the individual rooms.

TP next to the door

Take what you think you will need; there’s no changing your mind once you’re in there.  This particular bathroom had the hole-in-the-floor style toilet, so I held my expected amount of toilet paper in one hand and tried to keep my pants from getting wet with the other, all while hovering and aiming for the hole.

School stall

A little proud of my improving skills, I wiped.  That’s when it dawned on me. There was no trashcan inside of the stall!  The fingers of my left hand were precisely pinching the dry section of my toilet paper while my right hand did its best to pull up my underwear and shorts.  I did not think it was nice to set the toilet paper down on the floor (gross!), but two hands would have made pulling up my pants much easier.  Instead, I did a sort of hip shake/wiggle to pull my underwear back to their intended spot.  I didn’t even really button the top of my pants before exiting the stall.

The Can

I found the one communal trashcan and dropped my paper waste in.  Then I finished buttoning my pants and thoroughly washed my hands.  Embarrassed, I started snickering as my mind began picturing the possibilities.  Maybe it’s just me, but the paper after peeing doesn’t seem that gross.  However, if you had to poo, that’s a different beast all together.  I started to giggle and ask the other girls in the restroom what they would do. What is the protocol for wiping and not tossing?  Do you put the paper on the floor and then scoop it all up when you’re done?  Do you try to hold it in your hand while pulling up your drawers?  What if you have more than one wad? We all laughed, slightly uncomfortably, as we imagined what it would look like.  To keep the smiles coming, I pantomimed my version by trying to shimmy/jump/wiggle how one would pull up their pants while holding the used toilet paper in the other hand.  My audience was teenage girls, so they laughed while giving me that “you’re, like, so weird” look.

The subtle shift in a cultural practice can make a huge impact.  This one is hard for me to adopt.  I just don’t like this.  It seems unsanitary, and it is smelly.

I’m back home now.  Before I left, our toilet seat broke.  The slight crack pinched my husband’s rear one day.  This is the sort of home repair we would normally let go for months, but the goose was enough to get him to replace it immediately.

Home Sweet Home

Just home and jet-lagged, I walked in to our master bathroom and saw our mid-70s, oblong, harvest gold toilet now has a white not-as-oblong seat crowning it.  This is the sort of thing that normally would drive me insane.  Yet, considering the recent range of toilet choices I had just endured, a white on yellow toilet color combo seemed trivial.  I’m just happy to be able to 1) sit and 2) flush… everything!