Kalimera, My Friend!
Or, “Good Morning.” I still have a little Greek clinging to me that I can’t quite shake off. In fact, I wanted to tell you a little about our trip there, if I may. No, I have no suggestions on where to go or what to see. You’ll have to check with Rick Steves or another seasoned traveler for that information. I’m going to talk to you about what’s important to me and, hopefully, you as well.
I’m talking about toilets, people.
Ah, yes, the public restroom. They say to “write what you know,” and believe me, I know restrooms.
First of all, let me premise my report by saying that I’ve come away from this trip with the realization that we Americans have it pretty darn good. (“It” being life in general.) It felt to me that doing everyday things in Greece was just . . . harder. Wait! Before you roll your eyes and say, “Oh, please, was it so hard to be in Greece for all that time?” Let me explain. And toilets will help me to do so.
OK, first of all, there are stairs everywhere in Greece. I’m not sure I saw a single escalator. And nine times out of 10, the restroom of any hotel or restaurant was in was either down a flight of stairs or up. And I’m not talking your garden variety flight of stairs. I’m talking a very tight spiral staircase, maybe with a handrail, maybe not. So many times, I thought, How could a person who uses a wheelchair or walker manage this?
When Kevin and I arrived at our hotel in Heraklion, Crete, where we’d be staying for the first part of our trip, a bellman insisted on helping us with our bags. He ushered us over to the elevator. Between the two of us, we had three suitcases, one quite large. As the elevator doors opened, I looked into the smallest space I’d ever seen. There was no way three humans and three big suitcases would fit, or so I thought. The bellman indicated we should get on, and so we did. It was the most awkward two minutes of my life. Being nose to nose with a stranger on a tiny, slow elevator was excruciating. Where was I supposed to look? I could count his nose hairs, for heaven’s sake! I didn’t want to, but I could have! Alas, we arrived at our floor and could disembark and breathe again. From then on, I chose to use the stairs as I don’t like small enclosed spaces, even on my own, let alone with people I don’t know. All that stair-climbing led to sore knees, but I was grateful I could do so.
Side note: I ate more Greek salads than I can count. I LOVE Greek salads – – and the funny thing is Greek salads in Greece have no lettuce! Anyway, those salads had plenty of olives, but they always had their pits intact. Huh, I thought, another way we Americans live the cushy life . . . I rarely have to be bothered with eating around an olive pit back home!
Let’s get back to those toilets, shall we? I visited many a restroom and I have to say, if I transported some of them back to the good old US of A and put them in a gas station or another restaurant, people would be appalled. They would declare them “disgusting” and refuse to use them.
I had a few opportunities to accompany my three-year-old grandson to the bathroom. After navigating a staircase that I thought would likely maim either him or me, we’d arrive at the restrooms. I always found a little stick figure in pants and another in a dress, so I knew where to go. Usually, there was one tiny room for men and another tiny room for women, and then you’d step out into a shared area to wash your hands. Oh, and did I mention it was about 100 degrees with no air conditioning? Those tiny rooms barely had room for my grandson, let alone him and his grandma together. And then imagine that little room with the air sucked out of it. But wait, there’s more!
In Greece, at least in most places we were, there was a little sign indicating that you were not supposed to throw your toilet paper into the toilet. There was a small garbage can sitting there, just waiting to accept your used paper. Sometimes, people managed to get their paper into the can, but sometimes, they missed. Also, many times, the toilets did not have seats. Not like a guy used the facilities before you and didn’t put the seat down—there was no seat!
Had enough? OK, I’ll stop. I don’t tell you all this to gross you out. This is just how it was there. And no apologies were made, like, “Oh, sorry, our bathroom is in need of repair. It’s a really old building.” A really old building in America is a toddler compared to a really old building in Europe!
All of this extra “work”: climbing stairs everywhere, patronizing less than perfect restrooms, hanging my clothes out to dry because there were no dryers, being hot because A/C isn’t as freezing cold as we like it, if it exists at all, removing the pits from my olives (!!) – – All of this made me realize how much I take for granted here in America. I loved our trip to Greece and the time I spent with my family there, but what a thrill it was to arrive at JFK airport and use an American bathroom. No signs saying I can’t flush the paper. Roomy stalls. A toilet seat!
We have it pretty darn good, y’all. Or, at the very least, I will say that I have it pretty darn good. I missed celebrating our country’s independence on July 4th, as we were gone then. But I am celebrating where I live right now and appreciating the little things I have overlooked so easily for 60-some-odd years. Yeah, we’ve got some problems, for sure, but we sure have a lot to be grateful for.
I hope you can look around and find something ordinary to appreciate this week, too.
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
“Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”
John Howard Payne