Unusual Speciman: McDonalds in Milan, with wall foot-flusher. I don’t mean to offend anyone’s sensibilities, but when one travels in Italy, it’s difficult not to become obsessed with toilets. First of all, while it is a lot better than it used to be, they are still difficult to find, especially clean ones. With seats. I don’t know if they have a theft problem (I didn’t see a single person sneaking around with a toilet seat under their arm) or if they don’t put them on in the first place because they are afraid people will steal them, or if they just break in half and fall off. I suspect the later. In any case, toilets meeting the high standards of most American females are as hard to find as hen’s teeth. (I have seen grown American women, with bladders so full their eyes float, gasp at a typical Italian “rest room,” and elect to hold it.) Second, it is common to have to pay to use a public toilet, even one with no seat and questionable cleanliness. Although I’ve seen restrooms in train stations with turnstiles (and coin changers) most of the time there is some poor unfortunate who spends her days in the lady’s room (and sometimes the men’s) collecting coinage and doling out individual tabs of toilet paper. Sometimes she works just for tips. (Think about THAT next time you don’t want to get up and go to work.) I often wonder who hires these women or if they are self-appointed. In any case, for most North Americans, it’s a memorable experience. Third, there is very little consistency in flushing apparati. (One apparatus; two apparati?) While the thumb-spraining wall button is a favorite, I’ve seen foot pedals in multiple locations, push panels on the wall, and mini-plungers or buttons on top of the tank. Indeed the location of the tank, a big hint for finding the flusher, is sometimes so creatively plumbed that I’ve spent several minutes looking for it ! So amusing. Fourth, Italians add a good amount of style and flair to whatever they do. They are surrounded by great art and Italy is, after all, the fashion capital of the world. The police wear uniforms designed by Armani, for heaven’s sake. This filters down to the toilets as well, especially in fancy modern hotels where one is apt to find the newest and most stylish commodes. One of our hotels sported a rounded seat. (Not much grip, far too little surface area to make contact with, and it set both legs to tingling in under a minute.) And finally, there is the great irony of the bidet. Borrowed from the French apparently, it is a low basin one straddles to bathe one’s private parts. Next to every great toilet sits a matching bidet. No Italian bathroom of any standing would be without one. (In hotels it speeds up the hand laundry process considerably. It’s just like having a second sink.) Humorously, bidets are included in many public rest rooms! I’ve seen bidets in restaurants, train stations, and department stores, why I haven’t the foggiest. I have fairly good aim, carry my own toilet paper, and have absolutely no desire to prolong the experience any more than necessary, especially when there is a long line of women standing with their legs crossed on the other side of the door. Every single public bidet was without towels or soap, making them more practical as porcelain planters with their own water supply. It must be a cultural thing. Behind each bathroom door is an adventure, a photo-opportunity, and a key to the Italian psyche. How could I NOT be obsessed with toilets? And now for the awards! The Best: For design and comfort, cleanliness and practicality: the toilet in our hotel room at the Hotel Brunelleschi.
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