Bathrooms (construction)

Ahh, bathrooms. Sanctuary, haven, and totally nonstandardized amenity.

I remember staying in a European-style hotel in Colorado years ago, and being struck by the character of their public bathrooms: each stall was in fact a separate room, with finished drywall, a closing door, and a singular sense of isolation. I'm sure those stalls were larger than some Tokyo apartments. At the time I assumed it was an extravagance born of the grande luxe nature of that particular hotel.

For those of you who don't know, the American variety of standard public bathroom usually involves a series of metal interlocking modular stall walls, just tall enough and low enough to obstruct the view of others in the johns (but not so low that you can't check out your neighbors' shoes, a common female preoccupation). You would most commonly encounter these in airports. They certainly aren't very private, and in fact an occasional conversation can be overheard at work as two colleagues carry on a discussion they might've been having when they came in, or perhaps started up as they saw each other entering.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm working in Europe. Our office bathroom consists of two "rooms" in the style of the hotel I mentioned above. They are uniform in size, and finished to standard building specifications. There's even a light above each stall -- when you close and lock the door (using a full-on door & lock assembly, not just a sliding latch), it's pitch black unless that light is working.

To me this style of bathroom takes up a lot of space and feels very isolated. Then again, when I was back in the US I realized that our style of bathroom stalls are very exposed, and you can quite clearly hear what someone else is "up to" in the next stall. I haven't seen any handicapped-accessible stalls here in Europe, so that appears to be another major difference in standard construction. (I'm used to seeing the oversized, blue-labeled stall at the end of a line in the US.)

Next time: toilet technology, paper products

Globalism, Shoes, and Cultural Identifiers

Whatever happened to the near-foolproof Euro Shoe Indicator? In the 80s and 90s, it was almost always possible to identify a non-American by the cut of their shoe, invariably some hand-tooled, suede, off-color, artisanal work of art vs. our homogenous Nikes and Hush Puppies. But nowadays with global trade, global travel, and global style trends, it's impossible to tell the Americans from the Europeans. Even Asians are in on the game, though stature and accessories tend to give them away more easily. (Insert memory of Missoni-bedecked, ridiculously incorrectly-sized Asians in Sydney here. Yuck.)

I enjoy hearing conversations in foreign languages and guessing the content. (family feud? business debate? sweet nothings?) And let's face it, whenever possible I enjoy eavesdropping. When I travel, my outer appearance (Asian) often leads others to assume I am actually Asian. (For those of you who don't know, I am a classic "banana" or as my bro and I like to say, "functionally white".) In Italy this results in terror -- "Does she speak English? Mine isn't very good..." ...until I open my mouth and out comes conversational Italian. Relief.

In European capitols there's usually a pause as various service providers wait to gauge what language comes out - French? English? Chinese? So far the only person I've caught red-handed was a perfectly turned-out, tourist Italian passing through my Mom's former Tuscan village-of-residence. This bella donna make a remark that included a reference to "Giapponesi", clearly meaning my mother and I who were seated on a bench in piazza at the time. I responded in Italian that we were actually Chinese-American, not Japanese...and a fellow traveler in her group, amused by her exposure, pointed out that we were Chinese-Americans who spoke Italian. Even as I enjoy exposing others' prejudices, I realize I have many of my own.

My adventure today included a delay at LHR due to equipment issues (this does not generally bother me; I would rather fly in a healthy plane than never make it to my destination, thank you). Over the course of de-planing, re-planing, and eventually making my way to Brussels, I began to be in various buses, passport lines, and trains with the same folks. I was very pleased to find that the slightly doughy, casually-dressed man with a British Isles accent (sorry friends - Scottish?) has started his day in Singapore and was headed to the south of France, while the gray-haired gentleman with (to me) accentless English had started his day in Toronto and was headed for Ghent. Them, plus the young hip couple who hailed from the Netherlands (I think; their speech was Germanic but definitely not German, and not verbally squishy enough to be Flemish). These days I find my visual cues sadly lacking in accuracy, but open your mouth and I'll be much closer to identifying your origins. Pleased to meet you!