The purpose of this blog is to document my quest for 1000 Places throughout Europe. Traveling all over this continent is romantic and wonderful and all, but unfortunately we are not at that stage yet. We are at the how to read road signs in German so we can pass the test stage, the how to close down the city street to get our household goods into our apartment stage, and the what category of the multi-faceted German trash system does dog poop fit into stage. To be perfectly honest, we are also in the how to adjust to German toilets stage. The romantic travels will come….in due time. Toilets must be de-mystified…now.

When Joe and I came to Germany in May to find a place to live we stayed with the current Olmsted scholars in what would eventually be the “flat” we would occupy ourselves. I noticed that both of the bathrooms had toilet-bowl cleaners in plain sight. Personally, I think toilet-bowl cleaners are gross, and I always hide mine away, but whatever. I didn’t pass another thought about these things until we arrived in Germany eleven days ago.

German engineering of toilets is clearly not as good as cars. Anything you put in the toilet leaves evidence, even after a flush. The Walls have always been a seat-AND-lid-down-when-finished family. This habit did pay off at our first domicile – the Stuttgart Army Post hotel- where we stayed for about a week to in-process. Most of the time the evidence went undocumented because everything was covered; however, when it was time to “go”, there was a guaranteed surprise!

Married couples share a lot of things, but I didn’t really feel like sharing everything. Several days into our stay, I had to initiate a conversation with Joe, because there was no hiding what was occurring in the toilet (this is by no means placing blame on any one person. Everyone falls victim to the unfortunate design of European toilets eventually!). It came to a point where I was trying to figure out how I could go to the bathroom without ever opening my eyes. First, there was the squinting experiment. Then, I tried to prep outside and hurry-up inside, which is only practical for private settings. I also tried the completely-dark-visit, which is just plain dangerous. No solution found.

After leaving Stuttgart we moved on to Kaiserslautern. Our friends here also had toilet bowl cleaners right beside the toilet. Ok, my apologies for ever passing judgment about where a family chooses to house their toilet cleaning utensils. I get it now. In a restroom later that day I found a sign posted that read, “Scrub when Done”. Oh, the weight that was lifted off my shoulders, realizing I was not the only person struggling with the Porcelain Gods. Knowing that it is best to do unto others as I would have done unto myself, I did my civic duty and scrubbed. The sign finally made “potty talk” public knowledge and an open topic for conversation!

From Kaiserslautern we reached our final destination of Freiburg. The first day was jam-packed with logistics and a stop to the WC (water closet) was in order. You must know that my conversations regarding lavatories led to some important information and invaluable opportunities to learn from others’ mistakes. My friend accidentally sent her daughter into the wrong bathroom because she confused the words Damen (ladies) and Herren (gentlemen). The poor girl saw a urinal inside and made a 180 for the door.

So, Joe and I came across some public restrooms with Damen and Herran signs and choose correctly, newly armed with basic vocabulary. How surprised we were to find each other again on the other side of the doors! Inside the stall there was no hook to hang your purse, and there was no way I was going to put my bag down on the bathroom floor. Now I had an entirely new challenge to work through: how to hold onto everything in my hands whilst taking care of business in the public bathroom. At the resolution of this personal debacle, I looked around to complete my “scrub when done” duties. There was no scrubber! Oh my….would my newly-found ritual go uncompleted?! Walking away I found myself overly concerned with the inability to remove all evidence that I had ever stepped into the bathroom. Was I really passing judgment now at the lack of toilet bowl cleaner in plain sight? I think I was!

Moral of the story. When you come to my flat inGermany: don’t judge, just scrub.