At the end of October, after a month on the road and living in a closet above the roaming SWAT team in anarchist-ville Athens, I was ready to pack up and get back to real plumbing. Call me an American snob, but I do appreciate being able to flush toilet paper.
In a vibrant city like Athens, why have they not figured out pipes? Do they even have plumbers? So many questions in life haunt me. Would I have sex with Keanu Reeves or George Clooney? Do I buy a flat in Hampstead or Highgate? Would I rather use an outhouse and drop the used toilet paper into the abyss, or be in a four-foot square bathroom and put the used toilet paper into a bin to be emptied later? Maybe George in Hampstead and the bin? Or Keanu in Highgate and the outhouse? I just don’t know.
The mini toilet room also served as the shower room and above the non-flushable-toilet-paper-toilet was a hose; the obvious missing components were the shower stall, the hot/cold shower fixtures, and pretty much anything associated with a shower.
The actual act of taking a shower was risky business and required mental and physical preparation. I was still hobbled and not so steady on my feet from my Achilles catastrophe, slippery surfaces were danger zones. I feared becoming a sad-shower-accident-statistic so I choreographed my movements and proceeded with caution. The water tank needed 30 minutes to heat up, no big deal, that was flipping a switch – and products were strategically placed on the toilet seat for easy access. The key was positioning. Once in the mini cube, a loose plastic sheet on a wire was pulled across the door to prevent the apartment from getting flooded. When sealed in, I planted my feet against opposite walls and steadied myself with my left arm against the wall while being ever so careful not to touch the exposed piping hot pipe – a lesson quickly learned - then it was game on with the one-armed shower. My right hand juggled the hose, soap, shampoo, conditioner and on enthusiastic days, a razor. Water splayed everywhere and at times it was hard to control the hose and my products were sent flying, but I did get the job done.
I still haven’t figured out the proper name for a room with a toilet, bin and hose…a mini bath? The hose room? Yet another question on the list to ponder.
In a vibrant city like Athens, why have they not figured out pipes? Do they even have plumbers? So many questions in life haunt me. Would I have sex with Keanu Reeves or George Clooney? Do I buy a flat in Hampstead or Highgate? Would I rather use an outhouse and drop the used toilet paper into the abyss, or be in a four-foot square bathroom and put the used toilet paper into a bin to be emptied later? Maybe George in Hampstead and the bin? Or Keanu in Highgate and the outhouse? I just don’t know.
The mini toilet room also served as the shower room and above the non-flushable-toilet-paper-toilet was a hose; the obvious missing components were the shower stall, the hot/cold shower fixtures, and pretty much anything associated with a shower.
The actual act of taking a shower was risky business and required mental and physical preparation. I was still hobbled and not so steady on my feet from my Achilles catastrophe, slippery surfaces were danger zones. I feared becoming a sad-shower-accident-statistic so I choreographed my movements and proceeded with caution. The water tank needed 30 minutes to heat up, no big deal, that was flipping a switch – and products were strategically placed on the toilet seat for easy access. The key was positioning. Once in the mini cube, a loose plastic sheet on a wire was pulled across the door to prevent the apartment from getting flooded. When sealed in, I planted my feet against opposite walls and steadied myself with my left arm against the wall while being ever so careful not to touch the exposed piping hot pipe – a lesson quickly learned - then it was game on with the one-armed shower. My right hand juggled the hose, soap, shampoo, conditioner and on enthusiastic days, a razor. Water splayed everywhere and at times it was hard to control the hose and my products were sent flying, but I did get the job done.
I still haven’t figured out the proper name for a room with a toilet, bin and hose…a mini bath? The hose room? Yet another question on the list to ponder.
