The European Experience

For the past 2 weeks I have traveled across much of Western Europe with 50 other people. In a bus.

It was an amazing time.

We started in London, went through Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland and finally France.

Near the beginning of the tour, our tour manager had mentioned the “European Experience”. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it came across this way to me: Anytime I had that “wow” moment – and for me specifically it was, “wow – this is different from what I’m used to” that was a European experience.

Now, most of what I write here may seem negative – or like I’m bashing the European experience. It’s partly cause I am. I am a snob who grew up in America and like to be as comfortable as possible and get everything the way I want it as soon as I want it. And for free.

But over a sushi dinner tonight (go figure in Charleston – and it was excellent) I was describing a few of the things I found different about places in Europe than we had here in the states.

I think the first thing that really caught me off guard was the rest stops.

In the European Union, commercial drivers cannot drive for longer than close to 4 hours without taking a 45 minutes break. I don’t think this is the case in the US – for us if you can drive safely – you should continue working (but I’m not sure because I’ve never talked to a semi truck driver about his work).

Given this rule, it makes for some pretty amazing rest stops. They are basically what would happen if 7-11 and something like an Arby’s slept together and had a baby. Well not really, because it would be about 6 times their size.

I couldn’t believe their rest stops. I mean Europe really caters to their drivers I guess. Hot food, cold food, all the magazines and books – travel items, candy, chocolate, drinks (even beer and wine!).

After driving across the United States – this was amazing to me. Because I thought a nice rest stop meant it had a nice patch of grass next to a few disgusting toilets. As far as rest stops go, Europe definitely destroys us.

But here’s the kicker: Good luck finding a public rest room that you can use for free.

That was another shocker for me. Every time we would pull over to use the “Wash Closet” and yes – that is what they are called – we’d have to either tip the women who were working in the bathroom (I guess they live there?) or we’d have to pay a fee to an automated machine like when you get on the subway.

It was 50 Euro cent every time! Roughly 81 US cents! And since most everyone reading this right now knows how strong my bladder is – that can really start to add up.

Knowing that I had to pay to use the bathroom now made my bathroom trips much more strategic. I would wait as long as I could at those rest stops – to insure I didn’t have to go twice. And I’d also wait and eat hoping that shoving food down my pie hole would make waste come out the other end. Because paying almost a dollar to use the Wash Closet to go number 2 would definitely be worth it.

And while we’re on the topic of doody I’d like to share a few related European experiences regarding it.

The rest stops in Italy did not have toilet seats. Actually, looking back on it, a lot of the “public” toilets didn’t have toilet seats. Luckily I only had to lay cable twice in the presence of a porcelain king without a crown. Much respect to the other ladies out there that squat. I was in defensive position for about 5 minutes and thought my thighs were going to break. Yes. Break.

After my first experience squatting I came out of the Wash Closet sweating. And thinking aloud to my friends that I would become a wealthy man in Italy by selling them these things called “toilet seats”. They ensure that your everything doesn’t touch what’s in the toilet.

Which brings me to my next European experience. I guess they are fine with falling in every time they go to the bathroom…because…they have the bidets! I was afraid of the first one I saw in London. But as soon as I got to Italy I was ready for it. Or at least I thought I was.

My initial thought on the bidet was that if I was ever that dirty, I would just take a shower. And, unfortunately for the bidet, my initial thought was right. After my first time using one (mainly for fun and just to try) I stood up, soaked from the back to my balls to my inner thighs and dripping on to my boxers thinking, “Great, I just took a shower only in that portion of my body”. And to my horror I still grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped back there…the bidet had done nothing by leave me with wet undies. At first it was pretty cool though. I think the feeling that a bidet gives you alone is worth using it. I was like a little kid who finally learned how to ride his bike without training wheels. Except I was a grown man splashing water on his ass in the bathroom. So I guess they’re not even close.

And that again almost segues perfectly in to my next few European experiences. They don’t fool around with their water temperature there. A few times I had to pull my hand either out of the sink, shower or ass out of the bidet because the water was almost at boiling temperature. Here in the states I believe we have a “max hot” point. At a few of the hotels we stayed at in Europe, I think they just let that fire boil that water. Maybe this stems from the plague? They want to make sure they kill all of your germs while giving you 3^rd degree burns every where else? I don’t know. Anyway, I was shocked at how hot the water got in some parts of Europe. And surprised that more people didn’t burn themselves with the tap.

To go with the hot water, I think out of all the hotels we stayed in, only about 20% of them included shampoo. So I was sitting questioning myself…Alright, how am I supposed to wash my hair? And for about a week I washed my hair with the bar of soap. And after using just that normal soap my hair started to get crunchy. I remember in Germany I reached up to scratch my head and it was more like my hair was scratching my hand instead. It was definitely not the smooth afro I was used to. After that I stole Pol’s pert plus and used it the rest of the trip. I figured he didn’t need it since his head was shaved anyway.

Air conditioning. I believe we had one night of aircon in Europe. And you’ll never believe where it was. It was in the BEST WESTERN in Florence. Yes. I had to stay in an American based hotel in order to get my air conditioning. The rest of the time I was sleeping in my boxers on top of the sheets and hoping for the cool night breeze to come. Which it did a few nights (thankfully). Earlier today I was talking about how I wished we had gone to Europe during the mid to late summer. After writing this I’m actually glad we did not. Maybe it’s some big sort of conspiracy? Maybe the locals have air conditioning but they want the tourists to suffer? That could be a possibility. Before we left for our respective areas of the US – we were sitting the Charles De Gaulle airport sweating our asses off. I don’t think I have sweated more on a “vacation” than I have on this past one.

The autobahn. I watched cars fly by us at at least 100 mph. Mercedes mini vans for Christ sakes. And everyone out there drives either a smart car or what I would consider between a golf and a Volvo station wagon. All very odd people carrying cars. Of course I saw a lot of Ferraris, high end Mercedes and BMWs and heck, even the Fords and Toyotas that they had in Europe looked nice.

Bikes. I have never seen so many freaking people riding their bikes in my life before. I believe the Netherlands holds the record for the largest bike rack on earth. It was at least 4 stories. And amazing. The land is so flat in parts of Europe that people can easily get around just riding their bike. It’s healthy, good for the environment and fun to do. Sounds like a win all around to me. But here’s the thing about those areas: Where the pedestrian gets the right of way in the States, that’s not the same in some parts of Europe. I was nearly run over a few times because I wasn’t watching. Yes! It was my fault for stepping in front of a bicyclist. Wild.

The drinking age. I believe the drinking age in Italy was 16. But they had some crazy rule about how 16 year olds could only drink beer and nothing hard until they were 18. Tell you what – if they had that same sort of law in the states I would’ve looked 18 by the time I was 14. It was pretty amazing to me while I was sitting at a bar in Venice singing the Italian futbol theme song when I turned around to here some kid who was almost half my age correct me on how I was singing it. I have a cousin who is turning 16 this winter. I can’t imagine him sitting next to me at a bar and pounding beers with me in the next few months. These kids – that’s what they were. Just kids. Yet another one of those “Wow” moments.

And that right there is almost three and a half pages of writing about the tiniest differences between the States and parts of Europe. But for me they made all the difference. I’m sure there is a lot more that I thought of and wanted to write, but am forgetting…but this post is long enough already. If I come up with more I’ll make another post because I’ve got 2 more to go in less than a week!

(This post was not proofread out of laziness)