One of the great levellers in travel is laundry. Unless you have a lot of money and can pay for someone else to do it for you, at some point you will come down to the last verifiably clean pair of socks and the pants you flew over in. Fortunately, like salted snacks and chocolates, laundromats are universal. It is almost guaranteed, no matter where you stay, you are within 2 blocks of coin operated washing machines and dryers.
The good part of this is it is a chance to actually see the people underneath the stereotypes we carry around along with the luggage. These models of the ‘typical’ get in the way of seeing the actual people as they brush past you on their way to work. Stand at the entrance to a subway anywhere in the world and you will see the same business men in suits, young women in tight skirts, adolescents in tattoos and body armour. All intent on getting to or home from the business of the day. They are universal and live next door.
Be prepared for some pretty amazing differences in how washers and dryers can be arranged in Europe. One popular configuration is to have one central panel where the money goes and a series of buttons that control the banks of washing machines and dryers. Some take tokens, some take real money. As you stand there dazed by the humidity, the noise and the rows of machines rattling, rocking, mesmerized by the clothes tumbling on dryer tv, start looking for the sorting table.
There is almost always an attendant at these places and he/she recognizes that dazed look. It doesn’t matter how much of their language you understand, they understand laundry. Pull out a few bills and change. Like an 8 year old using her own money to buy a chocolate bar for the first time, hold the money out and they’ll either indicate what coins you need or trade them for tokens. Then, by means of patience and pointing (and in much better English than you know in their language) all the mysteries of the washer-control panel universe will be revealed.
Once you’ve mastered the system and your clothes are happily swimming in the local detergents, sit down and look around. You don’t need a book, you’ve got a hundred different stories in here and out on the street.
In Munich as we sat waiting for the dryers, we heard a commotion outside. We had assumed Germans were not the rowdy type, outside of the beer gardens
that is. During the week spent romping through Germany we’d not encountered any disorderly behaviour or so much as voices raised above conversational levels even on the street. But we hadn’t been anywhere that the home team was playing an arch rival in the Premier Football league.
Out on the street a large crowd of slogan chanting, scarf and jersey wearing Munich football hooligans were swarming up the street, fuelled on beer and victory. They were across the street from us and strung out along the sidewalk. Until they reached the corner and the light changed. The string of fans bunched up and all stood quietly, looking about, chatting and waving to the other part of the group waiting quietly on the far corner. The light changed and the horns, songs, leaping and fist pumping recommenced as they poured out across the street.
At the heart of every stereotype there is a nugget of truth that will occasionally shine through.
