CHAPTER 125

Original (published in Evergreen News): 2007-12-12

Rewritten: 2026-01-29

Writing an essay about toilets—just to relax the mood a little.

European restrooms are very different from those in the U.S. and Canada. Whether those in the U.S. and Canada are completely the same, I won’t claim, but I can’t recall any notable differences.

First, in many places across Europe, public toilets charge a fee. In the UK, they take pounds sterling; in most EU countries, euros. At a major London tourist coach terminal, the restroom entrance is fitted with a low turnstile like those in the Hong Kong MTR. You insert coins into the machine, and only then does the gate open to let you in.

The machine is actually designed to give change, but in my urgency I didn’t read the instructions carefully. I turned around to look for change elsewhere and ended up running back and forth twice. In Vancouver, anywhere you eat always has a restroom available; that mindset doesn’t work in London.

Once, to use a restroom, we went into a self-service restaurant. After the meal, we couldn’t find a restroom—turns out restaurants aren’t required to provide one. In the end, a passerby pointed us to the nearest museum. London’s publicly funded museums are all free, showcasing national prestige and cultural depth. The three of us went in and out of them often.

European highways, like those in the U.S. and Canada, have many stops catering specifically to tourists—combined restaurant-and-supermarket setups, plus the inevitable add-on: a public toilet. There are no turnstiles, but an attendant stands guard at the entrance. One person controls access, while men and women line up to pay.

The farther south you go, the higher the fees. In Venice, the charge was €1.50 per person. For a family of three, converted to Canadian dollars, that came to $7.50. At that price, spending money like you rinse quickly without even drying your hands, splashing water furiously—hardly worth it. When nature calls, you still have to go. With tourists packed like sardines, a quick calculation shows that restroom attendants make a very tidy income.

At an upscale watch shop in Lausanne, Switzerland, a prominent sign in Chinese announced service available in Cantonese, Taiwanese, and Mandarin. The shop’s luxurious restroom was free to use. Five to ten percent of users ended up browsing and making purchases afterward—small cost, big return. Shrewd rather than foolish, the restroom became an important tool for attracting business.

Some city restrooms in Italy are very advanced. There’s no separation by gender; instead, individual cubicles ensure privacy. In the shared area, a long row of sinks is provided for everyone, with staff on duty. I couldn’t figure out whether a tip was expected, and I wasn’t used to being “observed” by attendants. I hurried through, turned around, and left.

European toilets are well designed, with options for full or half flush—your choice. You can flush by pressing a button or using a foot pedal. Still, when it comes to sheer comfort and ease, Vancouver has them beat.

If we’re ranking restrooms: India wins for sheer openness, Japan for absolute excellence—with close-contact, flowing-water service and full sound systems. Even today, it leaves me in awe. (The End)

(Years later, while traveling in Hungary, I encountered for the first time the fiercest male hotel waiter and an iron-faced female restroom attendant. At breakfast, the surly waiter—like a prison guard—used both hands and voice to drive our tour group into a corner to eat. The restroom attendant accepted only Hungarian forints, not euros, no bargaining, no mercy. Her attitude seemed inherited from her ancestors—utterly at odds with civilized society.)