In Italy, an unsettling question of toilet seats

With as many approaches to life as humans living it, experiencing those differences is the best thing about travel. And probably what they mean when they say international experiences “broaden the mind.”

I’ve been both lucky and unlucky to have loved ones spread across the planet. Unlucky because visits are fewer and much farther between. Lucky because it’s been an excuse to broaden perspective, to see what life is like elsewhere, and become more observant about life here by comparison.

I didn’t intend to bore you with the latest, but couldn’t ignore a request from longtime Press subscriber (and community supporter extraordinaire) Judy M. So these few takeaways from Italy begin with one less palatable, but quite important:

What do Florentines have against toilet seats? (I know; ick. But bear with me.)

Our daughter is studying art conservation in historic Florence — which is different from the modern part of the city near the airport. Historic Florence is just like it sounds: Medieval, architecturally stunning, almost exclusively cobblestone streets. You can still feel the presence of horse-drawn wagons doing active trade, the powerful Medicis, and leather tanneries as you walk (and walk, and walk — it’s the only way to get around, so we averaged 5 to 9 miles daily).

If you get lost in historic Florence, just keep walking until you see the awe-inspiring Duomo cathedral (circa 1296) in the center. You can’t miss its height (426 steps, no elevator), colored marble and length — longer than some city blocks. Which is how long the line is to get inside.

Florence is the capital of Tuscany, near the middle of the “boot.” For the first three days, turning every corner I ooh-ed and aah-ed. By the fourth I was so accustomed to 13th century churches, DaVinci and Michelangelo (seriously, every five minutes another museum), and Mona Lisa’s house (now the American art school), it was like, “oh yeah. Another one.”

Here a home circa 1915 is exciting. In Florence 1800 is hum-drum modern. My apartment (fifth floor, no elevator) was built in the late 1700s, common. You feel like you’re living in another century. Albeit, with espresso machines (forget about mochas and all that fancy junk — Italians do drip, cappuccino or americano — one size only). And without trees. As in none — no green at all in the historic city.

So much for the physical. Perhaps you caught my column about the English and their obsession with queues (lines). If I have to pick one thing that stood out about Florentines, it’s this:

They’re decisive, and quick about it.

Historic Florence is — and I do not exaggerate here, having experienced them all — even more crowded with residents and tourists than Seattle, Paris, or London. The thing about Florence is they’re packed into a much smaller space.

So very crowded. So very loud, all the time. As in 8 a.m. to 3 a.m. weeknights even our little side street (few cars in this city; nowhere to move). Did I mention the smoke? In restaurants, too.

So many Americans (and French, Brits, and Asians). Americans stood out because, well, we don’t often know what we want.

“Buona sera, senora. Would you like to sit outside or inside?” Hmm. Well, I don’t know. Let’s discuss it. I mean it was usually drizzling, but there is a canopy and a portable fire, and it’s pretty out here, but we might get cold. Is it cute inside?

Uh, no. That doesn’t fly in Florence. Italians (and I daresay, other Europeans) have a ready answer. No dilly-dallying. No delaying the café worker or other waiting diners. That’s considered impolite. Can’t decide fast enough? They may just shake their heads and walk away to serve someone else. I found their confidence by comparison, and the consideration of having a ready answer, rather humbling.

I’m resolved to be more decisive, even here.

It was the same in most stores (unless they were run by non-Italians, who were often more patient with indecisiveness). It reminded me how customer-centric we are here by comparison, whereas in Europe, the thinking is more egalitarian.

Speaking of stores, there’s another big difference: Clothing racks are organized by outfit, which on reflection made a lot of sense, unless what you really want is one red shirt. Here, you see racks of skirts, shirts, and pants in tons of sizes and grouped by color or type. In Italy, they put entire outfits together on a rack. Which is next to a different outfit, which is next to another. Style and outfits are coordinated for you. Yes, you can buy things separately, but for style-stupid people like me, this is rather handy.

Maybe I wouldn’t look like such a dork if I shopped in Italy. Oh, and boy, did I stand out wearing patterned shirts. Italians wear solid colors. I can’t remember noticing a single exception.

One other tidbit. I was there for Halloween, and we were excited to see spiders and witches in shop windows. But on Oct. 31, only a few little tykes in costume who, I was told, got free candy not from houses but from participating local stores.

Instead, a Florentine Halloween seems to consist of late-night partying. Lots of young adults with web-face paint or goth eyes, a few full costumes, and more than a few sexy-vampiress looks scurrying to and from pubs. A mostly adult thing — streets packed with loud pedestrians literally all night, as All Saints Day Nov. 1 was a public holiday. Did I say it was loud?

Now, back to the ick.

I kid you not: Other than my apartment and one Persian restaurant, every coffee shop, museum, dining establishment (very little choice in Florence other than pasta, pizza and all forms of pork sandwiches) and airport bathroom had no seat. Just the rim. Didn’t matter if it was a ladies’ room or unisex.

So I ask again, what do Italians have against seats?

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Sholeh Patrick is a columnist for the Hagadone News Network who valued the experience but was so happy to come back to trees, Mexican food, and yes — that too. Contact her at [email protected].