Ode to Washcloths

During the summer of 2001, thanks to a fiction grant I won from the state of Virginia—bless you taxpayers—I crossed the pond to Europe for the first time. That first summer I went alone to London, where I contracted a disease for which there is no cure: wanderlust. Next, I went to Paris with my husband John, then we journeyed to Krakow. Year after year, John and I combined traveling to somewhere new, like Vienna, with somewhere beloved like Krakow. Over twenty years of European adventures, I have been as far East as Lviv, Ukraine, as far North as Gdansk, Poland on the Baltic, and as far South as Seville, Spain, the warmest city in Europe. When John was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer in 2010, we told each other he would beat this. To prove it, we took a trip to Florence, Italy in 2011. That was our last trip across the Atlantic together. The next four years were taken up with doctors, more medications, more tests, chemo, and the drip, drip, drip of heartbreak that ended with John’s death in 2015.

Even as the fog of grief surrounded me, I wondered: did I still have that wanderlust I caught during my first trip abroad? Were there more places on this planet I wanted to see? The answer was yes! Alone I went to Paris and Krakow the summer of 2016. At the beginning of 2018, my life changed again when I met my darling Dan, whose wanderlust exceeds mine. Since then, we have taken many trips abroad together. We are now in Seville, our days here dwindling, which means Dan is already planning our next European adventure.

 I must admit that on our journeys, I experience the opposite of wanderlust, which is: homesickness. I love my home, my family, my neighborhood, my friends, my animals, my daily and weekly get-togethers. I miss my Scrabble buddies, Olive, Cathy, and Linda. I miss daily phone chats with my sister in Florida. I miss the small things like my Victoria Secret bathrobe. Don’t think that because it is from Victoria Secret this bathrobe is sexy! Far from it. It is pink-striped terrycloth, old and soft. In winter I often sleep in it. My cat, Zelda, likes to cuddle in my lap when I wear it and “make biscuits” with the terrycloth. (If you are a crazy cat person, you will know what I mean by this.)

One of the joys of travel is learning about other cultures and being respectful of differences. But European bathrooms drive me crazy. In every bathroom shower, there is a water wand. If you’re lucky there is a regular showerhead as well. Europeans strive to save natural resources more than we Americans. One way to do this is by using this water wand. This is the way I imagine Europeans shower: they wet themselves with the wand, lather up with shower gel, then rinse off again with their pal, the water wand. Notice the essential item missing from their bathing routine: a washcloth.

In the U.S. when you want a towel set, you buy a bath towel, a hand towel, and a washcloth! Like my beloved bathrobe, the humble washcloth is made of soft terrycloth. During a shower, I wet my washcloth and soap it up with a bar of Dial, then scrub the washcloth all over my body, not forgetting the cracks and crevices. Because washcloths are so easily forgotten in my packing, I miss it as soon as I arrive and are ready to shower.

Dan and I searched Madrid stores for washcloths. We found none! Sales clerks acted as if they had never heard of such a thing. On past trips, we have looked for washcloths in other cities as well. I can understand why Europeans don’t use them because they must juggle their water wand spurting warm water, shower gel, maybe even a bottle of shampoo. They would need an extra hand to also use a washcloth.

On a recent trip to France, Dan and I discovered a place in Paris that sold little terrycloth mitts. Viva la France! These mitts were the answer to our problems. Unfortunately, I lost mine somewhere in southern France when we were touring and Dan, who held onto his, forgot to pack it for this trip to Spain. The first thing I am going to do when I get home: run a bath, go to the shelf where I keep bath towels, and choose from a stack of washcloths. Before I use the washcloth, I intend on promising it I will never leave home again without it.