Soap, Washers, and Other Mysteries of Life Abroad

When moving overseas, there are bound to be nuances and inconveniences. I was once told that having a sense of humor is one of the most necessary qualities to possess if one is going to become an expat. Admittedly, a map and a visa are also helpful to possess, but I’m beginning to think that a sense of humor ranks supreme, even over these other necessities.

When I moved into my apartment, Ira (the landlady) was very gracious in pointing out the features of the apartment that worked and some of the areas that she was still in the process of improving. Incidentally, one of the areas she was working on was the washer (dryers are not considered a necessity here—probably because the climate is warm and dry enough already to fit that bill). Actually, there isn't a washer at all. She had arranged for it to be delivered the day before I came, but the man rudely told her at the last minute that he couldn't come. Hence, I haven’t been able to do laundry since I arrived.

This wasn't much of an issue until today, when I realized that either some things were going to have to be washed today, or I was going to be…um…indecent tomorrow. So in my trip to a local supermarket this evening, I visited the soap section to prepare for a hand-washing laundry escapade tonight.

One of the realities that becomes patently clear when one is in a foreign country is how language-dependent one truly is. I stood in the aisle and stared for several minutes at all the bottles in front of me. They were all labeled in Greek, which didn't help me very much, so I decided to look at the pictures. That was not particularly helpful either since bottles of cleaning fluid are typically labeled with teddy bears, flowers, and euphoric-looking children rubbing blankets against their faces. Since neither the language nor the pictures were of much assistance, I went to plan C, which was to look at the prices and buy the cheapest soap and pray really hard that it was actually laundry detergent and not fabric softener. I picked out one bottle of minty-colored liquid that had some green hills on the label and was priced at about a euro and a half. The green hills motif looked promising and the price was good, so I bought the bottle.

After dinner, it was time to begin my ritual cleansing of the undergarments (okay, sorry for being explicit, but if you didn't figure that out earlier, you’re dense and that’s not my fault). The process began with turning on the house switch for the hot water and waiting ten minutes for it to heat up (yes, one has to do that in Greece). Then I grabbed a large bucket and my previously purchased mystery bottle of the verdant mountains.

In the process of preparing to wash, I flipped over the bottle and glanced at the back. If I had possessed the good sense to do this in the store, I would have noticed that despite all the Greek, the words “Fabric Softener” were clearly written in English on the back label. My lack of common sense posed a problem, but I was rather undaunted still. Instead of washing my clothes in just fabric softener, I created a witch's brew of body soap, dish soap, and the aforementioned fabric softener. Before you judge me, please note that I held back on throwing in shaving cream and conditioner.

In the end, the washing worked out just fine, and unless it gets unseasonably humid tonight, I should have some dry clothes in the morning. Incidentally, about forty-five minutes after my laundry was hung, Ira came down and told me that she was still working to get a washer installed and I could use hers for now if I wanted to do so.

Ah, well. I suppose that would have saved me some trouble. On the other hand, my hands wouldn't smell quite so intently of fabric softener right now, and every time I brought them near my face, I wouldn't get to chuckle about my first attempt at doing laundry in Greece.