Meet my washing machine. Those of you in America with your big washing machines, the huge lid you raise up, a spinning column in the middle, take note: it's a whole other world over here.
For almost 3 months, this washing machine sat in my kitchen, unusable. It is brand new. We paid 800 euros for it. Things are not cheap here in France, unless you are talking about wine, cheese, or health insurance. We used it for a month, and then, massive work began on the interior courtyard of our building, built in 1860. All the balconies were to be replaced, and the facade cleaned, painted, etc. Our "utility room", as I refer to it, in my mind, as a joke (with myself), is none other than a closet, outside, off our interior courtyard balcony. It was the former outhouse, or, as the owner says "the shitter". (more on that later - on second thought, perhaps not).
"What?" I can hear readers asking themselves. I remind you, this is Europe. You're not in Kansas anymore. When the work began (unannounced), scaffolding slowly materialized over a few days, and then suddenly there were two Algerian men tapping on my kitchen balcony. "Whatever's in your shitter must be removed. Now." They looked at my stomach (this was April 6th), and after a series of negotiations in broken English, unrecognizable French, and Arabic, the two men sweated and grunted their way through unhooking my 800 Euro machine, lowering it off it's pedestal, and hauling it over the balcony into my kitchen.
What I haven't told you is that the utility room has a little window, from its days when it starred as a latrine, and this window my landlord told me to always leave open to air out the washing machine. Please note, like a good daughter, I leave my washing machine open too, like I've seen my mother do, to prevent mildew or whatever. However, it doesn't always pay to do as you are told. To my shock, the washing machine was full of pebbles and dirt, little bits of concrete and sand that had fallen through the open window off the balcony above when they put up the scaffolding, and into my brand new machine.
Enter the union, the bldg rep, the owner, blah blah blah, who will pay to clean the machine, who will pay for the machine if it is damaged..... In the end, we vacuumed it and it is fine.
Today is July 3rd, and my machine was reinstalled last week, when the balcony and "utility room" became accessible again. What joy to not have to go to the laundromat in 100 degree heat. If only the cycles weren't so long. You can see on the photo the LCD display of "1:40". That means MINUTES, readers. Imagine if your washer at home took one hour and 40 minutes. And then, you had to hang everything off a little rack on your other balcony, since the balcony with your clothesline is surrounded by scaffolding still, after 3 months. Remember, no one has clothes dryers over here.
Today, of course, the water is cut, all day, due to more work going on. Thus I cannot use the machine, but the comfort of knowing that it is out in the shitter is pleasant.
The cheese might be good, and so is the wine (when you're not pregnant), but wash day brings the Old World out of quaintness to an alarming, often frustrating, reality.
