- I noticed that, in general, toilets in the UK are of the low-flow design, and therefore have differently-shaped bowls than those in the US. As such, I also noticed that the rear-most wall of the bowl is nearly vertical, at least in Scotland, where I spent most of my time. By designing their toilets this way, they've ensured that the only possible method of excretion that does not result in a mile long skid-mark along the rear-most wall is to just go ahead and poop in the wastebasket. Their toilets make skidmarks inevitable -- no matter how far forward I scooted, I kept striking porcelain. "Michelle" (my now-wife's not-real-name) scolded me repeatedly about this... that is, until I caught her scrubbing the bowl immediately following a jettison of her own.
- Dave, don't let the guys get you down for having colored TP in your bathroom. When we were over there (we spent three weeks), we couldn't find anything but!
- The most notable difference between the US and the UK is their wording. Here in the States, a handicrapper is known as a "handicapped stall." It honestly (and embarrassingly, but that's a whole OTHER story) didn't occur to me that the sign "disabled" meant the same damn thing. I took those signs to mean "out of order" -- which, in the basest sense, is not too far off. Regardless, I held my turds in way too often... DAMN! If only I'd realized my faux pas sooner!
- Dave pointed out the reversal of flush-leverdom. That was mildly annoying, though not nearly as troublesome as DRIVING on the wrong side...
- I noticed that Ireland was more closely tied to the US in toilet customs. Their WC's weren't quite as foreign-seeming. Writing this now, I can't quite put my finger on the difference (it's been over two months), but I know it was present, yet subtle. The bathrooms somehow felt more "home-y".
- Boats are a whole different scenario. We took the HSS StenaLine Voyager from Scotland to Belfast. In my experience, the bigger the boat, the less it feels like a boat.
And this bastard was huge.
If you don't have any outside frame of reference, it feels like you are in a hotel that gently rocks left to right. No up-and-down motion at all. It felt pretty cool during the day, when you can see stuff to calibrate your inner ears; but at night (and on the toilet), it's akin to a vomit-comet. I was in a stall, and, faced with this relentless motion, I almost had to switch-hit.
Anyway, on the boats, they've got this weird flush system that somehow combines the gravitational pull of the sun 1.2 meters away from the fission-core with the inverse of the exponential masses of all the black holes in the universe, multiplies it by the number of fruit flies needed to fill a 1979 Chevy Nova ashtray (front), and then applies that force to the area just ahead of and just behind the actual T-Zone. The result is two popped eardrums and a psychedelic swirly skid-mark 2/3rds the diameter of Mars -- yet without all the fun.
Come to think of it, for the amount of skid-marking their plumbing creates, the people of the UK must be the greatest per capita consumers of LSD. That, or the people of the UK (plumbers especially) are constantly affirming their solidarity with the inventor of the SpinArt machine.
The good news is that the restrooms on the boat are checked for cleanliness every hour. Digital timers on the wall by the door alert users how long it's been since the last inspection, and I never saw one with more than twenty minutes on it. Sadly, they fail to check for the aforementioned hypermatter-induced disembowelments. Their toilet systems would NEVER get approval in the US -- they're just too dang efficient.
- Finally, as a completely unfabricated aside (you just can't make this stuff up, folks!):
I flushed once on the return trip, and within two seconds a Captain's hat was swirling about my feet as if in a small tornado. I don't know if the chap was in the next stall (doubtful, since as a self-professed Shameful Shitter [2], I dutifully checked to make sure I was alone), or if (and I believe this is what REALLY happened) there was suddenly a very un-haberdashered pilot at the helm THREE DECKS AWAY! Regardless, I wore it the rest of the trip anyway. It was sanitary -- the timer on the wall indicated it'd only been 2.2 minutes since the last cleaning. And it got me free food!
I think my whole experience of pooping on the other side of the pond can be summed up as follows. I say this even though I'm not a father (yet... believe me, the wife is starting in on this):
Like a child, your own poo is your favorite. Even if you've never experienced any other method, you know which one is right for you. Doesn't matter if you do it in a socially unacceptable manner (wiping back-to-front, for example) -- it's still something you can call your own. Thus, pooping in another culture, even if it's (superficially) related to your own, can be paralyzing.
Imagine changing the diaper on the product of your loins every day for six months. You're doing things the way you like, the way you feel most comfortable. And then your Mother-in-law moves in and changes everything around, making you feel like you're not only doing it wrong, but you're incompetent to boot. Well, for me, the UK was that meddling Mother-in-law. What I took for granted for 25 years was suddenly incorrect. What worked for 25 years was no longer good enough.
If the analogy holds true, and you finally get enough of your Mother-in-law meddling in your day-to-day duties (doodies?), what do you do? You send her packin'. As did I; after three weeks of beautiful surroundings, exciting experiences (haggis, despite it's perception in the US, is fantastic) and frustrating Water-clos... er, I mean bathroom trips, I had enough. I'm glad to be back in the good ol' U.S. of A.
DRIVE ON THE RIGHT AND FLUSH ON THE LEFT, DAMNIT! God never meant for it to be any other way.