Laundry Days

Movies and TV shows have romanticized laundromats to a very big degree. On a screen, they are places to fall in love at first sight or or laugh a lot at funny jokes or make new friends or throw clothes at each other in slow montages. Though I don't have much experience with laundromats, I have never known any of the above things to be true either for myself or any of my friends. For me, laundry has always been much more mundane. Something to do alone while listening to music, a chore to check off a list, a necessary but boring thing to do.

On that trip I took to Italy when I was 14 and which I have mentioned a few times before on this blog, Venice was definitely the highlight. It was perfect weather, the canals were enchanting, the gelato was extra delicious, my homesickness was all gone but I was also looking forward to going home soon, and I had become pretty good friends with some of the other people on the trip. The amateur photographer in me became fixated with the laundry that Venetians hung out to dry outside their windows over canals. I loved seeing bed sheets either billowing or gently swaying in the wind/breeze, along with bright coloured garments, and clothes of all sizes belonging to various family members. I took a whole bunch of pictures (unfortunately none of which are digitized so the pictures above and below that I found on Google images will have to do) which all looked the same, and I even blew one up when I got home and hung it on my wall. In retrospect, taking those pictures and being generally fascinated with laundry over canals wasn't the most original thing I've ever done/thought (as the search on Google images attests), but I still really like how people do their laundry there. Having your clothes air dry over a canal is way more interesting than how I've ever dried my clothes; and it seems pretty convenient too. Before I lived in Paris and became hopelessly devoted to that city, I used to imagine how lovely it would be to spend a summer in Venice. I'd wake up every morning and sit out on my balcony where I'd eat gelato and contemplate life while staring at the canal. Then after my gelato was finished and before I went out for a walk, I'd hang my laundry out to dry. By the time I came back from my walk, the laundry would be all dry and would smell fresh and sweet.

Despite thinking hanging laundry can be a very pretty sight, actually doing laundry has never been particularly fun, and in some living situations I've had it's been pretty stressful. Though I love(d) my Hilgard apt with my whole heart, the laundry situation there was terrible! There was only one washer and one dryer for a four story apt building that must have had at least 25 (if not more) apts. The washer was in constant use on the weekends, so I started doing my laundry on random days of the week. I never figured out how long either the washer or dryer took though and so was constantly trudging up and down four flights of stairs to check on it. Sometimes I'd just wait down there with a book but it was never particularly comfortable.

Starting at the second apt I lived in in Austin and then my current apt in Montreal, I've had my own washer-dryer in my apt. My one here sometimes acts up (the washer used to stay in the locked position for so long after the clothes were done being washed and I couldn't get them out, but it's stopped doing that recently and *fingers crossed* won't start up again) and in general I find that doing the laundry takes a really long time. I seem to have to devote hours to it. I mean, I can do other stuff while the laundry is in of course, but overall the whole process seems interminable some days. However, I really shouldn't complain! I am so grateful and glad I have my own in my apt. Both R. and K. have way worse laundry situations than I do. R. has to walk 15 minutes to a laundromat and hates doing laundry so much she will often go out and buy new underwear just to avoid having to do laundry. It was super cold last weekend and K., despite having laundry to do and a laundromat at the end of her street, was tempted to just stay inside and not face the cold and carrying a bag full of clothes along an icy sidewalk. I'd be the same. So yes, grateful I am.

Interestingly, my laundry experiences in Santiago and Paris were both way less stressful and much more positive than any laundry experience I've had in North America. In Santiago, I lived a few blocks from a fairly busy commercial street full of a variety of shops like a dry cleaners, a grocery store, a fruit stand and an internet cafe. The house I was living in did not have laundry and I soon discovered that the dry cleaners was actually a general cleaning place and for a very reasonable price would actually do all my laundry. So I didn't actually do laundry at all in Santiago. I would just carry all my dirty clothes in a big bag to the place at the end of the street and come back either later that day or the next day to find it all clean and fresh and folded and waiting for me to pick up. The man who worked there was this plump, smiley man with rosy cheeks and a very friendly demeanor. He would always laugh and joke with me whenever I brought him my clothes. I think it's much more common in Chile for people to get their laundry done like that, instead of doing it themselves. It was convenient and pretty stress-free and I got to speak Spanish and be on friendly terms with a nice Chilean. When I visited J. in Buenos Aires, the apt she stayed in had a central open courtyard (open even to the sky such that even inside, the apt was never fully shielded from the outside) with corridors running alongside it. The woman who owned the apt would hang her laundry along the corridor to air dry. To get to the bathroom or kitchen I had to walk down that corridor and on the day there was laundry there it felt like a maze. It was a bit windy too and the laundry kept blowing in my face. It was actually kind of fun, if not a little odd. But just goes to show that the methods of people doing laundry all over the world share some qualities while differing in others.

In Paris, my roommate F. had a little washing machine in the kitchen. The top of it actually doubled as counter space so whenever I wanted to wash my clothes I had lift up the counter. At first the machine seemed really complex and intimidating; however, F. showed me how it worked and I somehow memorized the complicated order of button pressing that had to go on. The one downside was that there was no dryer. On days F. did her laundry, I'd come home to find her clothes hanging to dry all over the apt. (D., who though we almost exclusively speak English is actually a Francophone and his roommate have a similar situation with just a washer and no dryer. He told me he too comes home to find his roommate's clothes hanging all over their apt. Maybe it's a French thing to dry laundry all over your house? In any event, it brought back memories.) I quickly realized I did not like air drying my clothes, especially since I first lived there in winter and that apt was sooooo freezing. I guess F. didn't want to pay high heat bills or something? But I would go to sleep at night under 4 blankets and wearing 2 tops and warm long underwear and I still found it very hard to get out of bed in the morning and into the cold apt. Anyway, I knew I needed warm and quickly dried clothes so after I washed my clothes, I started putting them in this giant BHV (very cool Parisian department store) bag and walking the half block down the street to the laundromat. Yes I am aware that I have romanticized Paris to over the top lengths, but I am sincere when I say that really (in my memories at least) nothing seemed that complicated there. In fact, I actually have fond memories of that laundromat. It was small and cute and clean and I actually enjoyed sitting there reading or writing letters while my clothes dried. Sometimes I'd go back to my apt and do other things and then come pick them up but it always seemed pretty hassle free. Interesting people were always there so I did enjoy going on weekend afternoons when it was always crowded. However, towards the end of my time in Paris I started going late on Friday nights (it was either open until 10 or 11 I can't remember) when I was the only person in the store and could pretend it was my own private laundry room. I vividly remember one Friday night at the end of June carrying my bag of dry laundry back to my apt around 10 pm and marvelling at how the sky was a pale blue with pinky orange streaks and how June Parisian nights seemed to last forever.

All this laundry talk has made me realize that the sheets and clothes I washed earlier are still waiting to be put on my bed and into my drawers respectively. So I better get to it!