Well maybe Blues is tad melodramatic; but who in their right mind gets their kicks from such a mundane, but necessary chore? “Not I”, the people cry. I mean, it’s not like I’m weeping into my cocopops or anything. But my bottom lip is definitely protruding; let’s be honest. And my fingers are all wrinkly! What happens if I bump into Kate Beckinsale? (Could happen. She might be off back-packing between movies. Solar powered hairdryer in tow. Looking to meet a rugged English guy).
When I first got my shiny new backpack, various traveling necessities, grabbed my RayBan’s and sailed off into the sunset… doing the laundry wasn’t the first activity that popped into my melon. Uh-uh. No sir-ee Bob. You’re ‘avin’ a giraffe intcha?
Having said that, I did follow google’s advice, (or rather that of various budget-conscious travellers), at least initially. On my previous sorté, I was hand washing with the best of ’em… from day 1. (Well OK, day 4, when my smalls and my… not so smalls… started to accumulate). I had a little bottle of concentrate and a travel washing line, to string across the room. The works. (Vital components of the necessities I mentioned above apparently).
Was all part of the adventure (and the cost cutting) really. In fact, I was pretty chuffed with my portable washing line. It was easily fastened to a variety of handles, bars, hooks etc… typically found in most of the rooms I occupied. Comprising a pair of lines, threaded thru’ a number of beads… so I didn’t need clothes-pegs. Plus, it occupied the square-root-of-naff-all space in my backpack. Bonus!
So I have been there and indeed done that. It’s just that, in Central America, I soon came across laundromats. The price of a washer/dryer, for the maximum amount of laundry I was producing, was negligible… compared to the convenience. I was on holiday, after all. (Who are you to judge me)? Soon afterwards, I also discovered the pure unadulterated luxury of… wait for it… the service wash. Ahhhhh! Cheap. More time to kick back. Plus, I was doing my bit for the local economy.
Trouble is, I’m addicted to service washes now. When I flexed my Spanglish muscles today and asked about a lavendaria in the hotel. I got the gist that: yes, I could wash my clothes; no, they wouldn’t do it for me; and there was no new-fangled machines to help. (Deep joy). I guess that’s put me back in my place.
The drifters among you will appreciate that: at least the sinks were up on the roof. The Drifters… get it? Up on the roof… yeh? Oh, please yourselves. I was chuffed anyway. Sunshine & fresh air. (It’s the little things). Plus, there were washing lines and a breeze up there. So, not all bad.
Sigh. Was all so easy, back home. I almost enjoyed washing there. (I said “almost“. Let’s not go crazy people). Pop it in the machine. Stick some liquid in. Touch that dial. When it’s done, hang it up. Bob’s your aunty’s live in lover. Wrote ironing off as a mug’s game, yonks ago. But washing wasn’t so bad… not really.
Guess lavendaria location will be my primary mission, when I hit the next town. (Plus ATM location of course). I’m just glad I don’t hail from one of the little villages here and spend a chunk of my time beating laundry on the rocks of the local river. Family of 8 to wash for.