The British Way

My plane arrived in London’s Heathrow Airport at 9:00 in the morning, and my biological clock, still set for Eastern Standard Time, told me it was foolish even to try to function on so little sleep, much less navigate one of the largest airports in the world. I was en route to Tanzania for a semester learning about East African culture, history, and wildlife, but standing between me and this incredible adventure was a twelve-hour layover after a red-eye flight from Washington, D.C.

Emphatic signs hanging from cathedral ceilings ushered me down long grey hallways clogged with numerous people and countless languages. I passed through security and several ticket checks before arriving in the central hub of Heathrow. When one enters an airport for the first time, one doesn’t expect much, just terminals lined with uncomfortable seating and the occasional Starbucks to keep the travel-weary passenger alive; yet, what does one encounter behind the check-in kiosks and body scanners but a land full of swanky restaurants offering everything from traditional African fare to authentic Japanese sushi side by side with high-end department stores selling the latest fashions and perfumes to travelers waiting out a layover. I had arrived at the Heathrow International Mall. Before I could thoroughly explore this exclusive metropolis, though, I knew that a bathroom, one that was placed firmly on the ground, would be much appreciated.

After fifteen minutes of scouring the thoroughfare in vain, my eyes finally registered a sign reading “Toilets.” No wonder it had taken such a long time to locate the bathrooms; I had been anxiously scrutinizing the walls for an American term which was obviously not universal. Shrugging inwardly, I entered the newly-renamed toilets and rounded the corner into a line of stalls, but each and every door was tightly shut. Several more minutes passed as I patiently waited for a door to open when I suddenly noticed an indicator on the door nearest me which read “engaged.” Apparently, the stalls were not necessarily occupied; I just needed to find a toilet that was not currently being engaged. Feeling clever for figuring out the trick, I began shuffling slowly down the row of stalls in a hunched-over fashion to peer at the doors’ indicators and locate one which was green and therefore not engaged. I soon succeeded and entered an empty stall, proudly clicking the knob into the occupied position and then turning to face the toilet itself. My smile dissipated. Apparently, the oval toilet seat, of which I am a die-hard fan, is not universal either. I must admit, straddling a squared-off toilet seat is somewhat uncomfortable, but mastering this skill did give me a profound sense of accomplishment.

It appears you can never take anything for granted when visiting another country, not money, language, or even going to the bathroom.