It seems my husband and I have become unofficial connoisseurs of toilets. I’m not sure quite how this happened, but I think it may have begun on our first trip to Europe. The Scottish thresher model held us rapt upon first glimpse. Of course, it may have had something to do with the fact that we had just spent 17 hours in various airports and airplanes, followed by picking up a car with the steering wheel on the wrong side of it and it on the wrong side of the road, driving at breakneck speeds for an hour or so to reach a charming city with a strange set of parking rules.  By then, the toilet was about the highest technological development we were capable of dealing with. This first model we encountered in Britain was given a good minute and a half of videotape to be preserved in our travel films for all time.  

English toilet technology, while varied and colorful, pales by comparison to those of the Continent. Even the Italians make a more user-friendly version. But the Germans take top prize. For instance, their flushing method--the usual one, at least--is by far the easiest to manage. Even in a highly intoxicated state (I’m guessing, of course; I don’t know this personally, mind you), it would be hard to miss the eight-inch-square panel on the wall behind the bowl which depresses with great flourish. One could simply fall against it and it would work without a hitch.  

Our American companies have begun to design theirs with a view to disguising the flusher. Why is beyond me. I cannot come up with a good reason for hiding this crucial part. And we here in the States have, in recent years, been faced with toilets that flush themselves when you are finished – at least, theoretically. Unfortunately, I usually find the rogues in the bunch, ones that flush when I enter the stall, or flush the entire time I remain seated. As you may figure, these automatic ones do not number among my favorites.  

Happily, we only noted one self-flusher in our travels about Germany. We found it at a rest area, "Parkplatz mit WC" to be precise. It resembled a stainless steel sink, round with a minimal lip, no seat, and not much lower than the height of a normal basin. But it was in a stall and it flushed, so I assumed it was the toilet. There didn’t appear to be any way of getting comfortable in the endeavor at all. I guess maybe that was the point--efficiency above all else; get ‘em in, get ‘em out. And speaking of efficiency, I came upon one in an airport restaurant WC that, when the flusher was depressed, it not only whisked away whatever it was supposed to, but sent out a little robot arm to sanitize the rim, rotating the seat 360 degrees before retracting, leaving the seat totally refreshed for the next patron. Oh, how I wished for that video camera at that moment.  

And the sounds. You can’t beat the sound of an airline toilet. I don’t believe there is anywhere on Earth that has a louder flush. When you press that little flat panel, I believe it could break the sound barrier with the whoosh it makes. The European models have a healthy, throaty sound to them, leaving one far from the feeling of jet power. Meanwhile, American toilets are becoming quieter, aiming for totally silent. I guess, once you’ve invented the toilet, you’ve got to find some way to improve on it over the centuries. Quiet is fine; just make the flusher obvious.

 

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