The best things in life are free. Vomit inducing, obvious clichés are a white girl’s go-to when it comes to beginning a blog post. But no judgement. I’m not one to shy away from a cliché term when I believe it to be true. I’m also not one to shy away from a cliché term when I don't believe it's true, but it happens to be a great opener for what I am going to write about. Because, white girl. Which means that today I say the best things in life are the things you don’t have to spend a penny on. I have to think this because I moved to a country with the intention of spending a great amount of time exploring natural wonders and enjoying the great outdoors. But I’m over that. You’ve all heard about it. The reason I’m stating an overly vague finance-based cliche is because I no longer have to shake my piggy bank and filter through pennies, nickels and dimes to find the three quarters I need to do laundry at the local laundromat. Now my laundry is free. And that’s the best. But also half my laundry is done in the sink, hangs above my toilet, and makes my fun-sized apartment feel like that expensive sauna your in-laws put in their backyard and force you to “enjoy” on family visits. But it’s free, so it’s the best.
Back in the civilized world (Provo Utah College Town USA) the local laundromat was as luxurious and sketchy as you expect from your typical laundering experience. Rows of overpriced and underwhelming washers worked day and night cleaning the clothes of your fellow peers and wanderlust hobos. The laundromat was a hub for social events and late night parties. In Provo everyone has full loads of whites, and everyone waits until Saturday night to wash them. Which means we all smelled sweet and freshly pressed by the time church began on Sunday. I’m fibbing about the clean laundry smell part. The laundromat was next door to a Little Caesar’s and not once did I do a load of laundry that smelled like anything other than $5 pepperoni pizza unsuccessfully masked by that of my Summer Flower Fresh fabric softener. Laundry was a social occasion. It had to be. Unless you were brave enough to leave your $100 Anthropologie dress unattended at the ‘mat (which you probably were if you were naive enough to put it in the washing machine to begin with – which I was) you’d spend time socializing with the other procrastinating college kids who swore they studied better while eating pizza and getting grease stains on the clean clothes they were folding. Laundry necessities were not detergent or fabric softener, but a Poli-Sci text book, double pepperoni pizza, and a pile of whites/colors you shove in the same machine and hope the colors don’t bleed because it will save you $1.55 to do it all together. That was laundry back home. That, along with insisting on carrying two loads at one time (time saver) and the moment when those loads fall to the ground and you have to pick it all up (exercise) made for a chore you would do as infrequently as possible. And that system was fine with me. But now, laundry has taken on new challenges… foreign ones.
Before moving into our apartment we read the old Airbnb comments about the location. More than one past traveler complained about the noises the washing machines next door made. Christian and I prefer white noise (we’re those people who have a fan on in December and freeze so that we can hear the air move through the room) so we had no problem with that set back. We thought about the downsides to having the laundry room so close. The apartment was said to come with a common laundry room and I planned for coin ops and finding other people’s socks in the dryer. I was wrong about both things. First, there are no coin ops because no one shares machines. You buy your own. Second, I wouldn’t have to worry about neighbor’s clothes in the dryer, because Iceland doesn't believe in dryers.
Hang drying clothes is archaic. It’s something hipsters do to feel cool. Something the Mediterranean does for tourists. But it’s not something I planned to do in my teacup pig sized apartment. While I was moody and complaining Christian came up with an innovative and brilliant hang-dry system. Innovative, in that he found a way to drape and hang several articles of clothing in our small bathroom using cord and command strip hooks. I find it brilliant, because he had to hang them high enough so that we can still use the bathroom while drying clothes. In order to make that possible he had to hang them so high that I can't reach them, which means Christian will be the only one able to hang dry the laundry. Score one for hang drying.
Fabric softener is a thing of the past. Soft fabric is a thing of the past. Iceland doesn’t do comfort. Iceland does survival. Clean clothes are as cushy as it’s gonna get on this island. With no dryers comes no fabric softener. I used to laugh in the face of fabric softener. I found it an unnecessary expense. But once when I mooched off of my friend’s kindness she laundered my delicates and added softener. The world around me then opened up. My heart was softened like my newly washed American Apparel slip, and I embraced change. After that it became a necessity. Until Iceland. Many buildings have rooms heated by the hot water in pipes against the walls. These rooms, we were told, were hot enough to dry clothes quickly and eliminated the need for dryers. Now, after a two hour wash cycle (because the two options on our washer are 3.3 and 4 and we don’t know what that means but our landlord said to NEVER use 4) we hang dry what’s washed, watch the heavy items fall to the ground, call the 5 second rule, hang it back up and leave. Once a week has gone by, some of the clothes are dry. They are also stiff as a board. Good one, Science. Stiff necked fibers scratching my skin…mumble grumble etc.
For the first few (by few I mean many but I want you to think I’m cleaner than I really am) weeks we didn’t have a washer at all. Our landlord changed his mind about housing us and found someone else to buy the place and deal with two confused American tenants. Landlord Numero Dos had a washing machine for us… allegedly. Fortunately Christian and I collectively packed enough clothes for 6 people so it took quite a while for us to run out of outfits. Unfortunately, Iceland doesn’t really do the whole public laundry thing. I’m not sure why, but all the research we did showed us that just isn’t their thing. And I get it, carrying a load of laundry in a blizzard while walking on ice sounds like more a hassle than it’s worth. But I’ve dropped my fair share of laundry loads on the ground, so I was willing to keep an eye out. There is one place, and not far from us, called The Laundromat Cafe. The idea behind it is great. Wash your clothes while enjoying a catalog and croissant. The problem is that no one actually uses it as a laundromat. It’s just kitschy. And I don’t have the self confidence to be the awkward American kid washing her unmentionables at a place that turns into a 25+ dress code necessary night club after 8pm. That’s just me. But it’s also everyone around me, so I needed a plan two. And that plan is called the sink.
More than anything our socks needed to be washed. I can wear a wool sweater without worrying about cleanliness, but after day two in the same pair of tights I begin contemplating the fungus that is surely growing between my toes. So while we waited for a washer, I washed our socks. The sink in our bathroom is the size of one of those vomit trays used in hospitals. In fact… it might be exactly that, repurposed… I’m gonna get back to you on that. So there really was only room to wash socks. Eventually more than socks needed to be scrubbed. Because of that I got crafty. And then this idea happened.
Washing your clothes with you in them is a major time saver. I’m going to spread the word and make it big! Get ready to see my name in lights.
Despite sinks, showers, and a radiator covered in wet clothes, Chris and I both bring up how convenient it is to do our laundry in our apartment. Despite the constant sound of machines pounding against our walls and the Norwegian washing machine we believe has a destruct button, we love having our apartment so close to the laundry room. And despite all my complaints and complications, our laundry is free! So I swear you guys I really do wash my clothes regularly now. Kinda.
