A Fish Out of Water

Perhaps this is true because there is no concept of personal space. A city of 2 million is considered a small backwater town here and it seems that no matter where you go, crowds of people always surround you This phenonmenon applies even to swimming in a public pool, which is an experience like no other.

One day I finished teaching and biked to Wu Tai Shan Olympic Stadium to go swimming, as I do most days. The entrance to this Cold-War era stadium is impressive with its immaculately landscaped gardens, multi-colored fountains lit by neon lights, reflecting pools and granite walkways. At the top of the steps is a massive arched gate emblazoned with the 5 Olympic rings and a row of red Chinese flags fluttering in the breeze.

As you walk under the arch, the splendor of the entrance gives way to a rather normal looking sports complex. In fact, the access to the pool is anything but awe inspiring. The building is slightly rundown and the tiled floors are worn from years of use. Your senses wake as you are hit with a wave of humid chlorinated air that is the universal symbol of any indoor public pool. You must push your way past the ubiquitous crowd and literally thrust your card into the hand of an attendant to get a locker key. With key in hand you descend into the changing rooms. Your senses are further piqued by the powerful combination of human activity and yet more waves of chlorine as the temperature increases with each step.

You negotiate a maze of worn green metal lockers and swarms of naked retirees, students, businessmen, soldiers, doctors, teachers and "ordinary workers" to find your locker. (As a side note, most of my broken Chinese pool conversations have involved questions about employment. Many people have responded that their job title is simply "ordinary worker." This is apparently the most ubiquitous occupation in China, but I have yet to get a satisfactory description to explain exactly what this job entails.)

You slip your size 13 feet (MY size 13 feet, actually) into your size 9 blue sandals - biggest you can find in China - and head for the shower with swim cap and goggles in hand. Forty pairs of eyes are trained on you as you maneuver into the showers. In this huge communal shower, everyone is watching you. A man passes in front of you mopping the shower floor wearing nothing but plastic flip flops. His unblinking eyes are trained on you as he mops naked.

After a quick rinse, you are treated to another bouquet as you walk past a long trough that serves as the urinal (not that anyone uses it as the showers seem to work just fine for that purpose - uhhh). You have no choice but to walk through about 8 inches of lukewarm disinfectant water as you leave the locker room climb the stairs to enter the pool area.

All you can see upon your deliverance from the changing room is an Olympic-sized pool with no lanes and about 500 people swimming in all different directions. You walk along the side to start your laps. The journey is not for you if you are self-conscious about your appearance (which I am) as every eye is examining you from head to toe. The cover of the water is a welcome relief from being the center of attention, and the swim cap (required) and goggles also aid in remaining incognito. Swimming requires constant attention to ensure you are not on a collision path with any one of hundreds people who are swimming toward you, directly at you, underneath you or right on your toes.

But it all seems to work out. Swimming looks like absolute confusion but serious collisions are usually avoided. Everyone just swims wherever they would like, altering their courses to avoid impact.