Swimming in China

By Sandra Burnham (Canada) - missburnham@yahoo.com

I rode the bus to the pool today, by myself. The infamous 609 bus. I have since learned that buses that begin with the number 6 are not the luckiest buses. Express bus. Squealing brakes bus. Wooden seats bus. No shocks bus.

On these buses the driver has an assistant who calls out the stops. She calls the shots as well. In Chinese of course. I have also learned that if you don't answer, "Stop!” Well…the bus will not stop. Then you have to wait until someone else who can yell, “Stop!” in Chinese wants to get off. This might mean you have to walk an extra six blocks back to the pool. And for anyone who has been in China knows, that means six intersections full of cars, buses (that don't stop), bicycles, pedestrians and donkeys.

I finally arrive at the pool. Through the viewing window I can see it’s busy. Not surprising. It’s China. There are over one billion people here. So today, maybe there are sixty people in the pool. Busy. Right. All relative.

But actually it is busy. There are no lane ropes. People swim as they drive here, the way they drive buses, cars, bicycles and donkeys. They go where they need to go. Encounter someone in your path, find a way around them. Not really a difficult concept. Maybe we have too many rules with our lane ropes and tapping people on the toes, letting them know you want to pass. However, for those of us who remember the pain of having been kicked while swimming, maybe rules aren’t always bad.

Anyway, the familiar smell of chlorine lures me in. Funny how this smell we learn to hate, that swells our sinuses, dries our skin, ruins our suits, becomes as tempting as freshly baked bread. It is so familiar and yet here it leads to the unfamiliar. Swimming in China, doing anything in China is not an efficient process. But you would think, swimming is swimming and anywhere in the world, water is water. However, in China you are dealing with an ancient culture emerging into a modern world. There are many ironies. Things you don’t quite understand, but you just accept. You accept because it is not your culture. Like bureaucracy and paperwork. A job for everyone and everyone for a job. This is so apparent even at the pool.

The first step is to pay the cashier. This time, because I have no Chinese friend to pay for me (your friends never let you pay for anything), I am surprised to find the price is 30 Yuan. It seems like a lot. That’s the equivalent of $5.50 Canadian. It is a lot. I question the clerk. On the bulletin board I see 20 Yuan. But she points to something else. What it is I have no idea. But I nod my head and pay. Hell, I’m here and I’m not going home until I swim. Just forget about getting on that bus again. What does she mean? Maybe it’s more today for some reason. This terrible feeling sits in my head that she has overcharged me. Foreign rate. Hope not.

Then I take my ticket and wander down a long corridor. At the end of the hall someone else takes my ticket and rips it in half, and gives me one piece. Then she gives me two locks. Ah, I realize, the extra money is a deposit on the locks.

Next I take my ripped ticket and two locks and walk to the door of the changing room where another woman relieves me of my ripped ticket. Then I enter. The forbidden zone. The no shoes zone. And of course an attendant is standing guard to make sure I do remove my shoes. In exchange, she provides me with neon green plastic flip-flops. Of course the flip-flops do not fit. I can barely squeeze my big toes into them. Certainly the floor seems cleaner. Oh well, the flip-flop lady is insistent that I wear them.

Immediately, as I enter the change room another woman looks at my key number and shows me to my locker. She is speaking Chinese the whole time. I reply in English, “Look lady, I’m just here to swim. I’m an adult and I know how to work a lock”. Well, at least I think I do. But these are Chinese locks. I don’t know, maybe the Chinese invented locks. So, because it is her job she shows me how to work the locks. Simple enough. This I can do. Now, as I begin to change, I sense many eyes upon me. "I wonder if foreigners have the same body parts as us?" they are wondering, I suppose. But, once they see that I do, they all return to their duties.

Next, I put my things in the locker. Things I won’t need when I swim. However, I keep out my shampoo, soap and towel. These are things a swimmer needs after swimming. It’s convenient to take them with you so you can just hop in that nice warm shower right after your swim. (Well, at least it’s convenient in my country.) So, I attach the locks, (the two locks) onto the locker. Now I can’t get them shut. Well, sometimes locks just jam a bit and you have to work at them, loosen them up. Right. Normal procedure for locking locks. Oh, but not in China. At any sign of difficulty, you must be allowed to save face. It would be very embarrassing if you could not work a lock by yourself. Poor silly foreigner. They must not have locks in her country. We need to do it for her.

So, the two attendants lock my locker. Now I am faced with what to do with these cumbersome pieces of metal. They are attached to a wide piece of elastic, and I see that some people are wearing them on their ankles. But my feet are too big and my ankles too thick. So I decide to wear it on my wrist. Not sure how that will feel when I swim, but there is no other way. Walking on my tiptoes (because the flip flops do not fit) I proceed down the hall to the pool. Another attendant awaits at the door, her arms crossed sternly, to make sure I remove my flip-flops. She also makes certain I do not take my shampoo, soap and towel onto the pool deck. I furrow my brow and glare at her. Well what the hell am I supposed to do with them? Back to the locker. Can't open it. I look around carefully to make sure the attendant can’t see me, and I wiggle the key in the lock. Just ever so slightly so she can’t hear. Again. Jiggle jiggle. I stand very quietly, only my eyes moving left, right. Can she see me? This time she hears. But just in time I manage to get it unlocked before she gets to me. Just in time. I feel like such a child. But maybe that's my problem because really, I think they feel they are just taking care of you. It's their job. They are not thinking, "What an idiot this foreign woman is!" , because people rely on each other here. There are so many people in China there is always someone who knows what to do. You needn’t struggle to do things on your own, even when faced with the challenge of opening a locker .

Finally I make it to the pool deck. An hour and a half has elapsed since I have left home. It seems longer. I look around for a good spot to swim, a place to squeeze in. Again I sense all eyes upon me. Foreigner foreigner. Hello Hello. I slip into the water without any warm up or stretching. Just let me swim! The water is cool, familiar, envelops my body. A cocoon. I am safe once more. At least for a while. Today, two men on both sides of me decide they would like to race. Me. During warm up. It seems that Chinese people are the most competitive people in the world. Any athlete who plans to win anything at the 2008 Beijing Olympics had better realize this. They have begun training for it now. Right now.

Anyway, I just ignore the two swimmers. But it soon becomes apparent they will not give up. One length. Two. Three. Still warming up. So, I shift gears and keep going. They stop at four lengths. For a rest. But the next lap. Same thing. They continue their pursuit. Relentlessly.

Soon my neck becomes strained from watching out for swimmers in my path. Good practice for triathlons I think optimistically. But I am afraid to stop. At the wall, each time I turn, I notice heads ducking under the water to watch me. Maybe, I’m famous. There are also people on the pool deck peering over the edge at me. Me. So, to impress them I do flip turns and make sure I dolphin kick off each one. Soon I notice others trying the same. Although I am not warmed up and haven’t swum for weeks, I break into a length of fly. Yes, of course, soon everyone in the pool is trying fly. Surely I will pay for my pride with pain tomorrow.

I briefly consider starting a swim club here and coaching. Maybe we could enter swim meets. Wouldn’t that be fun? Hmmmm.

I realize I need to take a break. Normal practice would be to warm up, rest, stretch a bit then go into a practice set or main set with intervals. But here it isn’t possible. Just keep going I say. When I do stop at the wall for a breather, I look around and everyone gives me the thumbs up. Good sign. After a few more laps I decide to leave.

Entering the forbidden zone once more I don the requisite flip-flops and proceed to the showers which seem very hot, steamy and strong. But I have no soap, shampoo, nor towel. Back to the locker. Luckily it’s easier to open this time. I take out the soap, shampoo and towel. To the shower. But there’s no place to hang my towel, and the showers are so powerful that I know the towel will be soaked wherever I put it. Back to the locker. In goes the towel. Back to the shower.

The shower is glorious. Much better than the showers in the West. Hot water. Lots of pressure. And every woman in this shower is taking advantage of it. In Canada we shower quickly, usually the room is drafty. Get in and out as swiftly as possible. In China more time is spent in the shower than in the pool. Possibly because the shower is so good. But even though I stay a bit longer than usual, I am still out before any Chinese woman. Soap. Shampoo. Rinse. Out. Oh...Where’s my towel? Locker of course. But this appears to be the normal procedure and no one even takes a second look at a dripping wet foreign devil in her birthday suit fumbling with her two keys.

Locker opened, out comes the towel. Dry off. Clothes on.

Again I notice people looking at me. I glance around. Why? Does my underwear have holes in it? I don’t think so. What is it ? I look around again. Oh. People are wearing long underwear and I am not. It's September. I'm Canadian. Even though it's still 30 degrees outside, it's no longer 40 degrees. Perhaps it is time to conserve heat for the winter. Maybe that’s the reason for the long showers. Whatever. Button up. Pack up. Return to the entrance. Off with the flip-flops. On with the shoes.

Oh my. This is becoming routine already. The two locks are returned to the attendant. She hands me back my ripped ticket and I exit down the long corridor to the front desk. I hand the ticket to the clerk and, ‘Voila’, 10 Yuan appears. Such an expert now. Refreshed and stinking of chlorine I push open the door and enter the bustling Chinese world once more. The 247 bus looks lucky. I wonder where it goes?

Sandra Burnham

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