May 2004
Saturday, May 1, 2004 — No book left unopened
I hit the Sydney Aquarium in the morning. It calls itself Sydney’s No. 1 attraction. The building itself is gigantic with a deceivingly humble exterior. There are giant tanks of animals at which you can gawk by way of underwater tunnels. There was some sort of, “Where’s Nemo?” theme for kids.
“Maybe THAT ONE’S Bruce!” said a little girl looking at the sharks.
I liked reading the placards and finding out interesting tidbits like you’re more likely to get struck by lightning than you are attacked by a shark, but you’re more likely to be attacked by shark and a crocodile. And that Portuguese Man O’Wars are actually a collection of cohabitating organisms rather than one single organism.
On the way back to the train station, my eye caught a sign for the Sydney Public Library. What luck! I couldn’t leave Sydney without having visited its library! I always try to go to the local library, wherever I am. Unless I’m in Vietnam. I spent about an hour blissfully sitting at the base of one of the library shelves browsing the books. I love libraries.
The train station was located beneath the Queen Victoria Building, which can only be described as a mall inside a very grand building. The QVB itself was filled with tony shops that were too pricey for me, but it was fun just walking around. The streets around the QVB were also retail centers. It was such a nice feeling to be able to leisurely pace from store to store. I stopped at every bookstore I came across. Admired the selection, price and container sizes of toiletries a Woolworth’s general store. Bought some soap and lotion (because you can never have enough!). Saw a capoeira performance on the street. Ate lunch at the Pitt Street Mall.
When I’d had my fill, I went north to the Museum of Sydney. I figured while I was here, I might as well learn about Sydney’s roots. It’s amusing to think that Australia started out as a place to dump British convicts. Of the 1,000 convicts and ship crew who first came to Australia for that purpose, only 47 people died on the long journey, largely because the fleet leader made a point of providing the inmates with fresh food and allowed them to get exercise and fresh air on deck.
Finally, I checked out an IMAX movie. I picked one on 3-D animation. It turned out to be way too childish for me but that’s all right, I also needed a break from walking. The movie included the episode from The Simpsons where Homer changes into a 3-D character. No one seemed to get the Myst reference! Very disappointing. Then again, that clip is years old.
Sunday, May 2, 2004 — “Communication failure”
I had hoped to take a daytrip out to the Blue Mountains today but first I woke up late and then when I dragged myself to the train station, I learned that the trains weren’t running, inexplicably. I asked the lady at the ticket counter what was going on. She said there was a communication failure. How cryptic is that? Whatever the case, she wasn’t very helpful. I asked when the trains would be running again and she shrugged, “Who knows? Maybe in 15 minutes. Maybe in an hour … ?”
That wasn’t gonna cut it for me and I wasn’t going to hang around interminably. So I just switched my itinerary around to catch the last few Sydney sites I wanted to visit as well as finish my shopping.
First, I went to see the Sydney Observatory. It’s located on Observatory Hill, which offers a fantastic view of Sydney Harbor. I had tried for a nighttime tour earlier in the week but the wait had led to being bitten by mosquitoes while standing around in the chill night air so, aggravated, I gave up. I contented myself with checking out the equipment on display.
Next, I walked over to the Royal Botanical Gardens just east of the opera house. These gardens are the equivalent of Manhattan’s Central Park, except they aren’t central. But they do offer a peaceful respite from urban life. You’re encouraged to walk on the grass. There are ponds as well as the harbor and plenty of different flora and fauna.
From there, I headed down to St. Mary’s Cathedral. It was amusing to see all the skateboarders scraping it up in front when there was plainly a sign that said, “No skateboards.”
Finally, I went back to the Queen Victoria Building area. Because it was Sunday, a number of shops were closed but I browsed anyway. I’m so glad I did, because I found a wonderful jeans shop that had exactly what I was looking for! Got my dad a Harley-Davidson T-shirt.
That night, I decided to catch a movie. I watched Kill Bill 2. You just KNOW the scenes with Pai Mei speaking Chinese would have been subtitled in Japanese had I watched it back home.
Monday, May 3, 2004 — The last day
While waiting for my train to the Blue Mountains, I bought a copy of The Sydney Morning Herald. Turns out yesterday’s complications had, indeed, been a “communications failure.” The radios of the different trains weren’t working so the staff couldn’t keep track of where the trains were. The newspaper called it some sort of technological “gremlin” that, somewhat worriedly, still hadn’t been tracked down and corrected in the system yet.
Another thing about the Sydney paper: In addition to using far too many elipses in its cutlines and subheads, I was struck by how much language in it I didn’t understand. I mean, it was in English, but I still wasn’t getting the colloquialisms. I was also surprised by how tongue-in-cheek a lot of the writing was. Aussies have a good sense of humor.
The train ride to the town of Katoomba in the Blue Mountains took two hours. It gave me a a good chance to see the outlying areas. In Paramatta, about half and hour away from Central Sydney, I was shocked to see the a shopping area with both a Kmart AND Target. I hadn’t seen EITHER store in MONTHS. I don’t know if this makes any sense, but it really is comforting to see things like that.
When I got off in Katoomba, the air was noticeably chillier than it had been in Sydney. Before I began my sightseeing, I first wanted to find a post office to mail some postcards. I hiked up the main town street and found the post office, one block over — right across the street from a Kmart!!! No joke, I seriously just stood there and stared at the Kmart for a moment. I resolved to come back after my sightseeing just to roam the aisles.
There are plenty of tours that can show you around the Blue Mountains but I chose to show up and figure things out from there. I bought a $12 trolley pass that allowed you to hop on and off at stops throughout the area. My first stop was to Echo Point, which overlooks the Jamison Valley, including the Three Sisters rock formation. Scientists believe there used to be seven “sisters,” but four have eroded.
I ambled into the woods to another vantage point. Although the way was neither steep nor treacherous, I kept thinking to myself, “What if something were to happen to me … ? My parents know I’m in Australia, but they have no idea I’m in the middle of the Blue Mountains!” Of course, nothing untoward happened but it’s one of the paranoias of traveling alone.
The walks I took that day were quite pleasant, with great views. I resolved to come back if not specifically to the Blue Mountains, to a similar place, to do similar walks. I liked the serenity of the surroundings and not constantly being surrounded by people.
Next, I went to Scenic World, a weird name for a portion fo the Blue Mountains covered, inexplicably, by rainforest. I took a tram-like contraption to the base and wandered the boardwalk before talking a cable car back up.
Next to Katoomba was a curious place called Leura with a main street that measured only 200 meters, the trolley driver cheerfully informed us. I slipped into the shops and looked at everything from bath products to jewelry, books and antiques. It was that kind of main street.
Afterward, I took the trolley for a ride just to get an picture of the surroundings. The residential neighborhood was quite picturesque, probably because you had to be somewhat well-to-do to live there.
Finally, I got off at Katoomba so I could examine the shops there, too, which were numerous. Cafes, bakeries, shops. I stopped in the Kmart — how could I not? — to revel in its price and selection before catching the train back to Sydney beneath an early rising moon.
Friday, May 7, 2004 — I’m no cradle-robber
So I’m back at school again, Kamona. My last day here for the month before I switch over to Kokufu. After classes ended around 2:30 p.m., I went into the gym to hang out with the table tennis and badminton students during their athletics practice. They divide the gym in half with a floor-to-ceiling netting and each sports club gets half.
The gym also houses the school stage. The table tennis team had gotten that stage half, and strewn onto it their school bags, bike helmets and various other pre-teen paraphernelia. There are two girls on the table tennis team, Saori and Kazumi. Both are really sweet and friendly. I even had some pleasant Japlish conversations with them. Kazumi is the more, shall I say, wholesome of the two. Always smiling and waving. She’s the one more likely to try to use some English with me. Saori is the second-year student (eighth-grader) who’s dating a graduated high school student.
She doesn’t use English but she’s really self-confident and at-ease around me, too. When she wasn’t batting the Ping Pong around, Saori was covertly putting on make-up. Make-up, like earrings, are forbidden at the junior-high level. She slyly showed me her flaunting of the rules by getting really close to me — something she does frequently, getting all up in my space, which kinda freaked me out at first — and pointing to her eye so I’d notice her eyeliner and eye shadow.
She was lounging on the stage with me waiting for her turn to play Ping Pong. Saori showed me her little notebook crammed full of purikura, the print club stickers, including several of her and her much-older boyfriend. I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “Kawaii,” which means cute, intending to say they looked cute together. But I must have said something scandalous because Saori shrank back with this look of shock on her face. I was like, “No … wait … I mean, together — TOGETHER! — you look guys look cute … !” I don’t know what she took it to mean, but I was worried maybe she thought I had said “cute” in kind of a covetous (no WAY) way. She seemed a little mollified but I didn’t know if she actually understood.
I beat a quick retreat. Miyata-sensei, who sponsors the badminton club, was also in the gym and I scurried over to her to chat. I told her of what happened without naming names but Saori came over anyway, playfully but agressively (in that way she has, of sidling up close) asking what we were talking about. Miyata explained what I had wanted to say to Saori. I don’t know if it helped.
That afternoon I went to the city office to teach the beginning adult conversation class. There were a new batch of teachers, about 18 of them. It’d been a while since I’d worked with the beginner’s class and I couldn’t quite remember what level they were at. I was quickly reminded that they’re called the beginner’s class for a reason. For the first half, I had them do an exercise where they were supposed to introduce their partner, but the explanation proved too complicated so I just let them introduce themselves. Then I gave them a few American comic strips — Bizarro, 9 Chickweed Lane, Penny Arcade — with the words erased and asked them to fill in their own words.
It was nice to see them inject a bit of humor into their written dialogue. Humor, especially irony, is the hardest to write down — imagine trying to do it in another language!
Monday, May 10, 2004 — Yummy
On my flight back from Sydney, they’d served mashed potatoes. They were surprisingly good and made me crave more. So I resolved to make mashed potatoes, fresh, for the first time ever today. I had no idea it was so easy! Man, I have got to make them more often.
And the best part is, they turned out DELICIOUS. I peeled the potatoes (unfortunately hacking off a piece of skin off my finger in the process due to carelessness), chopped them into cubes, and boiled them. I’d just bought a potato masher at the 100-yen store, so I was ready to mash. Threw in some milk, margarine and salt. I still had some sour cream left over from the tacos I’d made some time back, so I threw that in, too. OISHII, baby. Oishii.
My next goal is to make fried chicken.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004 — Short skirt, long jacket
On my morning bike ride to Kokufu, I passed by this poor lady who looked miserable to be riding the bike she was riding. Not counting the occasional Lance-Armstrong type racing bicycle, most bicycles you see around Japan are the “mama chari” kind or what I tend to think of as the “cool” bikes. “Chari” is slang for “bike,” and “mama chari” is slang for the conservative bikes with baskets that, stereotypically, young mothers tend to ride. Er, I ride a mama chari.
The cool bikes, on the other hand, are the low-riders. More compact and closer to the ground. You don’t see baskets on them as often. The seat makes you sit at sort of indolent angle, just right for giving a head-nod to your friends.
I’m used to seeing people in business suits riding their bikes all the time. But this unfortunate lady just stuck out because she was wearing a business suit while pedaling a low-rider. It was just kind of a ridiculous picture, seeing her knee-length skirt somehwat askew, her legs blindingly pale. I got the feeling maybe her bike had been stolen, or she’d been forced to ride her kid’s bike.
Sometimes I feel like a giant in Japan. I’m not used to being taller than other adults. There are times when I even tower over some of them. Weeeeeird.
Made fried chicken. Not quite as succesful as the mashed potatoes, but that may be because I burned off my taste buds sampling them a little too early …
Wednesday, May 12, 2004 — Temple hunting
I had no classes today because the school was set to go on some school trip. Each grade went to a different place and did something different. I wasn’t sure what anyone was doing, just that the special ed class had invited me to come along with them. They tried explaining what it was they’d be doing, but couldn’t quite get it across. It turned out to be a scavenger hunt of sorts.
The special ed class went with the third-year students on their “field trip,” which didn’t involve being bused anywhere so much as roaming through the neighborhood. I kept hearing “orienteering” in the little talk the teachers gave the third-years during the pre-trip preparation in the gym. Everyone got maps to give them a rough idea where the different stopping points were located.
I think I must have visited every temple and shrine in the neighborhood that day. We were out all morning walking around. We’d fine one temple, which would have a clue to the next temple we were to visit. I was fine with all the walking; I was just grateful we weren’t biking because you know how woefully slow I am compared to my students when it comes to cycling.
Eventually we ended up at a park, where we ate lunch and then played on the playground. One of my students had been so kind and made me a bento for lunch!
During the trip, I got to better know the newest student in the special ed class, the lone first-year student. Her name is Izumi. But man, for a while I was convinced she was a boy. Her hair is short and her features still androgynous. I met Izumi last school year when, as an elementary student, she visited the special ed class because she’d be joining it after she graduated and moved on to junior high school. She was wearing a T-shirt and track pants then and I totally thought she was a boy. When I came back to Kokufu this month, the first day she was wearing the same, so no change in my perception. Later that day I saw her in her school uniform wearing the skirt and for a split second, I was horrified: Why are they making him wear the GIRLS’ uniform?! Then I figured it out. Duh.
While playing with the kids on the playground, Izumi asked to use my camera. She hadn’t really talked to me much until then. I had thought it was because she was shy and thought she wouldn’t be able to get anythinga cross with me because I didn’t speak Japanese and she, English. Maybe she started to relax around me when she saw I still can communicate, however haltingly, with some of the students in the class (the ones who WANT to talk to me …).
I was a little reluctant to hand over my precious camera but thought maybe it’d open a channel of communication for us. Izumi proceeded to totally crack me up. She really liked taking pictures and probably snapped 30 to 40 that afternoon. She was the youngest, smallest student in this class of mostly boys but when she said, “Stand up! Look over here! You, sit down!” everyone listened. I started to see girlish qualities in her, too, like her tendency to be coy, or to pout when someone didn’t do what she told them to do. But it was fun to look through the pictures — it’s not often I’m in so many pictures on my own camera!
After lunch, we returned to the base of the park and found out which teams won the scavenger hunt before walking back to the school. Shimao-sensei, who watched over the special ed class, kept worrying that the trip would be too strenuous for me and kept asking if I was okay. Thank goodness walking has never been a problem for me — plus Sydney had really toughened me up, too.
Thursday, May 13, 2004 — Frustration
The JET program is a curious thing. It seeks to educate public school students in English and to internationalize yet I would never recommend a full-fledged teacher or formally trained education graduate to do the program. They would simply asphyxiate beneath the bureaucracy, constraints and archaic-ness of the education system.
So it is ironic that less-qualified people fare better in JET circumstances. I just get the feeling that people who truly know what they’re doing, who can plan a lesson and engage students in learning, would be better served plying their skills elsewhere. Because it is highly unlikely they’ll be able to use those skills to their full potential in the JET program. The ALT is more a tool than a teacher. In my worst of lessons, I question why I’m even in the classroom because all I’m doing is reading flashcards or straight from the book. That’s what a tape player is for.
Being relegated to that role makes me feel useless. But the teacher refuses to ask for my opinion and when I try to talk to her about such things, she gets all panicky and confused because her English is, shall we say, lacking.
In my best classes, I help plan class activities. But at the same time, I have no set class. I see students once or twice a month. There is no contniuity. I have little idea of the curriculum. If this is an aggravation for me — and it is — I can only imagine that it drives true educators insane.
Friday, May 14, 2004 — May showers
Oh, god. It’s rainy season. And I’m at my far-away school.
Sunday, May 16, 2004 — Orphanage … festival …
Ogasawara-sensei, the head teacher of the special ed class, invited me to come with the class to some sort of orphanage festival today. The concept sounded kinda weird to me but in the end, I discovered it was basically a fun day for the children at the orphanage.
It’d been raining all weekend and when I woke this morning, the weather was no different. I put on my rain gear and biked to school, where I met the class. The teachers showed up by car with their own children. Shimao-sensei had a 2-year-old son, Taiga, and 6-year-old daughter, Yuuki, both of whom were ridiculously adorable. She drove me to the orphanage with her kids while the class and Ogawara-sensei rode their bikes.
About 50 kids ages 2 to 18 live at the orphanage, the teachers told me. The students who live there were busy setting up stuff, even in the pouring rain. I ended up eating some the unusual combination of cotton candy, Pocari Sweat (like Gatorade) a sausage on a stick and takoyaki. I’ve only tried takoyaki once — it’s a mushy breaded ball with octopus inside — and my opinion of it hadn’t improved any. I got a small tray of them, not realizing there was other food (like udon noodles) available. Drat. I was able to stomach eating about two-thirds but I had to covertly dump the rest. It was fascinating watching the children dig in so heartily into the takoyaki, scraping up any fallen bits from their tray to make sure no part went uneaten.
The orphanage was located right next to Jorakuji Temple, No. 14 in the island’s 88-Temple pilgrimage. I’d never been there, so Ogasawara-sensei ordered us all to visit. Since Kyoto, I have becoming increasingly more convinced that Japan is at its most beautiful in the rain. The slickness on the stone pavement, the dripping of rain from the eaves of the temple — everything just becomes more vivid.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004 — Let there be Japanese
Finally, I got around to beginning private Japanese lessons. My first lesson was today. I hired Satoshi, the young video store clerk I’d met at the beginning of my time in Tokushima. I was impressed already — he made housecalls.
We arranged to meet at Kuramoto Station by my home so he wouldn’t have to hunt for my apartment. I didn’t recognize Satoshi at first. I saw a young man park his scooter by the bikes lined up in front of the station but I didn’t want to stare and I didn’t want to wave and be wrong. I’d done that to one too many strangers already. It turned out to be Satoshi. Oh, but what a difference nine months had made! His hair was black, and relatively short, compared to the orange scraggliness I’d last seen on him last year. I was also surprised at his attire. He wore a polo shirt and slacks. He’d really made an effort to look professional, even if his polo shirt was lime green and his slacks, purple.
A fellow ALT had recommended Satoshi. I was a little skeptical of hiring someone younger than me but hey, who am I kidding — I’m teaching without any teaching experience. Satoshi soon put my fears, and my anxiety about speaking Japanese, to rest. In those two hours, I had really good time trying to talk things out. The beauty of Satoshi’s approach and skill is that when he says something you don’t understand, he immediately explains it. He doesn’t make you guess or rephrase it using other incomprehensible words. He downplays his ability but he is amazingly eloquent in English.
He also teaches a lot of, er, practical English. He mentioned of his students had had a problem with a male co-worker harassing her at staff drinking parties. He taught her how to say, “If you touch me again ... ” she’d cut off a part of her harasser’s body that he’s probably not want to lose. She’s been practicing the threat diligently, he told me, for when and if the problem arose again.
But D’oh! All this time I’ve been saying, “Narukoto,” thinking it means, “I see,” I’ve been WRONG. It’s actually, “Naruhodo.” AAAARRRRGHHHH. No wonder I’ve been getting all these weird, confused stares from Japanese people when I use it.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004 — Bike troubles
My bike revealed itself to have a flat tire just as I pulled into my neighborhood this afternoon. At least it did so when I was near home. Luckily, I’d bought a can of air (how weird is it to say that?) from the 100-yen store already and had it handy to put more air into the tire.
But an hour later, when I came down to bike with Sally to calligraphy, the tire was flat again. It had a hole.
So I said bye to Sally, put more air in the tire, hoping it would be enough to get me to my destination, and gamely began peddling through the rain (always the rain ...) to the bike shop. My school district office employs a specific bike shop to handle its bicycles. It was about 20 minutes away by bike. When I arrived, the lady said something about it not being possible to change the tire that day and to come back tomorrow.
My shoulders slumped. I dejectedly made my way back to my bike, which at least had gotten me that far. As I pulled my rain jacket hood back up, the woman came out and offered to take my bike and give me a loaner for the day. What luck! I was so happy!
I thanked her profusely and then almost crashed while cycling along on the loaner bike. Its center of gravity was difference and its brakes, unlike my bikes’, were quite sensitive. It was either, “stop” or “go.” But the laws of motion dictates that an object in motion likes to remain in motion — to keep myself from flying over the handlebars, I had to learn how to brake gradually.
Thursday, May 27, 2004 — In the kitchen
Whoo, whoo. Exam Day means no lessons. I made banana cake and sukiyaki with the special ed class instead.
Friday, May 21, 2004 — Self-introductions
I met the new Kokufu first-year students, at least some of them, for the first time today. The teacher gave me a list of things she wanted me to tell the class and I added some extra stuff so I could incorporate the 8 x 10 pictures of my life back home.
The classes went really well. The kids were totally paying attention during my self-introduction. They had the funniest comments, but they really made sense. Like when I said why I like Tokushima, I said because the city was quiet and because it had Awa Odori. The kids were like, “Tokushima’s not quiet during Awa Odori!” True, true.
We were gonna do new vocabulary after the introduction, which took about half an hour (including copious amounts of Japanese translation and comments from the students), but first we asked if any of the students had questions for me. Questions in Japanese were okay. I was so impressed by the response! Not so much because it had to do with me but because when I’d done the same exercise with the third-year students last year, we’d been met by dead silence. These kids ended up asking enough questions for almost the rest of the period!
I got the usual, “What foods do you like?” and “What color do you like?” questions. But I also got awesome questions like, “What do you think about the war on Iraq?” and “Does your family own a gun to protect themselves?” and “What’s your favorite (business) company?” and “Do you believe in God?” They also quizzed me on my Japanese current events which, thankfully, I was able to keep up with since I’d been reading the paper.
But hands-down, the best question came from one boy who’d first asked what anime I liked. I told him Evangelion, which is probably the best-known anime of my three favorite and is known as
しんせきエバゲリオン(“Shinseki Evangelion”) in Japan. Then he started asking me all these crazy questions like, “Which Evagelion do you like best? If you could pilot one, which one would you pilot?” It was COOL.Saturday, May 22, 2004 — Sampling small-town life
Ellie invited me to come hang out Mikamo this weekend, so I hopped a train west this morning. We had lunch together and then hit the video store before catching a taxi to Hashikura, a temple that you reach by riding a cable car up into the mountains. And darn it, I forgot my camera! It was quite picturesque up there.
The taxi driver who drove us to Hashikura spoke with a heavy Awa-ben regional accent, with plenty of, “NAH?”s and “kens.” Not that it’s ever easy for me to understand, but it made things a bit more difficult. He kept a running commentary with us on the way to Hashikura.
After the temple, we walked to a grocery store to pick up food for dinner and then on to Ellie’s apartment and watched, “Shanghai Noon.” Hahaha, nothing like a bit of mindless entertainment on a Saturday afternoon. For dinner, I made mashed potatoes and together, we concocted a pizza of sorts. Then it was time to go. Ellie walked me to the Tsuji train station and I got back about 9:30 p.m.
Visiting small towns like Mikamo make me really grateful for the twist of fate that put me in Kuramoto in Tokushima. My friends who live in smaller towns often have to go quite a ways to do simple things like grocery shopping. Conveniences like that are typically within a 20-mile bike ride for me, tops.
Then again, there is the bonus in small towns of people knowing who you are. When Ellie and I approached the taxi stand, one of the taxi drivers recognized Ellie.
Sunday, May 30, 2004 — Letters from school
Here are some of the letters my second-year junior high school students write me earlier this year. I finally got around to taking pictures of them to post them on the site.
I also went on a picnic with Sally to Bunka no Mori, the library-museum-park-cultural center on the outskirts of Tokushima. We found a shady spot and feasted in salad and pasta and sweets, courtesy of Sally. It was delicious, and a really great afternoon. We resolved to return with more friends for another picnic sometime in the future.
Monday, May 31, 2004 — Braving the local swimming pool
I’ve had my swimsuit since March, when Jacob delivered it for my parents on his visit. But it took me this long to mentally psych myself up to actually going to the only public swimming pool I’d figured out how to use so far, the Tokushima Youth Center pool.
I’d already scoped out the pool a couple of days before (I do things like that ... it’s all in the mental preparation). I’m not hardcore swimmer but I was a little appalled by how inefficiently a lot of the people were swimming. All this thrashing around! And this one guy was sooo pale, this alarming white-blue-green color. Like the color of a sick person with no exposure to the sun, only his body looked healthy, his skin just didn’t.
This evening, I resolutely hopped a bus downtown. From there, I walked the five minutes or so the youth center. The pool is in the basement but there’s a window on the first floor from which doting parents watch their children practice. Usually I don’t wear my contacts while swimming but this time I wore them so I’d be in full command of my faculties. That way, if there were any surprises, I would at least be able to see who would be talking to me and what sign the pool staff would be pointing out to show me what rule I am blatantly violating.
I made my way to the basement and gave the ticket guy a pool ticket I’d gotten from a friend. It costs about $3 for each use of the pool if you’re older than a teen-ager. It costs about $4 if you’re older than 26 years old because it is, after all, a youth center. I changed and then kept my eye on these two girls getting ready to go into the pool to see if there was any other procedure I was missing out on. They pulled on their swim caps. So did I. They doused themselves in the shower. So did I.
Then I eased myself into the pool. I found the way it was divided off different. The far right had been roped off into two lanes, one specifically for freestyle. The far left lane was for the swim school. That left about five unroped-off-lanes in the middle for everyone else. I was shocked! There was no order to any of this. You had to keep watching ahead of you so you didn’t crash into anyone. At least with roped-off lanes, you can swim in a circular pattern and you can do backstroke because you have the dividers to guide you. Here, you could conceivably swim all over the place.
I was also baffled why the pool required you to wear a swim cap. The rule wasn’t a problem, I had a swim cap, but really, the only reason you wear a swim cap is to reduce drag and keep you hair out of your face. It’s not like they serve hygienic purposes. But if they were for hygienic purposes, the only thing I can think of is for keeping hair out of the pool. But tons of people just pulled them on their heads without tucking their hair in, which totally defeated BOTH purposes ... !
After swimming intermittently for about 40 minutes — and nearly having a coronary from the exertion, it’d been a LONG time since I’d swum — I called it a day. Go me! Vivi conquers the swimming pool! I will be back.