Getting to Know My New Hometown (Part 2: Swimming Pool)

If you read my first post about a swimming pool experience in Denmark, you might see a bit of a resemblance with this one. I would love to say that I have grown up since my last post and am now comfortable with Danish swimming pools, but sadly, that is not the case. Unfortunately, there is still something about them that really piss me off! (Sorry for the vulgarity, but there might be more ahead!)

It has been a bit on the warm side for the past few days. In Denmark in the summer, you can expect almost constant sunshine, since the sun rises before 5am and after 10pm in May, the actual summer months of June, July and August have more sun. It is crazy. The days of telling your kids to go to bed because it is dark outside are a thing of the past. The sun is also hot. I know the sun is hot, but it feels hotter here than it did in the US. I’m not a scientist or sun expert, but I have to say that after being in the sunshine for a short time, I have a tan. It might just be on my face, but it is there. I am usually the girl who reflects sunlight, since I’m so pale, but here, I feel like I just stepped out of the amazon. My point is, though it may not have actually reached the 80 degree mark today, it felt hotter.

Because my kids go to a typical Danish daycare, they are outside for most of the day. I thought I would surprise them with a trip to the pool today to cool off from all that playing. Being that we have a pool in Bjerringbro, I thought it would be worth it to try it out, since we have never been there. Our (meaning me and my two little guys) first experience at a Danish pool was an eye-opener, to say the least. The memory is still there, but oddly enough, I don’t remember all the hostility and negativity that went along with it. Chances are, that is why I thought venturing to this other pool would be a good idea. Boy, am I thick!

Pools in DK are not like pools in the US. For starters, they are mostly indoors. It makes sense, since it is often cold and rainy here. I mean, it isn’t Spain! I get it! It makes more sense. However, when the days are actually hot, it would be nice to have an outdoor pool option, but for most Danes, that option does exist. It is called the OCEAN! Being in the center of the country, I don’t have an ocean, and I didn’t want to spend too long in the car to get to a pool. My little, land-locked town would do just fine. To be fair, though, the indoor pools are nice, and they have a great rule system that makes them easy to use…if you are a Dane.

Disclaimer: In no way am I saying anything negative about this pool, its employees or the town. I’m merely reflecting on yet another culture shock I felt from one of the many differences between Danish and American daily lives. Silver lining, people!

This leads me to my tale of the swimming pool. When we arrived, it was a bit too early, since the pool didn’t actually open for about 15 minutes. I brought a snack, and the boys and I sat and ate while we waited. Going to the pool must have been on many minds that day, because we were not alone at 4pm when the pool opened. There were even more people there at 5pm, but let’s not jump the gun. Those people will find a place in this story soon enough.

At 4pm, the boys and I went into the woman’s locker room. There was the first “room”, which was solely for shoes. We took off our shoes, placed them on one of the many shelves and opened the other door to the locker room. I need to back track a bit. When we were sitting at a table, close to the cashier, a lady came in and got in line. She just arrived by bike, and you could tell she was hot and sweaty. She said something to us in Danish, but I had no idea what it was. Yes, I still have no idea what people say MOST of the time. It sucks, but I didn’t make the language. I more-or-less shook my head “yes” at her and looked away. My nosey big guy said, “What did she say, mom?” Of course, my response was more along the lines of, “I have no idea.” When we walked in the locker room, she was at the locker closest to the door. She said something else, but we just walked on, as I gave her a weak smile. (Okay, so it might come across as bitchy, but there was something missing with this lady. Something wasn’t quite right, so I can’t really be sure she was actually talking to me.) I pushed my kids to the far opposite corner from the door to be completely out of the way and with the smallest distance to the showers.

I quickly changed my kids into their swimsuits and then myself. After their brief visit to the bathroom, we were ready for the showers. Of course, I found the one shower with cold water, and big brother was the guinea pig. I wised up and tried another shower for little brother, who was perfectly fine getting clean. So far, so good. I used soap to wash mostly their backs, bellies and heads. Call me weird (I know you won’t if you are American, because I know how you think.), but I feel weird about washing my kids in front of strangers. I know I’m their mother, but I don’t really want an audience when it comes to that. Another reason why I need my husband for things like this!

Then it was my turn to get under the water. At this point, another mom joined with her daughter and “bike lady” was also there. If you haven’t read my other post, you wouldn’t know that in Denmark, the showers in these places are communal showers for all the ladies (plus kids, who decided to join mom). It isn’t like in the US, where people can get their own shower stall with floral curtain guarding you from those wondering eyes. If you see one naked body EVER in the locker room, you think that that person must have mental issues. In Denmark, no one even thinks twice about being naked with complete strangers, the mail lady, their hairdresser, or fifth-grade teacher. WTF!!! I have a feeling that I will never get used to this! Anyway, back to the shower. I, of course, am in my bathing suit. The other mom is topless, which makes me feel somewhat okay, but “not-quite-there bike lady” is completely naked. I use the soap they have there to wash mainly what the suit doesn’t cover, stuff that I feel comfortable washing with strangers watching: arms, legs, collar bone. I don’t wash my hair. Judge me if you will, but I hate getting my hair wet. I didn’t plan on getting wet above my waist in the pool, anyway, so I feel it is a waste of perfectly dry hair to get it wet at this point. I also know that I wasn’t “dirty” in the areas that “bike lady” needed serious concentration. From the stench she was putting off, I wondered if this was her only shower this week. The mere thought now makes me want to vomit! 🙁 I know, I’m a big B! Dang it! At least, I didn’t say anything to her. I’m NOT all bad. She did, however, say something to me. I’m not sure what it was, but I think I knew then; I was just getting so used to ignoring her. (Again, that sounds bad, but you weren’t there. You don’t know! It was just strange.) She mentioned something about the entrance, which is where the RULES were posted. Not being able to speak the language is not an issue in these locker rooms. Meaning, the signs for the RULES are also in English, accompanied with cartoon pictures in case you are really thick (or speak something else). They don’t mess around. I think “bike lady” was trying to tell me to wash more places on my body. Seeing as I worked out earlier in the day and had actually two showers already that day (How about you “bike lady”?), I thought I was good.

I scooted the boys to the pool area where we chose the (colder) shallow pool to occupy our time. There was a large pool with a few lap lanes and diving boards farther over, and there was also a (warm) pool inside its own room. We didn’t go there, since it seemed deeper. My boys like shallow water. I saw a sign (Yes, I read this one!) about children wearing floaty belts, so I put one on each of my kids. After other kids came around, I noticed that I may have put them on wrong. There was a picture to show people how to hang the belts up after used, but there was no sign showing how to use them. Classic!

This was about the time when a lady came over to me and said something about my hair. I told her I wasn’t going to get it wet, because I don’t like the chlorine. She tried to say something else, but then left. I went back to playing with my kids until she came back with another (English-speaking) lady. The other lady mentioned that my hair wasn’t wet. I told her that I didn’t plan on getting my hair wet in the pools. Freeze!! This makes sense in the US. No one comes over to you to check your hair. If you don’t want to get wet hair, no one forces you to wash it in the shower. You are given space and respect for your hair in the US! Unfreeze!! However, they don’t give a s%^# about that in Denmark. The lady nicely said, “you need to wash your hair and take off your earrings. If others come and see that you don’t do it, they will think it is okay for them not to do it.” I smiled and said that I understood, but seriously inside I was holding back every feeling I had to tell her where to stick my earrings and her nice cold shower! “Just keep smiling, just keep smiling, do-do-dodo-do-do.” I also was attempting to be a good role model for my kids after I nearly called off the whole swimming adventure do to my near meltdown attitude towards their wild kingdom behavior in the grocery store about 20 minutes before then. This afternoon just wasn’t my afternoon. (End rant!)

After taking off my earrings and doing the fastest run through the shower as only could be performed by Flash himself, the boys and I went back to the shallow pool. Big brother played on the slide and stuck his face in the water. Little brother wanted to practice swimming and was doing a great job. Things were good, but for some reason, I felt that the swim police (Dare I say, gestapo?) were still watching me. I just felt uneasy, but no one bothered me. It was okay. Just another case of me NOT following the rules. Maybe I should pay more attention to the signs. I just never bothered to look at or read them ever. (In the voice of Cartwright from South Park, “I do what I want!”) Don’t get me wrong, I am not an evil person out to corrupt the Danish indoor swimming halls. Apparently, it is just a case of culture shock…just something else I need to learn. Though this is my second experience with this, I still feel that I am able to play the foreigner card. (Wink, wink!)

After an hour, I tell the boys that I wanted to check out what was outside. We walked to the side of the big pool, where windows and a door went out to a hot tub and a large room, which I think was the coed (is that the right word?) sauna. Obviously, those weren’t things that would interest little fellas such as mine, so we decided to leave. Luckily, I was holding on to little brother’s hand because he slipped three times on our way back to the locker room. Seriously? Don’t they have people working there that can’t wipe those puddles up? Are they instead too busy checking for jewelry and wet hair? Hmmph!

Anyway! Once we get back to the locker room, we realize that it must be the busy time for people to come to the swimming pool, because the locker room is packed. Oh, crap!!  I wouldn’t say that I was in panic mode at this point, but I could just see my 6 year old’s eyes bulging out of his head at all the boobs at his eye level. Granted, mostly of them were attached to old ladies, but none-the-less, they were still boobs. He even commented that “bike lady” had “really big boobs.” Oh, joy! I was just glad that he didn’t mention other body parts, because there was plenty of everything. We didn’t hit the showers, but I did have the boys undress in the shower/bathroom hallway. They wrapped their towels around them afterwards as we walked the 4 steps to the locker. You would think that things were moving smoothly at this point, but I look up and can’t find big brother in the mass of flesh that surrounded me. After a bit of bobbing and weaving the bodies, I found that he went to the main door. Hahah! In his daze, he forgot where the locker was. Poor little lamb! 🙂 I motioned him to come to the locker, but that didn’t stop him from taking in the view on his way back to us. It was hard for me to make a case of “don’t look”, since the woman in this locker room were so comfortable with being naked. I, however, looked either at my sons, our clothes or the floor. I just couldn’t physically get my neck to move my head upwards. Thank God for that!

Luckily, our locker was somewhat in a corner, so I told my big guy to sit down and face the locker while he got dressed. This seemed to help him focus. Lord, have mercy! Little brother on the other hand, was completely comfortable with his surroundings and embracing his newly found freedom of being a naked Dane in a locker room. I envied him a little! He never once mentioned boobs! 🙂 I dressed him and quickly dressed myself in the time that it took big brother to finish with his last item of clothing: socks. As we were turning to walk towards the main door, a lady (naked of course. Does that make you feel uncomfortable??) Says something to me in Danish. I got the gist of what was going on. She didn’t have her glasses and needed help with her locker. After helping her, we were back on track towards the main door, where, wouldn’tcha know, “bike lady” stood naked and staring blankly at us. I, of course, saw the whole thing out of the corner of my eye. Not wanting to make eye contact in the fear of being turned to stone. (too much?) I (not shoved) lead my children to the door past her, and as we are walking out she says to us in English “Have a nice day.” “Thank you”, I say, and we’re out of there. Was she the one who ratted me out to the workers for not washing my hair? Maybe. Was I upset with her? Not at all. Did I want to get the hell out of there as fast as my wings could carry? You bet your ass!

Lesson: Don’t go to a swimming pool in Denmark until you’ve gotten comfortable being naked in front of strangers and gotten comfortable washing your privates in front of them. It is sad that I’m 0 for 2 with regards to Danish swim halls, but at least I’m trying…right? I have to think that there are people out there who are far more freaked out about this stuff than I am. Those thoughts help me get through this crazy thing called living abroad. Sometimes, I want to click my ruby slippers together and say “there’s no place like home”, but I have to keep up the good fight. After all, God must really think I’m strong with all of the challenges I’ve faced these past few months. I know I’m acting like a complete child. I know that these instances are no bigger than the real challenges people face on a day-to-day basis: cancer, infertility, Donald Trump. I’m just glad that at the end of it all, I have something worth writing about. It shows me that I didn’t just sit at home, but I went out and tried. It helps me to believe that everything’s going to be okay…in DK!