When my wife and I were looking to buy our first apartment back in Sweden last year, proximity to the local swimming pool (the lovely 50 metre job on the right) was pretty high up my list of criteria. The fact that Fyrishov also happened to be five minutes away from the studio where Rosalía practises yoga was a bonus, and helped narrow our search area considerably (to be fair, Uppsala is a pretty small city so it would have been hard to find somewhere that far away). I've been swimming on and off my whole life, from weekly lessons at primary school in Jersey to sporadic semi-hungover sessions before maths lectures at university in Bath to a pretty consistent 2-3 times a week throughout my time in Uppsala, even if time in the pool itself has gone down in recent years just as time in the post-swim sauna and jacuzzi has gone up.
While still staying with the parents-in-law during the early days of our time here in Mexico, to my surprise I came across a sports centre with a swimming pool close nearby. I decided out of curiosity to find out what the deal was; I was somewhat stunned to discover I would have to provide a birth certificate, proof of residence, ECG and blood tests from the last 6 months, two recent passport photographs, as well as paying a joining fee and monthly membership. By contrast, in Uppsala the process of going swimming basically consists of turning up, buying a ticket and jumping in the pool. Needless to say I passed on that opportunity.
A few weeks later, after moving across town to the apartment where we're now staying, I began to hear rumours about another swimming pool, even closer-by than the previous one. I couldn't actually see the place because it's hidden in one of many closed neighbourhoods here, where the residents basically get together and shut off the streets to anyone who doesn't live there by installing gates with security guards at all the entrances, despite the fact that legally they are completely public. However, the clues were everywhere, like the signs saying "swimming pool" with an arrow painted on a nearby wall, the convincing website saying that there was in fact a swimming facility just up the road, the sight of people walking around everyone in tracksuits, goggles and swimming caps (not really). I eventually took the plunge (pun intended) and wrote an email asking what times the pool was open and how much it would cost to swim a couple of times a week.
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| The pool had to be behind here somewhere |
What happened next was a real lesson in cross-cultural communication for me. In my mail I specifically mentioned that I wanted to be able to just turn up and swim on my own, that I had found information on their website about swimming classes but I couldn't figure out if and when the pool was open for general swimming. The first reply came (roughly translated):
"Good afternoon Señor Smith, we offer swimming classes between one and five times a week from 5.30am to 9.30am. How many classes would you like?"
Miffed at the complete disregard for my actual question, but willing to accept that perhaps I hadn't been clear enough, or that my Spanish was letting me down, I replied to say thanks, but I wasn't interested in classes, I was interested in knowing when the pool was open for general swimming without an instructor. The reply came:
"Señor Smith, we invite you to come take a free swimming class and get to know the place. The advantage is that you will improve your technique."
At this point it became clear to me that this person simply could not bring herself to say that they don't open the pool outside of the context of classes. I've begun to see a real cultural difference in communication here: I found it infuriating that my questions weren't just answered directly, but as others have noted (see point 3 here) people really don't like saying no, preferring to answer a different question or simply make something up in many cases.
After walking around in a minor huff for a couple of days, I began to ask myself if taking a swimming class would actually be such a terrible thing after all. It might actually be good to work on my technique, and having a regular class would increase the chances I actually turn up and swim a good hour a couple of times a week (in Uppsala I'm very pleased with myself if I last half an hour, often it's considerably less). I decided to take up the offer of a trial free class after all, and after finally succeeding in extracting the relevant information about exactly how the classes work--basically you show up at half past the hour with a bunch of other people and the teacher divides you into groups and barks instructions for an hour--I went along one morning, talked my way past the security guards, talked my way past the receptionist (my email contact had promised and failed to leave a guest pass for me) and had a thoroughly exhausting and exhilarating session. It wasn't sooo different from what I call general swimming at the end of the day, the only differences being having to try and remember whether the teacher said 50 meters crawl or 75 meters backstroke or arms only or legs only, listening to the odd minor stroke adjustment and feeling a slightly heightened motivation not to slack off while possibly being observed.
I came out of that first class feeling rather ecstatic, decided that I was going to sign up for regular classes, even if I knew they weren't going to be cheap. Fitness and sports activities are extremely expensive in Mexico City, even by Northern European standards. Rosalía's yoga studio in San Angel, for example, charges a standard joining fee of $5,200 pesos (roughly 220 British pounds or 2,400 Swedish crowns at today's exchange rates), plus a monthly fee of around $2,000 pesos (£85/930kr). Given that the minimum wage in Mexico City is just $80 pesos per day, it's shocking to see just how far out of reach these kinds of activities are for huge swathes of the population. When I asked my email contact how much I would need to pay in total to join (what's with the joining fees here?) plus my two classes a week until the end of June, I was quoted $6,200 pesos (£265/2,900kr), which didn't seem too extortionate (although I would have paid 1,580kr in Sweden for the same period and been able to swim as many times as I wanted.) After a brief disagreement when they tried to change the price to $8,300 pesos at the last minute when I went along to actually pay, claiming there had been a miscalculation in the original offer (there hadn't), I eventually paid $6,370 pesos, the extra $170 covering my brand spanking new ID card, which I'm pretty happy with. I guess the computer systems here in Mexico couldn't cope with the fact that I only have one surname, so I ended up with this:
So far I've been to half a dozen classes and I have to say I'm happy that I went for it. In fact, I probably should have taken swimming classes years ago. Perhaps when we finally return to Uppsala I'll aim to spend a bit more time in the pool, even if I'm not quite ready yet to give up on the after-session saunas altogether.
"Good afternoon Señor Smith, we offer swimming classes between one and five times a week from 5.30am to 9.30am. How many classes would you like?"
Miffed at the complete disregard for my actual question, but willing to accept that perhaps I hadn't been clear enough, or that my Spanish was letting me down, I replied to say thanks, but I wasn't interested in classes, I was interested in knowing when the pool was open for general swimming without an instructor. The reply came:
"Señor Smith, we invite you to come take a free swimming class and get to know the place. The advantage is that you will improve your technique."
At this point it became clear to me that this person simply could not bring herself to say that they don't open the pool outside of the context of classes. I've begun to see a real cultural difference in communication here: I found it infuriating that my questions weren't just answered directly, but as others have noted (see point 3 here) people really don't like saying no, preferring to answer a different question or simply make something up in many cases.
After walking around in a minor huff for a couple of days, I began to ask myself if taking a swimming class would actually be such a terrible thing after all. It might actually be good to work on my technique, and having a regular class would increase the chances I actually turn up and swim a good hour a couple of times a week (in Uppsala I'm very pleased with myself if I last half an hour, often it's considerably less). I decided to take up the offer of a trial free class after all, and after finally succeeding in extracting the relevant information about exactly how the classes work--basically you show up at half past the hour with a bunch of other people and the teacher divides you into groups and barks instructions for an hour--I went along one morning, talked my way past the security guards, talked my way past the receptionist (my email contact had promised and failed to leave a guest pass for me) and had a thoroughly exhausting and exhilarating session. It wasn't sooo different from what I call general swimming at the end of the day, the only differences being having to try and remember whether the teacher said 50 meters crawl or 75 meters backstroke or arms only or legs only, listening to the odd minor stroke adjustment and feeling a slightly heightened motivation not to slack off while possibly being observed.
I came out of that first class feeling rather ecstatic, decided that I was going to sign up for regular classes, even if I knew they weren't going to be cheap. Fitness and sports activities are extremely expensive in Mexico City, even by Northern European standards. Rosalía's yoga studio in San Angel, for example, charges a standard joining fee of $5,200 pesos (roughly 220 British pounds or 2,400 Swedish crowns at today's exchange rates), plus a monthly fee of around $2,000 pesos (£85/930kr). Given that the minimum wage in Mexico City is just $80 pesos per day, it's shocking to see just how far out of reach these kinds of activities are for huge swathes of the population. When I asked my email contact how much I would need to pay in total to join (what's with the joining fees here?) plus my two classes a week until the end of June, I was quoted $6,200 pesos (£265/2,900kr), which didn't seem too extortionate (although I would have paid 1,580kr in Sweden for the same period and been able to swim as many times as I wanted.) After a brief disagreement when they tried to change the price to $8,300 pesos at the last minute when I went along to actually pay, claiming there had been a miscalculation in the original offer (there hadn't), I eventually paid $6,370 pesos, the extra $170 covering my brand spanking new ID card, which I'm pretty happy with. I guess the computer systems here in Mexico couldn't cope with the fact that I only have one surname, so I ended up with this:
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| "Smith Smith Aaron" |
So far I've been to half a dozen classes and I have to say I'm happy that I went for it. In fact, I probably should have taken swimming classes years ago. Perhaps when we finally return to Uppsala I'll aim to spend a bit more time in the pool, even if I'm not quite ready yet to give up on the after-session saunas altogether.
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