Swim

I finally managed to have a swim! Once again after work, we asked to be driven to the Hotel Khifoyat. This time, the pool enclosure was not locked, and there were a few guys milling around. We approached the man closest to the pool, a middle aged guy in tan coloured shalwar kameez, a muslim cap and a flowing, extremely neat rich brown beard. He was very polite to Ed, and said yes, he certainly could swim. And how about women? Ed asked tentatively. Oh no, not women, no – he replied, but a very young man approached and unexpectedly contradicted his elder, assuring Ed that women could swim.

Well, what is she going to wear, asked the portly gentleman with the flowing beard, gesturing with his chin at me and miming an obviously deeply unsuitable skimpy bathing item against his own body. Oh no, I assured him in shocked tones, as if we were discussing polo rather than swimming, I’m not going to take my clothes off.
So, we got permission, and we were shown to a little cubicle where I removed my headscarf (which felt very daring per se, in the open air) and ample silk skirt, but retained my long shift and leggings underneath. I showered in this get up before entering the pool, and what a delight it was! I couldn’t say whether the clothes slowed me down a good deal, or whether I am generally out of puff, but the pool seemed to be very big and deep and green once I had got in.

I got into my stride and set about doing laps as solemnly as I could, looking demurely straight ahead to avoid making eye contract with the small crowd of silent onlookers who gradually assembled along one side, sitting on their haunches. But it was splendid, that swim, I valued it all the more for the obstacles we had overcome along the way, as there is really nothing quite like it for cooling the blood, and clearing the mind.