Swedish Swimmers

Today, after our new normal morning (breakfast at home, homeschool in the white building, bus into town), we headed to our local pool.

Photo from: http://gfx.dagbladet.no/labrador/209/209700/20970019/jpg/active/978x.jpg

The pool is located in a building that also houses a gym, a spa, and a salon. It cost us 160 kronor (or about $18) for a two hour admission to the pool.

Photo from http://www.svenskeporten.no/userimages/logotyp445.gif

In the women's locker room, the girls balked at the idea of changing in front of other people (although they've done this numerous times at the Y at home). They crouched down low in a corner, stealthily and speedily changing into their suits, unlike the old Swedish lady who happily chatted us up while nude.

Next stop, the shower room. There were lots of rules and signs posted all around (I surreptitiously took photos before we left for googling later) including rules on the door of yet another sauna! Between my girls' strong reaction to our previous sauna and my inability to decipher any of the rules guiding its use, I decided against trying it today. We rinsed off and headed to the pool.

The pool room overlooks Strömstad harbor; the wall facing it is largely glass. Stylish chairs fill the space between windows and pool. There's also a small cafe called "Fika" which is what the Swedes call their mid-morning and mid-afternoon coffee break.

The pool itself is decent-sized, filled with salt water, and heated to a reasonable 28 degrees C (about 82 F). When we first arrived, a few older folks swam laps. Afraid of disturbing them and unsure of the norms, I didn't let the girls use any of the mountains of pool equipment that lined the walls. Eventually, Chelsea couldn't resist the lure of the slide and the diving platforms and asked a staff member, who gave her the go-ahead.

I still refused to let the girls use any of the floating things in various shapes and sizes, thinking that they were meant for swim lessons. Until another kid showed up. And proceeded to drag every piece of equipment he could get his hands on into the pool. The girls rolled their eyes at me (sassy teenagers in the making!) and got busy playing with all of the stuff I had denied them.

As we swam, I overheard a little boy speaking Spanish. He took off his floatie and said, "Mommy, I'm not using the thing. I can swim!" I noticed how easily I had understood him compared to the Swedish-speaking children whose language might as well have been gibberish for all I could understand of it.

I swam over to the boy's mom, and we had a nice little conversation in Spanish. My Spanish is terrible, but it's light years beyond my Swedish. My only Swedish sentence so far: "Vi behöver mer tid." (We need more time.) Recommended for use in restaurants and cafes with indecisive children.

On our way back to the locker room, we passed the kiddie pool: a shallow, mini-pool with little water spouts and colorful decor. We dipped our toes in to check the temperature, and it was noticeably warmer than the main pool. "That's ok," one of my girls said, "The baby pool is always warmer because it's mostly pee."

Next time, I'm gonna see if I can sit in the stylish chairs, drink coffee from Fika, and enjoy the view while my children play with all 8 million pool toys. And then we're going in the sauna.