The Optimistic Traveller

I taught myself how to swim when I was in my late 30s, at the ambassador’s residence pool in Rome, Italy.

Villa Taverna is surrounded by gorgeous gardens, within them a little haven with ancient armless sculptures around an average-sized pool. Sorry, I don’t know the technical terms for pool sizes, but it wasn’t Olympic; that, at least, I know. Sometimes flowers or leaves would flutter down and float on top, and a landscaper or the American teenager hired to be a lifeguard would take the net and skim them off the top. I was regularly saving bugs, if I could doggy paddle long enough to keep them (and myself) above water.

I was there with limited access the first year, since I hadn’t yet married my fiancé, who had the full privileges of using embassy facilities. Because we were ”only” domestic partners, a status which in fact at that time was not yet recognized by the State Department, I spent a lot of alone time, glared at by wives, not because of my beauty, but, I believe, because of my assumed availability. (Check out THIS slut who just moved overseas as a GIRLFRIEND! Little did they know! JK.) In between my flexible work hours, I’d often be the only one at the pool, so in between reading books about the American meat industry and gossipy-type Hollywood magazines, I’d practice going back and forth across the length of the pool, mimicking swimming motions I’d seen on television or in movies. I’d always put a confident look on my face so that the young man in red shorts would leave me be, or at least have faith I wouldn’t drown. Once, I could swear he had developed a crush on me, given that he kept trying to engage in lengthy conversations, but that’s neither here nor there. Since those 17 years ago, I’ve certainly been the object of younger men’s attention many a time. Once, on a girls’ trip to Key West, a much younger man — his bachelor friends around offering sips of liquor (which actually became a bit scary when the girls left me and went up to the room – I was mildly annoyed at them for the desertion but kept my cool) — floated me around in the pool and informed me we’d be meeting later that night for a poolside rendezvous. I didn’t oblige his command, but I was awake, my friends mildly snoring beside me, in the early AM hours. I was thinking about the sensation of floating, of the water, of the man’s earlier confident touch.

Key West isn’t known for its places to swim, but earlier that day I’d eked out a little spot amid some seaweed while the “girls” watched from ashore, sunning. How utterly boring life would be – and how uncomfortable – without the ability to take a dip to cool off. We also went snorkeling on that trip, as I did on many others to Key West. Off the coast just a big, the reef area is a beautiful location for a sail and a snorkel. I’ve spotted rather large sharks and an abundance of barracuda, attracted always to my many shiny bracelets and rings. Whenever I’m allowed, I snorkel without a life vest – it’s so much better to be free of constraints and connect with the undersea world more closely.

Backwards in time again to Rome. Eventually, when I was pregnant, I joined a small gym so that I could swim in the off-season. I ended up in that pool six days a week for at least thirty minutes at a time, just doing laps. It helped with the baby weight. My water broke just coming out of the pool one day. The exertion, I’m sure, had sped things along, thank goodness. I was not one of the women in the world who enjoy being pregnant. I’m certain my son’s love of water comes from hearing the cajoling splashes of the repeated movements across the short pool.

Growing up in Arkansas, I had always loved what I remembered of the ocean, and I’d sometimes wade in freshwater creeks; a couple of times I had a chance to be in canoes on rivers, and I loved the aloft feeling, and seeing the birds, turtles, and other creatures that hang out near the water. I dreamed often of saving fish from too-shallow puddles or flopping on the floor. Was that me trying to save myself, a Pisces? I don’t know. It’s been too long since my dream interpretation studies in Psych 101.

Nowadays, it’s rare that I dream of saving fish and tadpoles. Have I been saved? Am I no longer afraid of staying afloat? Are my lungs filled with oxygen?

My recurring dreams now 1) I’m still on the payroll for old bosses, but I’m not actually doing any useful work. I see colleagues, sit at an empty desk, and feel stupid. This is a nightmare. 2) I can jump so high and land perfectly and glide, a form of transportation, almost like flying, but better.

In my frequent travels, my self-taught swimming has become an absolute joy and, in some cases, a saving grace. Once, also in Florida, I narrowly avoided a rip current (with some difficulty) as others had to be assisted out of the danger zone. It’s a good thing there’s no requirement to be graceful to swim; I look a bit like a cormorant-turtle-frog, bobbing my head up out of the water and clapping my feet together, but I can keep it up for quite a while, until I turn over and float. There is nothing quite like closing your eyes and rising and falling with the waves in the warm sun. The more salinized the water, the easier it is to float for extended periods of time. In Abu Dhabi, it was nearly impossible to dip below the surface!

It proved handy when I wanted to try surfing in Barbados. We had to paddle out very far to catch the waves, and I kept falling off the board, so in order to enjoy my one good wave, I nearly depleted all my energy just in swimming out several times to try. A lot of surfers get towed out by jet skis to catch waves now, but to be fair, those are the super-skilled surfers riding the giants.

Nowadays, I become a little sad if my travel destination is landlocked. Kayaking a lake or boating through river rapids is a good alternative, but cold weather and indoor pools will never do it for me. I end up trying to make do with other nature-related adventures (hiking or sledding), but it’s just not the same.

If I see a challenge in the water (for example, a compelling bird atop a buoy or a line of buoys themselves, daring me to meet them, or a floating island meant to sun oneself upon – forget about it. I will always swim toward a challenge; perhaps that will one day be the death of me. At least I’ll go down swimming.