My French Swimming Session.
As we’ve based ourselves in Southern France for a couple of months, the other day I thought I’d take the opportunity to head on down with our family to the local pool and smash out some laps. I love my laps, there’s something therapeutic about them, the monotony, rhythmic breathing, the zoning out of it all. It’s my happy place. I swim a lot back home in QLD too, so I was keen to continue the habit in France. To say the experience was different from my small local community pool on the Sunny Coast is an understatement.
After arriving at the pool reception and battling a few language barriers, we purchased out tickets (I tend to find myself slipping into a game of charades when faced with language challenges- I think the receptionist thought I was wanting CPR, not a swim). We then discovered we had to wear swimming caps, which she said would be 10 euro each - ouch, that’s 10 euro I’ll never get back. To cut a long story short, there weren’t enough caps to purchase for the family, so she said our last option was to buy the 4 euro caps out of the vending machine… score! We then made our way through a long walkway, my daughter steered to the right female change rooms, and us boys to the left. This spat us out into a large communal change area where we were reunited with the females - go figure! We then found our independent cubicles and got set for our swim.
Once I managed to eventually pry my ears into the swimming cap, I was good to go. I was quickly met by the swimming patrol, who let me know that boys couldn’t wear board shorts. In their words, it was forbidden. Forbidden, wow, I haven’t heard that word for a while… I felt like I was in the Garden of Eden. We pushed on. I hit a swimming lane that can only be likened to peak hour on the Monash Freeway in Melbourne. It was mayhem. More flesh than water. What was I saying about monotony, rhythmic breathing, and zoning out before? it was anything but. Swimmers kept clipping my feet, I alternated between freestyle and breaststroke so that I didn’t run into the person in front of me, all the time while three-way traffic was going on in the one lane. For the life of me, I could not work out who gave way if two people were overtaking in opposite directions (both in the middle lane). It was chaos.
When finished, I gave the kids some food in the stands, which I was also told was forbidden. I then got changed and put my sneakers on - I was told this was not accepted. I was making a dog’s dinner of things, but I carried on, doing my best to understand and respect the cultural differences. It was the polar opposite from my one person per 1 lane, wear whatever, do whatever normality in QLD. And do you know what was ironic about my experience in the pool where all things seemed forbidden… as I finished up my swim and walked out, I saw the lifeguards glued to their phones. One lifeguard was even asleep!
I’ve always had a rule of thumb in other countries - if you set foot on their territory, respect their way of life. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. It’s kind of like your level of tolerance naturally expands… other people do things differently in faraway distance lands, and that’s OK. We can agree to do things differently or adapt. In the French swimming pool, whether it made sense or not, I found my tolerance levels were naturally greater that what they would have been back home. Although a little embarrassed, I just went with the flow and breathed easy and considered why they would have had different rules to us.
This got me thinking of tolerance levels (or lack of it) within communities in the same country, culture, or community. Whether it be health, politics, schooling, equality, or whatever, we are often so incredibly intolerant of ‘ways of life’ that differ. It’s not to say we shouldn’t have a voice, or not tolerate certain actions or standards, many wrong things need to be called out. But as for our general tolerance levels amongst each other, I sense we’re swaying too far one way. I feel as a collective society, we err on the side of judgment rather than curiosity. We tend to easily get upset when we feel put out. Ironically, this has an impact on our own stress levels and general enjoyment in life.
I wonder what would happen if we leaned into our indifferences with curiosity instead of judgement? What if we considered why someone or some group might do things differently to us, even when this puts us out. Maybe it’s based on their past, their hurts, or their world as they know it now. I can’t help but feel increased tolerance would breed more respect, understanding, and appreciation of how life can be lived differently. We’re allowed to have many different opinions, perspectives and ways of life… it’s what makes us unique and human. The world has been this way for a long time, and it keeps spinning on.
So, this is a challenge for me as much as anyone else. What did my french swim teach me? The way life is done in different places can leave us looking at a set of circumstances with a kind of inquisitiveness. How can we create increased levels of tolerance within the same place? Is it possible to step back and look at annoying things with a little less judgement? How would this benefit others? How would this benefit ourselves? How would it benefit our larger communities? Dare I say it, I do think the majority would agree with me that we’d benefit from a lifeguard staying awake though!