Happy Bath Day!

So! (Germans always start big or small announcements with "So!") I celebrated my first Swiss birthday last Thursday! Very exciting. Doubtlessly you're thinking the occassion presents boundless opportunities to celebrate in a variety of Euro-special ways...and of course you're right!

First let's dispose of some administrative issues. FYI, the earth has orbited the sun more than thirty-five and less than forty times since my birth. In mathematical terms, that's:

35 ‹ r ‹ 40, where r = earth's rotations around the sun

I suppose you want to know exactly how many times it's gone around as of that particular day last Thursday? I'll politely defer. Perhaps you can ask my twin brother, as completely coincidentally some years (and amazingly again this year!) he elects to celebrate on the very same day. Can you believe it? Not very imaginative, that guy.

The only proverbial wrench was Steph being pre-booked with a late work dinner Thursday, meaning I needed to provide my own entertainment for the celebration. No problem, or Kein Problem, as we say. So. I focused on breathing all day to save energy for the evening. I decided to attack two items recently on the short list for discovery: one Activity and one Food Item.

Regarding the Activity...a tram runs directly outside our apartment, up and down the eastern hillside of Lake Zürich. Riding 8 minutes downhill we arrive downtown; 8 minutes uphill we reach the end of the line at the "city-suburb" of Zollikon. Near this final uphill stop lies the trailhead for a panoramic hike which we traversed previously, thereby also betraying the nearby location of a gigantic...Schwimmbad! Literally translated, that's "swim bath," but basically a public pool. Yet during our trek we sensed from afar some supernormal (not paranormal) aura. And since swimming was a usual element of my weekly workout routine--but I hadn't hit a pool in nearly four months since our move to Switzerland--I determined to check it out on my birthday (it's a start!).

Bidding Ciao! to Hobbes as the early evening sun waned, I caught the tram, rode until termination and then followed the well-marked walking signs (love that Swiss signage!) to the swimming establishment--das Schwimmbad Fohrbach Zollikon. I love that name, don't know why exactly. After the ritual fumbling through German with the nice reception attendant, I paid the pre-researched 8 CHF entry fee, but then she apparently inexplicably asked for another 5 Francs!? Unable to translate, I discerned it as a verdammt Ausländer ("bloody foreigner") fee. I presented 3 x 2 Franc coins, to which she returned a 5 Franc and 1 Franc coin. Hmm, let's see, 6 Francs exchanged for 6 Francs, a strange fee. Naturally, only after reaching the locker room did I realize that the large 5 Franc coin is necessary to secure a locker (the money is returned) and she was simply ensuring I had one. Nasty foreigner fee indeed.

The locker room was unexpectedly unisex--more than slightly surprising walking into a throng (not thong) of dripping, bathing-suit-clad women and moms and children and a few shell-shocked dads--but the changing stalls, showers and bathrooms were thankfully separate for Herren and Damen. I successfully navigated through the various labrynthine rooms of lockers slamming, hot-air driers drying, toilets flushing, and showers spraying without either discovering or betraying any embarassing nakedness until I actually found the pool itself.

The indoor "pool" was actually three or four or fifteen separate pools, difficult to discern--some with large looming outlines of water slides and an inordinate amount of splashing obscuring the scene, some with hanging pirate-ship-rigging rope from which kids swung and flew and possibly dueled with sabres, and perhaps one secluded pool in the back for Hugh Hefner and guests, I couldn't really tell. I locked onto a nearby pool visible with a few adults wading back and forth like frogs and took the plunge into an open lane. I swam a few laps without losing my goggles, trunks or locker key and considered it a success. Upon exiting the "exercise" pool, however, I gravitated towards the main event, towards that aura, that "I just had a feeling" element...the year-round outdoor pool.

Yes, the Schwimmbad Fohrbach outdoor pool is a marvel of Swiss engineering. It was February wintertime and nighttime and nonetheless the water is absolutely perfect bath temperature, advertised as 34°C (93°F). Peripheral light from a few upwards-pointing floodlights hazily highlights the landscaped poolside area but mostly surreally illuminates the steamy hanging atmosphere. Rows of long aluminum bars are strategically implanted near the pool walls below the water's surface, acting as makeshift lounge chairs and handholds for reclining while the warm water intermittantly bubbles forcefully up from whirlpool jets. Two nearby overhead curved faucet-type openings plunge warm water like heavy waterfalls down onto the head and neck and shoulders of their lucky recipients. Of course as the birthday boy, I spent ample time in all the pool's best locations, both above the water to appreciate the cool night air and then back into the warm whirlpools and waterfalls. Hopp Schwiiz!

Eventually excessively pruned from the water, I reluctantly retreated to the main pool and dove back into the relatively cold water for some masochistic fun before retracing my steps through various German-labeled wet and tiled and plumbed rooms to rediscover my locker. Even my newbie mistake from too much time spent the past several years in the relative luxury of club locker rooms vs. public pool areas, that is, not bringing my own towel, couldn't dampen the experience. In what I considered an ingenious maneuver, I employed a combination of the adjustable hot-air driers (admittedly, most women were using them on their hair...right then) and my absorbent cotton undershirt to achieve the same effect as a silly old-fashioned towel.

As if charmed, I even remembered to retrieve my shiny 5 Franc coin from the locker as I set out into the night for my next birthday conquest...the Döner Kebab.