Christmas, and Swimming
I am not a fan of public pools. I like swimming in open spaces, preferably with waves impeding my progress. Since both of these features are noticeably lacking in public pools, I avoid them. But what bothers me even more than the constraints of the pool, with its calm water, is the idea of sharing a limited amount of water with total strangers and the ubiquitous hair-ball anemones lurking on the pool bottom. During my first year in Nukus I stayed away from our school pool, entirely ignoring the fact that it was there and available to staff on weekends. After a fun summer of swimming in the murky waters of a pond near our village, however, occasionally kicking away a carp who got too personal, I was not willing to give up swimming until the next summer. I was ready to check out the school pool.
Our school is kept spotless by numerous cleaning ladies who spend their days washing floors before they even get dirty, polishing already gleaming surfaces, and cleaning sparkling windows. Knowing this, I expected to see a nice clean pool on a Sunday morning in September as I headed down to have my first swim. And still, I was not prepared for the sight that welcomed me. The blue ceiling was reflected in the pool’s crystal-clear water, its turquoise tiles lending it the visual quality of a cove somewhere in the Caribbean. Why had I waited for a whole year to discover this gem? As I slowly lowered myself into its pristine water, I had my first flashback to a different day on a different continent.
A few years after Dave and I got married, we were still childless and already at the stage of maturity in which we found it enjoyable to hang out with Dave’s parents, even to the point of going on vacations with them. It helped that the vacation place was a 35-foot sailing yacht moored in a marina on Georgian Bay, one of the most gorgeous bodies of water in Canada. If given my honest choice as a single person, unhindered by anyone else’s expectations, I would probably choose to spend my holidays pursuing more action-oriented activity such as canoeing, rather than lounging on a deck, suntanning. Of course, in all fairness, a lot of this deck-bound enforced inactivity was hugely mitigated by the generous G&T’s provided by Dave’s parents as a part of this all-inclusive package. Also, as with any outdoor activity, there was always a possibility that the weather would turn, and we would get some excitement brought about by a storm. One of the most cherished memories from those times we spent together includes visiting a lake that had been killed by acid rain. We were halfway through our holiday when, after several uneventful days of cruising and enjoying G&T’s, we arrived at a site accessible only by water. We anchored and decided to take a short hike on the nearby shore sloping up into mountainous terrain, to try to find this lake someone had told us about. It was a hot day so, even though the walk was not long, we were happy when we were greeted by the vision of the calm welcoming waters of a small lake. The sight of it was breathtaking – azure, crystal-clear water with not a speck of anything carbon-based. The lack of anything alive in the water, not even humble algae, was almost eerie. After I finished admiring it, I dove into its cool water. The taste was tangy! Dave compared it to putting your tongue on the contacts of a 9v battery -probably a memory from his childhood. I was not wallowing in the water, getting all wrinkly, I was only having a brief cool-down swim. But it was enough that I emerged from the water with my hair markedly a shade lighter and my skin squeaky-clean.
I think of that experience every time I go to the pool here. The sign by the door states, in three languages, not to use the pool on Friday and Saturday when ‘it’s getting chlorinated.’ Do I trust the schedule? Since I am always alone there, I can’t ask anyone. Once I ran into a guy who looked like he could have some answers, so I asked him in Russian, “Water is good? Chemicals are good? Swimming good?” pointing to the sparkling water. “It’s 23 degrees,” was his unhelpful answer, totally ignoring my chemicals enquiry. Did he misunderstand or was it just so safe it was not worth commenting on? My hair is still pretty much the same shade it was when I arrived, so I continue enjoying its crystal-clear water.
Using the pool was going to be a big part of my ‘seaside vacation,’ which I started planning even before the VP had finished his little speech during our short staff meeting. We are not entitled to any winter break, so we got excited when the Admin finally shared our ‘holiday’ schedule with us. “You will have three days off starting on the 23rd,” the VP announced, and we all cheered. “Of course, you will have to make up for that day by working one Saturday in January,” he continued. A collective groan followed. Uzbekistan is a harsh land with extreme weather and tough people. The number of civic holidays here is close to negative. Nothing is handed to you for free. We are used to it by now. This is not the first time that the left hand giveth’d and right hand taketh’d away.
“The same goes for the New Year. By Presidential decree, people get one extra day off.” We all perked up. “But that is only for people who work Saturdays. You don’t, so you will have to make up this extra day too.” I didn’t waste time being upset. We were going to have a short week with no students on the premises and long weekends on both ends. Despite this hideous lack of holidays, I wanted to enjoy what we had.
There are two types of vacations. There is the adventure-driven exploration type, which we enjoyed during a previous year while exploring ancient sites of Samarkand and Bukhara. And there is the seaside holiday, which we opted for this time.
It’s hard to have a seaside vacation without the sea, but it can be done. At least that’s what I decided. What are the main features of such a vacation? Mostly it’s all about relaxing in a beautiful environment full of exotic fragrances and gorgeous flowers, eating a bit too much unfamiliar food that may not always agree with you, and reading. And if I am to call it seaside vacation it needs to include swimming. I started to make a list. The flowers would be taken care of by a visit to a local florist who sells real flowers as opposed to the prevailing plastic variety. The swimming pool was waiting, and I had two books with their spines uncracked. Since our holidays included Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we needed to make it special. It seemed so easy. For Christmas Day we were planning to attend a potluck meal organized by an Expat friend of ours. And for Christmas Eve, which is traditionally celebrated by the Czechs with fish and potato salad, we opted to go out to one of the very few restaurants in town that had fish on the menu.
We had stopped giving each other presents such as trinkets that need dusting off a long time ago. Already having many material reminders of our existence stored on two continents, we are no longer tempted to acquire more ‘stuff.’ If I can’t eat it, drink it or enjoy it in a non-material way, I can’t be bothered. Dave is somewhat of a hoarder at heart, so his transformation to our current mind set took a bit longer and was probably a bit more painful. But we are on the same page now, or so I’d like to think.
It had started to snow a bit when Dave, Jenny and I got into a cab to take us to our Christmas Eve dinner. Neither of my two companions was aware that I had broken our rule and had two small presents stashed in my bag. Shopping in Nukus is a hit or miss affair. Occasionally we find some cheese with a bit more character than Mozzarella, but it’s rare, and we have never found any Cheddar. When we brought a big block of ‘extra old’ back from Czechland, I snuck a nice chunk of it into my freezer without Dave noticing. There it lay hidden until the morning of the 24th of December, when I got it out and wrapped it nicely with wrapping paper decorated with scarlet hearts, since that was the only paper I found. I had a small present for Jenny as well. She grew up in the Middle East and I knew that she, just like us, loves hummus. Last year, to our great chagrin, we realized that Uzbek supermarkets did not carry any tahini nor ready-made hummus. Thus enlightened, we brought back a precious jar of tahini from Czechland last fall. Two days before Christmas I made some hummus, and graciously decided to share some with Jenny. I am such a nice person, sometimes I could just weep, that is how overwhelmed I am by my own generosity. The small container of hummus was also wrapped with hearts.
After I excused myself to go to the washroom, I snuck away, back to the foyer where a big Christmas tree stood by the entrance. When I placed the two packages with the hearts bright and shiny under it, they were the only ones there and it looked like a forlorn lovefest. When I got back to the table, Dave looked upset.
“They don’t have any fish.”
“But that’s the main reason why we came here.” I could not believe my bad luck. I turned to the waiter who re-appeared and asked him again, hoping that Dave, whose Russian is minimal, just misunderstood. But the waiter spoke some English and cemented my disappointment. “So sorry Sister. No fish today.” Even the waiter addressing me ‘sister,’ as is common here, failed to cheer me up.
I needed a drink, and only something sweet and sparkly would make me feel better. “Do you have Sex on the Beach?” The waiter didn’t even bat an eye. “No. But we have Good Time on the Beach. It really tastes the same.” I laughed and ordered a Good Time.
“You know I noticed a couple of packages under the tree. It’s weird, but I could swear one of them had your name on it, Jenny.” I gestured towards the foyer and the big tree visible through the glass door. “I am not sure, but I think you should check it out.” I got up and Jenny followed. “Come on Dave, let’s have a look.” Dave got up reluctantly, but followed. We reached the tree and Jenny exclaimed. “But how did they know my name? And Dave, this one has your name.” Of course, by that time, Dave already knew and was just shaking his head. “You know we don’t give presents.”
Dave and Jenny really loved their small surprises and, even though the lamb chops combined with the Good Time on the Beach was not exactly how I envisioned our Christmas Eve dinner, it was delicious and fun.
“I am going to have my swim,” I announced the following morning.
“Hang on. Just got text from Dorian. Apparently, Natalie is sick and they have to postpone the potluck,” Dave said, stopping me in my tracks.
“I am so sorry. That’s a bummer to be sick on Christmas Day.” I put the plastic bag with my swimsuit and a towel down.
“So, what are we going to do about today’s dinner?” Dave wondered aloud.
“Ok, yesterday I didn’t get my fish. So why don’t we finally go to that place that everybody raves about. With the name like ‘Fish House’ it’s bound to have some fish. And besides, checking out at least one new restaurant was on our list of seaside vacation activities.”
Dave agreed so I grabbed my bag and continued towards my ‘beach.’ It was day three of my self-imposed holidays schedule when I got to the pool, only to discover it empty. “The water change,” shrugged the security guard – the only person around.
It’s ok, I thought to myself. It will still be a great day. I will have that much more time to read and maybe I will even exercise a bit. I looked outside over my green jungle sitting on the windowsill. It was supposed to be spruced up by some colour, as the Caribbean would be, but the visit to my florist had deflated that dream. “Sorry, we will get fresh flowers on Monday,” I was told. My window view afforded me only the white soccer pitch. It was still snowing. It had started on the 24th and was unexpectedly still coming down at noon on the 25th. Snow is very rare in Nukus, and having a second day in a row with constant white powder coming down is unheard off.
“It’s hard to enjoy a seaside vacation without the sea, but almost impossible without even a pool” I told Dave, after I returned from the pool disappointedly dry.
Normally, it takes about two minutes from the time we call a taxi until we climb in. It’s like they hover by the school waiting. That evening, though, we kept calling but could not get any taxi at all. We finally left the warmth of our school and ventured outside to see if we could hail a cab on the street. The drivers don’t have winter tires, so the traffic moved as if every car was loaded with volatile explosives. The dearth of taxis indicated that many of them had opted for a day off to avoid risking a collision.
As we stood on the curb a car pulled in. Someone evidently decided to make some extra money, which is not uncommon. The driver was a middle-aged Russian-speaking guy who didn’t even know where the Fish House was, which was not surprising because it is somewhere on the outskirts of Nukus. Dave was pointing out the location on Google Maps when it struck me. “Dave, if we can’t get the taxi to take us there, how are we going to get back?” The Fish House is the furthest restaurant we know. With the traffic moving at a glacial pace, maybe this was not the best choice for tonight.
Dave agreed and we re-directed our ‘taxi’ driver to a Pizzeria within walking distance, for which he charged us twice the going rate. But it was still snowing, slowing everything down, so we did not argue. The pizzeria was unlicensed, so any hope of anything alcoholic ‘On the Beach’ was dashed. Of course, when we set off to the Fish House, I had counted on taking the taxi both ways, and my decidedly non-wintery shoes matched my intention. Of course, we could not get any taxi home from the Pizzeria either, so were forced to walk back to school. Trekking home in my wet shoes I wondered; how did things get from Sex on the Beach and fish to herbal tea with pizza?
One would think that all these disappointments might make me bitter, almost ready to get back to work. But not me. In this respect I am like Scarlett O’Hara. “After all, tomorrow is another day.”