Lots of space, little activity: the national swimming pool in the Greek city of Thessaloniki.
Photo: IMAGO / ANE Edition
December 2019, Thessaloniki. The city welcomes us warm and sunny in autumn. The recently completed kilometer-long promenade is a wonderful place to stroll along the sea, and light green Alexander’s parakeets screech in the city park. Cats lie on thick cardboard under umbrellas along the boulevard snack bars and a group of athletic youngsters stretches yoga figures into the evening sky. A handful of lowered antique ruins give the city a picturesque touch, opposite the elongated center the peak of Olympus is enthroned with its white cap, in front of it huge ships are bobbing in the water. The city has two premier league football clubs, one of which has gained international fame mostly for its pistol-wielding president (PAOK). We want to interview the other club’s coach, Aris Saloniki, and visit one of his matches.
I chose the small apartment in a street leading to the sea because it was close to the stadium and the swimming pool. When I visit the swimming pool promised by Google Maps the next morning, it turns out to be a crumbling concrete monster with a sports shop. But I don’t want to buy a bathing suit, I want to go swimming. In my search, I pass the ancient triumphal arch, Atatürk’s birthplace and the Byzantine city walls until I reach the grounds of Aristotle University. This is where the national swimming pool is supposed to be, I rummage around between trees and slopes until I discover a diving board and soon after that the entrance to the associated building.
I’m already walking through tiled hallways and see myself at the end of my dreams when I’m hissed at roughly. My female counterpart and I fail because of a common language. With increasing scolding and an escort of three people, I am led through a ruined indoor pool where several school classes are taking swimming lessons and find myself in an office with a desk.
The boss can speak English. Wearing a crisp white shirt and twirled mustache, he is annoyed by the intrusion. He soon tries to explain to me that I have to present triple medical certificates in order to be allowed to swim here. Yes, a dermatologist, family doctor and gynecologist would have to confirm in writing that I was healthy. All four look at me expectantly. I just want to swim, I’ll try it in English. Only swim once, and with a piercing look I add: »I’ll never come back!« Now the four of us look at the boss. The miracle happens, he nods, waves me out the door with a dismissive gesture and mumbles something to his employees, who show me the corridor system, shaking their heads.
I’m already standing in the basement in the changing room. There are no lockers, the only lightbulb hisses and crackles, a shower splashes. With my clothes in my arms, I pass a rusty door and a musty, damp lock. Stand in front of the outdoor pool, take off and climb in. A lifeguard promptly whistles me away from the outer lane into the middle of the eight fifty-meter lanes. The diving tower is wrapped with nets, its fragments fall down to the third lane and form patterns on the pool floor. I notice late that there are only three of us swimming in the outdoor pool. In addition, two lifeguards, a radio and about ten cats of all colors sunning themselves on the crumbling grandstand steps.
