The first Saturday of the month is always greeted with joy by the female residents of the Western Algarve. They simply abandon their husbands and descend on the gypsy market. Yes, welcome to "cinceuros" Lagos day.
The car parks were pretty full by ten o’clock and the noise echoing from the market's loud hailers could be easily heard from 100 meters away. We locals, dressed in pullovers, scarves and windcheaters to protect against the wind chill, were out in abundance. I also noticed a number of colourful short sleeve / short panted individuals. Well OK visitors, you’re welcome, we need your holiday makers’ money, but please don’t freeze to death.
I left this stream of mankind just before the traffic island crossing, no market for me thank you. I was on a different personal mission, to test my recovery. To find out just how much the humerus had calcified and if it and the left elbow could take the strain of “crawling and breast stroking” around a swimming pool.
I quickly charmed my way passed the receptionist of the Municipal baths by donating 3.4 euros to the Camara. In return I received a smile and a card which allowed me immediate entry and reduced my need to pay the "insurance supplement" any time I used the facility in the future.
The young lady waved me on through the turn styles towards the changing rooms. They were in pristine condition unlike me. An image, from some 60 years ago flew through my brain. Markham Road baths, one metre square wooden changing rooms, containing six hanging pegs. As a kid whenever I went swimming, there was never any free pegs. Here in this modern tiled palace I was surrounded by hundreds of lockers simply requiring the individual user to choose and then supply his/her own small lock for the door, to safeguard the street clothing. Needless to say I hadn’t brought a lock. Well which old fogey would know that such an advanced approach to personal clothing care was in force?
The differences between yesteryear and today continued. To conform to the current protocol I had to dress in my best Speedo Lycra pants, new Slazenger swim hat and put on my flip flops before entering the pool area. Wow, I would never have thought that I would have to dress up to go for a swim. I was glad I conformed because everyone else was similarly attired.
I entered the sauna, sorry the swimming pool area, where the atmospheric temperature was 32 deg C. Crazy yes, but well, thank you Mr. Camara.
I spied 3 pools. The middle and the one to the left were shallow water connected via a Jacuzzi and on the right was a 25 metre, six lane, 2 meter deep training pool. Well, of course, I joined the 6/7 year old beginners on the left. After all it had a kiddies’ ramp which I could walk down into the water rather than struggle one handed down a set of steps.
This kid’s pool was definitely the place for me. I had found my true level.
Very gently moving my left arm I found I could hold myself floating. I gradually progressed further and was elated to manage to dog paddle a 10 metre width. Thank heavens I had been wise enough, scared enough, not to try the training pool.
I continued my efforts weakly gliding forward and attempting the front crawl. Whoops I sank, so I stopped. I recovered quickly no more of that. I tried breaststroke. Well this was not the classical style coaches would promote but simply a ‘one and a half arm movement’ variety which did not take me in straight lines but allowed me to keep my feet off the floor for over 10 meters. I continued and repeated the exercise several times.
Success, I was elated. Not quite in the gold medal class but nevertheless I was on the way back to normality all I needed now was some strength back in the muscles. They had been idle for too long and wasted away whilst I wore the cast. The actual wastage had been considerable. I had been shocked to see all the loose skin hanging around the bicep area but now hopefully was on the road to filling it again. And I will succeed, I will recover and in due time perhaps succeed in swimming in straight lines again.
After twenty minutes of ‘discovery’ I retired to the Jacuzzi. It was heaven. The turbulent water hammered me into submission. I sat and watched the ongoing swimming lessons. The young swimming ‘tutor’ was encouraging his students, throwing them about, ducking them at will. I felt at home. He obviously had read the handbook I wrote on how to teach swimming. Surprising really, I didn’t think it had been published in Portugal !!
I returned to more swimming activity but soon found that I was continually having to dodge a dozen ten year olds who had taken over my section of the pool area. They were doing very well and I was jealous. How I wish I could swim like that. I simply couldn’t stand the competition, the comparison, the humiliation. So I went back to the Jacuzzi and then simply retired to the changing room, showered and moved on up to the cafeteria.
After all a galão was the obvious reward for all my efforts, and besides I could watch the ladies chatting and comparing their “cinceuros” purchases.
