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Hamilton
Fish! Hamilton Fish! Hamilton Fish is the name of a famous man who
lived some time ago. In the Lower East Side there is an open air
pool named after him. Unable to cope with the humidity of a summer's
day in New York City, Kay and I decided to go for a dip.
 It's fun to go swimming in a place where the rules are different, although it's always a little nerve-wracking. The rules at Hamilton Fish seemed arbitrary and mysterious. Our clothes had to be put in a locker, but we were to supply our own lock, so we walked up the road and, miraculously, found an ironmonger where we bought a small padlock. The pool was open for limited hours, but we were there at the right place at the right time. We had the right attire: swimsuits, no t-shirts other than white t-shirts, no footwear other than flip-flops. We had no towels or other accoutrements, but we had swimsuits. They let us in, but confiscated Kay's goggles. No goggles allowed in these swimming sessions, apparently. We were lucky, a woman and her son were turned away because she was wearing a smart aerobics shorts and top outfit for swimming, and not the requisite swimsuit. The pool attendants would not even let her sit poolside whilst her son swam. More warning signs surrounded the pool. New York swimmers must be a very unruly bunch if so many signs are needed. No blowing of the nose, no urinating, no "releasing of fecal matter." Maybe people shit in the pool here all the time. One woman complained that she cut her foot on some broken glass one time, so I stepped warily.  As with the truism that great art is made in culturally repressive societies, great fun was had in this rule-bound pool. We watched groups of kids playing like crazy, and we played our own games too, learning Marco Polo from some pool neighbours. The day was overcast and the sky threatened to erupt with a thunderstorm. Swimming in warm rain! The best treat on earth. It was fabulous. And the pool? Gorgeous, massive, clean, loved, appropriately refurbished, popular, free(!) and unmissable. |
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