Too Dirty to Enter.

Too Dirty to Enter: A Tale of Going to a Public Swimming Pool in Mongolia

It all started when I decided to go swimming at the Central Swimming Pool in Ulaanbaatar (the capital of Mongolia). I was going to be in the capital for a few days and hadn't gone swimming since the last time I was in the States (almost a year ago) so I was quite excited. Swimming is something I used to do almost every day in college and the year after that before I left, so I thought swimming in Mongolia would be no different from swimming in Athens, Georgia.

Two months prior, I had inquired at a fitness club that had a pool how much membership was and got an information sheet on the club. From this sheet of paper I learned that I should bring goggles and a cap if I do want to go swimming at a pool in Mongolia. These are things that aren't requirements to go swimming in the States, but I rarely swim without them so it didn't seem like too much of an inconvenience. I already knew how much it would cost (expensive – 6000 tugrugs, which is a lot, considering I get paid 194,000 tugrugs a month), and I knew that one was given a time slot to go into the pool, so that it doesn't get overcrowded. There were a few things I did not know though and I was about to find out...

After paying my 6000 tugrugs and receiving my time slot, I had time to kill so I went outside for a walk. The pool is located practically next to the Hobby School, where I will live and work next year, so I wanted to explore the area. Turns out, I really love the area; it is next to several universities so there students all around and I don't feel unsafe at all. (Unlike some areas of Ulaanbaatar, where I am constantly looking behind me and stuffing my money into my bra.*) There are also some cheap places to eat nearby that serve excellent dishes such as “Rice Omelet” and “Rice with Raisins”.

*The safest place for your money I've discovered.

I came back to the pool just in time for my time slot and walked to the door that lead to the changing rooms. A woman, guarding the door, was taking people's tickets to allow them admittance. She took my ticket and then looked down at my shoes. My shoes. My shoes weren't/aren't actually MY shoes. They are my good friend, neighbor and the art teacher at my school, Ukaa's shoes. They are also old, dirty and scuffed. Mongolians aren't the type of people to ever wear old, dirty and scuffed things if they can help it, and certainly not in the big city. I, however, am not Mongolian, so I do not have a problem wearing old, dirty and scuffed things. Apparently, from the woman's reaction, I was wearing the wrong shoes. She pointed in the direction of another woman who was taking people's coats (and shoes, little did I know) and storing them until they were done swimming. So I walked over to her, and said something to her in Mongolian (what – I don't remember) and she responded with some word I did not know, and thus, I stood there and stared at her, until she retrieved a pair of plastic sandals that I was supposed to be wearing to be allowed to enter the pool. She handed them to me and told me to take off my (Ukaa's) shoes, which I did immediately. Mongolians also have a thing against feet. They dislike feet and shoes. It is very disrespectful to touch someone with your feet or shoes or socks or to put them on a desk or table. I knew this and yet, I placed my shoes on top of the counter the woman was standing behind, thinking that this was sort of like getting shoes at the bowling alley. I was wrong; it was not. She gasped as I placed the old, dirty and scuffed shoes upon her counter, and as soon as I had put them down, I realized what I had done. I quickly picked them, much to her happiness, and placed them in the spot underneath the counter she suggested I put them (after the fact, mind you).

Well that was a bit embarrassing, I thought to myself. But little did I know, it was about to get a whole lot more embarrassing. I wandered into the locker room, surprised and yet not surprised to be surrounded by a sea of naked women. I, however, had already put on my swimsuit, underneath my clothes, and so all I had to do was place my things in my locker and go to the pool. I left the locker room, to find myself in the shower room, where once again, I was surrounded by a sea of naked women. This time, lathering up and scrubbing down – fiercely. I walked over to the door that lead to the pool, hoping I could go in, and attempted to open it. It was locked. Apparently, the door stays locked until the buzzer has signaled it your time to go into the pool. Okay, I'll just wait, I thought. Which was smart, because that was the only thing I could really do. One of the women showering was watching me, which I was not hard to spot or notice, considering I was the only non-Mongolian in the whole building. This is not something that I notice anymore or think twice about; I am very used to being the only foreigner and sticking out like a sour thumb. I am used to the constant stares and whispers of people talking about me, even though I understand what they are saying. (Which is never very exciting – people usually say “A Russian, NO a English person” and then the debate about what country I am from. Sometimes they say a phrase in Mongolian, which basically translates to “How very interesting.”) I, in my mind, don't think I look any different from Mongolians, and find it odd that people think I look different. I only realize I look different when I see other foreigners I do not know in familiar settings, such as Choibalsan, and then I stare as well and ask people I am with who they are and why they are here. Anyhow, this woman begins to speak to me in English, and tells me I need to shower before entering the pool. I, somewhat embarrassed, did not bring any soap or shampoo with me because I had just showered the night before, and did not think I would need to at the pool. So I simply wet my hair underneath the shower head, and thought that would suffice. The woman who had spoken to me earlier, turned to her friend with a look of condescending pity, and asked me “Is this your first time at the pool?” I nodded yes. And she responded, “You should really bring soap and shampoo next time.” I (humiliated) again nodded yes. She then asked me if I had my admittance card (which was what EVERYONE else had – a laminated card with their picture and number on it) and I told her I only had a receipt. She told me I needed it to be let in; so I went to my locker, and with my now soaked-self, tried to keep the little slip of paper dry.

Feeling like the dirty foreigner, I again waited by the door for the buzzer to go off. A young girl also waiting decided to practice her English with me and asked me my name. I told her and then, thankfully, the buzzer went off. Once everyone had shuffled out the door, into the pool area, a woman in a white nurse's coat told everyone to line up. We all stood in a line, I at the nearly the back of the line, for I wanted to see what everyone else did and then imitate. One by one, the “nurse” told people to turn around, took a cotton swap dipped in some blue solution and rubbed it down that person's back. If the cotton swap had no dirt on it, you were free to get into the pool. If the cotton swap had dirt on it, you were sent back to the showers. After telling some of my friends about the experience, and mulling it over in my head, it did remind me of lining up to enter the gas chambers in concentration camps. Just a little bit. When it was my turn, I handed her my receipt of admittance and she accepted it with a look of disapproval. I turned around, she swapped me, showed me the swap covered in my body's dirt, and declared me, you guessed it: too dirty to enter. She told me I needed to shower again, and this time scrub well – with soap. Okay, okay I said. Mortified is probably an accurate word to describe how I felt, for everyone in the pool, watched as the dirty foreigner, who apparently does not know how to properly shower, was declared too dirty to enter. I thought to myself, maybe I should just leave; I feel about two inches tall right now – I already had my cap and goggles on my head when the nurse had proclaimed I was unfit to enter. I decided I wouldn't leave though, for I had already paid 6000 tugrugs and I had been wanting to swim for some 11 months now – I was so close, yet so far away.

I reluctantly retreated back to the shower room, and asked a woman if I could have some of her soap. She said yes and I began to lather up. Just as I had a good lather going, the “nurse” arrived on the scene and began to “help” me wash myself. She lifted up my bathing suit straps and demonstrated how to wash properly, while all the women in the shower room looked on. I had just entered a new realm of embarrassment, humiliation, mortification, whatever you want to call it, that I did not know was possible from simply going to the Central Swimming Pool in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.

I hesitatingly set foot once again in the pool area, and expected to be checked for dirt once again, yet much to my surprise and delight, the “nurse” was not there and a woman teaching swimming lessons told me in English to pick a lane and I could swim. I choose an empty lane, and maybe it was because I was declared dirty, or maybe it was because I am a foreigner, or maybe it was a mixture of both, nevertheless, no one else dared to swim in my lane.

I learned something that day – I learned how to attain admittance to a Mongolian pool. I also learned that I did not die from humiliation, although I almost wished I had when the “nurse” was washing me. I went back the next day, and was quite proud of myself for doing everything right this time. However, after passing the dirt test the first time, I, astonished that I was clean enough to enter, asked the “nurse” in Mongolian “Really???”