September 20, 2008
Last night around midnight, I went swimming fully-clothed in an outdoor pool located in the backyard of a seedy bar called “The Edge”. It took us an hour just to get past the checkpoint on the way to the bar because sometimes those security guards have extra long sticks up their asses, and when we finally reached the entrance- which for some inexplicable reason had a large Mickey Mouse painted over its walls-, we had to sign in and surrender our passports and wait for a regular named “Fred” to let us in, but man oh man, when I saw that pool, for another inexplicable reason, I suddenly wanted to go swimming more than anything in the world. Without hesitation, I pulled off my cardigan and cannonballed right in, jeans and all, and didn't come out (except to dive) for the next 2 or 3 hours.
For all the hype, the bar itself was a severe disappointment, and if I do ever go back, it won't be for the middle-aged American soldiers and mercenaries in a small one-room bar with Frank Sinatra crooning “I did it myyyy way” from laptop speakers, but for the chance to swim again under the twinkling gaze of the moon and the stars.
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