Why Russia’s diplomats should learn swimming-pool etiquette

The first couple of evenings there was just me and a middle-aged couple swimming decorously up and down. On the third day it changed. There were three more people, spread out at the shallow end. You would not have thought that an extra three people in a decent-sized pool could have caused such irritation and havoc.

They contrived to occupy an inordinate amount of space and move around in a way that caused maximum disruption. Sometimes they swam widths; sometimes diagonals. They would stop and change direction without warning. Sometimes they floated with their toes under the rail, or disappeared under water and surfaced far too close for comfort. And when they swam, they swam splashily, in a clumsy, improvised way.

The two other length-swimmers generally left before I did. So then there were four of us; three of them and me. But somehow we still managed to annoy each other. Time and again I had to take evasive action. Yet they could see, could they not, that I was going up and down, up and down, at a steady clip? It wasn’t hard to figure out where I was going to be when. But somehow toes and elbows clashed.

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There was another irritant, too. On a couple of evenings, despite the hotel being designated adults-only, they brought a baby along and passed her between them, discussing her name.

At this point, I should come clean and clarify that the three newcomers were Russians. I should also say, for fairness’ sake, that I heard no rude comments about me. They had eyes, and not in that way, only for each other — which was a part of the problem. For while it is no longer possible, as it was in Soviet times, to distinguish Russians by their attire or their hair dye, in the swimming-pools of Europe you can spot them from the furthest corner of the deep end, because they are so obviously in need of coaching in the more social aspects of pool culture.