The Swimmer In My Passenger Seat

You just never know who you’ll end up sitting in a car with, driving around this small town.  I know the surface is barely scratched with this fellow, but the short amount I learned about him as we drove around town running errands definitely points to more interesting and fascinating facts.

He is…or was a builder.  Not really, but an engineer.  We made this connection when we were in LA while back.  Mellie told us that we have to see this one particular house and meet this man.  “Tim, you’ll like him. He’s German. He gets to the point and he’s very interesting”, that was Mellie’s selling point to me on this gentleman.  I had no idea what to really expect, or if we’d even meet up with him, but the call came Sunday morning and he asked if we were free, and perhaps we would like to meet in about an hour.  We jumped at the chance.

He gave us directions and I halfway knew the general area, so I assured him we would be prompt. After all, according to Mellie, he doesn’t clown around.   I hopped in the shower and had a very quick wash.  Tonya pointed out the time and we had to go.  Me, thinking I know this place like the back of my hand, miss the turn. No problem though, we take the next street up.  I stop at a round about and call him, just to finalize that I am in the right place and we are not going to be much longer.  He tells me there is no roundabout…but I am calling from one. He sounds a bit perturbed.  I tell him I see the correct street sign and we will be there in a flash, he settles down and I hang up.  A minute later we pull up outside his place.  ‘Oh, there you are!” I here a voice call out but I can’t see him because of all the potted plants and the stairway.  Then an older man appears, wearing those chunky, brown ‘earth shoes’ that old guys like.  He’s complete in a sweater vest and corduroys too!  He’s sporting a nice head of grey hair, combed nicely to one side.  As we greet one another face to face, I see he’s got some serious eyebrows going on too, as well as the prerequisite crazy hair coming out the nose.  I did not bother to check for the shrubs in the ears, no need to really.

It is always a bit strange meeting someone you don’t really know.  This is no exception, but Tonya and I both are immediately drawn to him.  He’s got a great charm about him, a true elegance.  I act reserved at first because I don’t know how to take him.  Is he really an uptight German guy?  I play it cool and as we talk, I can sense he is alright, and has a quite a good sense of humor.  This would be evident later, when he makes an ethnic joke which in the wrong company, would be seen as uncalled for.  During the chat he informs us that he actually built this place. It’s great, and obviously built by someone who has that German lean to them, as the space is used perfectly and proportionate.  “You know what the difference is between a home built by an engineer and one by an architect?”  I shake my head, I am not too hip to architect jokes, or engineer ones for that matter. “Homes built by engineers have to be torn down. Homes built by architects just fall down.”  He likes the joke.  He asks if he can show us around a bit, and takes us around a bit in the mountains.  This is where it gets good.

As we wind through the streets the conversation gets a bit broken because abrupt directions have to be given.  In any case, it played out something like this.  He starts talking of a guy in town who has a very small movie house.  Everyday at the same time, this guy shows old movies.  “He’s an Argentinean guy. Somehow, he steals these movies.  Whatever he gets, he shows.  I don’t know how he does it, but he does.  I guess it is one of those internet things or something.  The 20 or so people who can fit into his tiny place love it.  They are always very interesting movies and the people have a great time.  People always get turned away too, because there is no more room to watch the movie.”  He says the movie he last saw was a very good Portuguese film.  I asked if it was a real old film and he says no, “Just a good one”. 

We drive up the mountain and there are two holes in the wall.  It looks like a well.  He tells me to slow down and he points to the holes, ‘You see.  Those are two natural springs there.  The taxi drivers come up here and pull their cars over.  They wash their cars with this spring water, it is supposed to bring you good luck if you wash your car with it” he laughs and adds, “That is what they think…I don’t get it”  “Can you drink this water?” I ask.  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t do that!” he says.  He stops and thinks a moment about the question, then readdresses it, ‘I have never really thought about it, but it makes sense doesn’t it.  If it is a natural spring, one would think it is safe to drink.  However, I would not.  Its best left for the taxi drivers” and we both laugh.

“Where were you born in Germany?” I ask.

“I wasn’t. I was born here.  My father was German and my mother Mexican.  I was at this posh party once when I was younger, I remember it well…it was the first time I met a gay guy.  My mother introduced me to this gay man, who pranced over to me with his hand up” and he throws his hand up and wiggles like a Queen, “my mother introduced us.  The man was curious where I was form too.  My mother told him who I was and said I got the worse of both cultures, the bad German stuff and the Mexican stuff.”  I was not sure if there was more to the story or not, because all of a sudden he is telling us something else.  I leave that introduction as it was.  A few minutes later, I press on about some of his background.

“Have you been to Germany though?” I ask. 

“Oh, of course, many times” he says.  Then he starts reeling off the past.  Turns out he went to Yale.  “I was taking all those nice courses like history and stuff.  It was nice, and I liked it, but they are not known for their engineering.  I needed something more.  I had gone to visit my mother in Switzerland.  Someone very close to her was tied in to the Polytechnic there in Zurich…so, I ended up doing more studies there” he says that Switzerland was very nice and he enjoyed his time there.  Then he jumps back several years before he even attended college.

“I spent most of my youth swimming; I did not do what all the other kids did.  For 5 years of my life, from 12 to 17 I swam.  I swam 5 days a week, four hours a day.  I became a champion swimmer here in Mexico.  It was odd; it was the swimming that got me into Yale actually. I went on a swimming scholarship.”  He points out some details in the buildings we are passing.  “I was the Mexican champion and got picked for the Olympic swimming team” I am impressed by this for sure.  I had never met a pro swimmer who got into Yale by this trade before.  “I swam in the 52 Olympics in Helsinki. It was fantastic!  I spent a good amount of time in Sweden and in Scandinavia.”  I confess to him that I am fascinated by Finland for some unknown reason, and he smiles at the odd piece of information (either that, or he thinks I am just a complete kook)

“You see, because I always swam, I did not do the things other kids and teenagers did.  All I did was practice.  I was a bit naïve when I went to Helsinki.  I had never known a girl; I was a virgin when I went to the Olympics.  I must tell you though, after the competitions, I made up for all I missed in my youth.”  He laughs…and we do too. ‘Oh, at that time the girls were quite nice and very accommodating.  It was great!  I had no problem with the Scandinavians and women there, I wear my Olympic jacket and was an athlete, it was a great time for me!  The girls really liked that, it was no problem meeting girls like that.” 

He then catches us back up with life after his studies and time spent here and there and projects he accomplished.  I like the odd bits of wisdom he espouses.  As he talks of the current situation in Mexico and the fears of drug lords and the ensuing problems, he makes the point that many Americans have gone home.  In turn, there are loads of Canadians coming in (many people have said this).  “I think for them, it has more to do with escaping their climate”   And then he says this, “the Canadians…they are funny people.  They may not be as bright as the Americans, but they are a pretty steady people none the less” This gets a good laugh out of me.

After some sights and lively conversation we head back to his house and talk a while longer.  I tell him straight out that when time allows, I would love to have a coffee with him and sit and talk nonsense.  He says he would love it too.  He admits that he is alone and enjoys the company…he doesn’t go out much, “Although I do have a girlfriend now” he confesses.  He starts to tell of how she had lived in Hong Kong for the last 60 years, and says she is quite fascinating.  We talk a bit about some of the latest happenings and his schedule, and again say how we would like to meet up again for conversation, storytelling and just general goings on.  He walks us out and as we say goodbye, he suddenly asks if we would like to see his car. Odd, but we agree, why not?