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Summer camp for urban grownups
Urban oasis: The Lombard Swim Club
Jackie Schifalacqua
For denizens of Center City, Philadelphia summers officially began at high noon on the Saturday before Mother's Day. This is when the Lombard Swim Club opened its door for a season that will last through September.
If you're not aware of its location, you could easily walk right past the place. Inside, if you're lucky enough to be a member, the rest of Philadelphia is just as easy to forget.
A long, brick façade hides the two decks and dining area from any passerby. The downstairs deck, equipped with cabanas and lounge chairs, houses the two pools (kiddy and Olympic size) and dining area; the adults-only upper deck is outfitted with more lounge chairs, a barbecue pit and a fully-stocked bar.
Summers in the city can be tough on the soul. You escape the heat on the street by rushing from one air-conditioner to another. It's easy to forget the soothing feeling of a warm breeze and the coolness of sitting under a shaded tree. So in order to savor this lingering joy, urban people return to the Lombard's decks season after season while others put their names on a four-year membership waiting list.
The Lombard Club is an oasis from the cement and melting tar of a dog day afternoon.
Open bar and midnight swims
Philadelphians who are not members snicker snootily about the open bar and midnight swims. But members don't come for these attractions— or, for that matter, the private morning lap swims or the gourmet food, or the yoga classes or parlor games on Thursday evenings.
The true beauty of the place lies in its isolation from anything remotely resembling city streets. On a hot evening, with the carnival lights flickering and Jimmy Buffet crooning, it's easy to believe you are not at 20th and Lombard but on a cruise ship.
I'm fortunate enough to hold a member certificate for this place. But this year I won't be on deck to shout "Bingo!" or gyrate in an aquacize class.
I didn't come by this decision lightly. But sometimes a gal has got to do what a gal has got to do.
"'You'll be back'
Now that I've inherited a home in Cape May and accepted a correspondent assignment with Seven Mile Island Publications, I can no longer rationalize spending my summer free time on Sunday brunches and blinis. Besides, if I don't join full-time, I'll open up a membership spot for someone else before she retires.
" You'll be back" my friend Dana predicts. "They always come back." True enough: I'm not handing over my certificate; I'm just not trying the water for the time being. Who knows? One sweltering night I might come over for a quick dip, a game of trivial pursuit and stone point crabs.
"Let me know when you break down," Dana told me. "I'll save a seat for you at our table. Membership, after all, does have its privileges."
If you're not aware of its location, you could easily walk right past the place. Inside, if you're lucky enough to be a member, the rest of Philadelphia is just as easy to forget.
A long, brick façade hides the two decks and dining area from any passerby. The downstairs deck, equipped with cabanas and lounge chairs, houses the two pools (kiddy and Olympic size) and dining area; the adults-only upper deck is outfitted with more lounge chairs, a barbecue pit and a fully-stocked bar.
Summers in the city can be tough on the soul. You escape the heat on the street by rushing from one air-conditioner to another. It's easy to forget the soothing feeling of a warm breeze and the coolness of sitting under a shaded tree. So in order to savor this lingering joy, urban people return to the Lombard's decks season after season while others put their names on a four-year membership waiting list.
The Lombard Club is an oasis from the cement and melting tar of a dog day afternoon.
Open bar and midnight swims
Philadelphians who are not members snicker snootily about the open bar and midnight swims. But members don't come for these attractions— or, for that matter, the private morning lap swims or the gourmet food, or the yoga classes or parlor games on Thursday evenings.
The true beauty of the place lies in its isolation from anything remotely resembling city streets. On a hot evening, with the carnival lights flickering and Jimmy Buffet crooning, it's easy to believe you are not at 20th and Lombard but on a cruise ship.
I'm fortunate enough to hold a member certificate for this place. But this year I won't be on deck to shout "Bingo!" or gyrate in an aquacize class.
I didn't come by this decision lightly. But sometimes a gal has got to do what a gal has got to do.
"'You'll be back'
Now that I've inherited a home in Cape May and accepted a correspondent assignment with Seven Mile Island Publications, I can no longer rationalize spending my summer free time on Sunday brunches and blinis. Besides, if I don't join full-time, I'll open up a membership spot for someone else before she retires.
" You'll be back" my friend Dana predicts. "They always come back." True enough: I'm not handing over my certificate; I'm just not trying the water for the time being. Who knows? One sweltering night I might come over for a quick dip, a game of trivial pursuit and stone point crabs.
"Let me know when you break down," Dana told me. "I'll save a seat for you at our table. Membership, after all, does have its privileges."
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