It’s going swimmingly

This morning I decided I was going to start my day with an early morning swim at the lido. And then I went outside and realised that despite sunshine streaming through my window giving out the illusion of warmth it was in fact rather chilly, so instead I put on some socks and a jumper.

In my view, a trip to the lido before breakfast is pretty much perfect, armed with a flask of coffee for afterwards, stopping off on the way home to buy a croissant. It sets me up for the day, feeds my soul and leaves me feeling energised in a way that an indoor pool doesn’t. When we were in Kerala, my early morning swims had the added delight of being in  warm sea, followed by a cup of chai from the local stall, and then up the dusty path for a massage, emerging clean and scrubbed and slightly oily before T had even stirred from his bed and before the sizzling heat had made too much activity impossible. At dawn,  bereaved families came down to the beach to be blessed by priests who sat perched on mounds of sand under gaudy umberellas dispensing prayers and incantations. The grieving  would then wade out into the waves carrying garlands of red and saffron marigolds which they would release to be carried away by the current. 

For one of my birthdays ( probably my 25th) T,  M and I went to one of the islands off Japan for the weekend. An island called,  if I remember rightly Nijima, a hot spot for Japanese surfers with beaches of black volcanic sand, which was always a little disconcerting to the eye. It was pretty hardcore, not  like swimming, more like being thrown inside a washing machine. I have never seen such big waves and I still can’t quite believe that we actually took large surfboards out into it with absolutely no idea what we were doing. Within about ten minutes  T had whacked his side with the board managing  to break a rib and both M and I took so many tumbles that I am surprised we made it out again. The only other thing I remember about the weekend was that for some reason T was annoyed with us ( a regular occurrence) so in order to get back in his good books we bought a sumptuous picnic lunch that we laid out on the sand for him. About two minutes later, the tide swept it away.

Mediterranean sea is always fabulous because not only is it beautifully clear but it is also the temperature of a bath. I prefer the option of being able to see the shark or sea monster coming in order to be able to get out of the way,  rather than it just pop up unannounced in a heart attack inducing manner. This  happened one summer in Devon, when we were swimming round the rock and suddenly a seal stuck its head out of the water, so near that you could almost smell its fishy breath. A friend of mine once swam in Dingle bay where if you were lucky a wild dolphin called Fungle would appear and cavort alongside you. She recounted the feeling of being in a wet suit, in freezing  murky water with zero visibility, knowing there was something big and alive lurking beneath, and then suddenly without warning this immense creature leapt out of the water right in front of her. 

But my most favourite place in the world for swimming has to be Hartland. The quay at high tide, jade green water, shimmering like a mill pond. The mornings when the sea is churning and wild, adrenaline rushing through us  as we scamper across the rocks to dive in before the tide crashes over the top and sends us spinning into the froth. And golden evenings as we sit with pints in hand, sunburnt cheeks , damp towels and bags of crisps, familiar faces and loved ones, some no longer here, yet always with us. Although we will continue to come and go as the years go by, the cliffs and the jade green sea will always remain the same.