The Ultimate Urban Swim
The Serpentine Lido (the term comes from the Latin for “shore”) is a study in contrasts. It’s the ultimate wild swim – yet it’s in the heart of central London. Queen Caroline (wife of George II) established the ornamental lake in Hyde Park in the 1730s, when it was still countryside. The city has since filled in around it. The effect of a serene expanse of nature amid the thrum of one of the world’s busiest cities is spectacular.
Recreational swimmers have braved the Serpentine since at least 1864, when the Serpentine Swimming Club formed. And now I’m part of the pack.
The opportunity arose in early September, while I was staying at a South Kensington hotel, The Gore, mere steps from Hyde Park. It’s a scant 10-minute walk to the lido, the changing facilities are spartan: toilets, change cubicles and cold-water showers for rinsing only. When I booked ahead online, I rented one of the few small lockers. Promptly at 10 a.m., when the public session begins, the lifeguard climbs onto his stand. On this cool Monday morning, the 100- by by 30-metre area – marked off by a rope buoy – is desolate, shared with one other swimmer and a goose. The water temperature hovers at
16 C. I swim in brisk Lake Ontario year-round so I’m acclimated (but still glad to have packed a swimsuit with thermal long sleeves).
The Serpentine is a natural, not-quite stagnant body of water favoured by wildlife and untreated by chemicals. It’s murky. There is sludge. Like any other wild swim, I take care not to swallow much water. Still: What a setting! The refreshing cold and invigorating pace soon shake off my crushing jet lag. I fall into a rhythm, but instead of losing myself in the landscape, I’m alert to the contrasts. On one stroke, pastoral scenery: a squawking mallard and the glimpse of a swan gliding by. On the next: the rumble of the No. 9 bus as it snakes along the edge of the park towards Piccadilly. In the middle of a lap, I slow to look around and appreciate the moment. The juxtaposition is thrilling.
–Nathalie Atkinson
To fulfill your piratical dreams
Passengers can climb to the Royal Clipper’s crow’s nest. Photo: Courtesy Star Clippers
After a week of sailing the Caribbean aboard the five-masted Royal Clipper, a rigged tall ship that could pass for a modern-day Black Pearl, I had started to feel like the legendary 18th-century Irish-American pirate Anne Bonny. I’d learned to tie a bowline, hauled the ropes to hoist one of the ship’s 42 sails, and donned an eyepatch for “pirate night.” I’d even climbed into the bowsprit netting for epic selfies and a new angle on this commanding 134-metre-long vessel.
The last item on my list loomed large: a climb to the crow’s nest, 22 metres above the waterline. I’d added my name to the list twice, then sheepishly disappeared, telling myself that at 54, I was too old for this.
On the last day of mast climbing, I headed to the top deck to see if anyone had found any extra courage I could borrow. A guest was beginning to climb. She was 25 years my senior, but she moved steadily and surely up the ladder. No visible panic, no clinging to the lines for dear life, just progress. She was killing it.
“Any more takers?” a crew member called out.
I eyed the crow’s nest. The woman had made it to the top and was taking in the view. Our gazes met and she waved, Come on up. My courage was up there waiting for me, all I needed to do was go get it. Gritting my teeth, I stepped into the climbing harness and clipped onto the safety line. My mind was begging me to run, but my feet were already on the rope rungs and I was ascending. “You got this,” I told myself, focusing on hands and feet, slowly, steadily, climbing. Getting my rhythm, settling in. Finally, the last narrow rungs appeared and I reached the top. My breath came more easily as I took in the long view of the deck, the endless expanse of sea. I was on top of the world. My companion and I shared an energetic high five. We did it. –Elizabeth Brown
