Last Sunday was the day before my final Final. It was rainy, it was miserable, and I had one of the best trips to the Granta I have ever had. Bela and I went down at about half past ten, walking from New Hall in the rain, talking about all the things you're not supposed to talk about during Exam Term: family, politics, love, ecology, the Great Outdoors... Bela is a new friend, and we had a lot to cover. When we reached the swimming hole, I was laughing maniacally; couldn't quite understand why we were doing this, but incomprehensibly glad that we were. I got in first, avoiding the Carlsberg cans on the riverbed.
*INTERLUDE*
Why do be people drop beer cans into the river? Does the river LOOK like freakin' recyling bin? PLEASE, if you're in a punt this summer, make yourself the person in charge of the rubbish bag and save our river.
*ACTION RESUMES*
The water wasn't warm, exactly, but I'd pitch it at at least 16* - we could take it. We swam down to the Newnham Riverbank Club and, finding it deserted, climbed out. I have made a resolution to be able to turn a cartwheel by the end of the summer, and we both practised on the beautiful sheltered gardens of this semi-nudist organisation. We got back in the water - I dived, Bela would, I think, rather die. Which is odd as she, the caver, is very much the braver ofthe two of us. We swam on downstream, and scrambled on trees growin out low over the water. I hung upside down koala-style and dropped into the river onto my back. It felt like time had been stopped, like no-one else had ever seen ther iver. Everything was so green, so still apart from the birds and the rain. As we looked at the thick shrubbery on either side of the water, bela described it as "vitamins for the eyes", and she wasn't far wrong. We swam on one further bend, to another overhanging tree, before heading back upstream.
There is a bench - marked private - on the bank of the river, and as Bela grew tired and i grew increasingly nervous about revision (I was reciting Dorothy Richardson quotations at her by this point) we climbed out, having decided it would be quicker to walk back to our gear. We clambered through ankle-deep ivy, eventually meeting barbed wire, and being forced back into the water. I have so very little time for private landowners. The river is ours. The riverbank should be, too. Anyway the rest of the swim was great fun, and intensely, blissfully relaxing, after we decided that we didn't need to rush. We drank hot grapefruit juice from a thermos as we changed, and cooked pasta together at my place afterwards.
Not just one of my best Cambridge swims - one of my best Cambridge days.
Have been to Dublin since then, but my brother wants the computer now...
Jordan.
xXx
Confluence
www.commonground.org.uk
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Swimming for Sanity.
Like Digging for Victory, only... well wetter. And less productive/nationalistic/dated.
Yesterday was Jesus Green opening day! Lins and I went down at lunch-time, just like we did in our first year - what goes around comes around, I suppose.
Characters:
Crazy Tracy with her TINY bikini, hoop earrings and full face of make-up.
Excitable man with camera talking about the comparable temperature of pool (15*) and river (15* last week, dropping).
Octogenarian, F., with improbably fantastic legs.
Octogenarian, M., doing a fantastic little warm-up dance.
Dived in. Probably shouldn't have, there followed a strange feeling like a piece of cheese-wire being drawn around the crown of my head, or being scalped in slow-motion. Swam ten lengths in all, half crawl, half breast-stroke; crawl is very, very hard in that beautifully clear water. Or, it is if you're me. Others were ploughing up and down without batting an eyelid, hats off to their strength. Is it only the cold that makes the difference? Or does the absense of either salt or chemicals make the water less buoyant? I don't remember struggling like that at Sea Point last year, for example.
If anyone knows, do reply...
I love the colour your skin turns in the water at Jesus Green. Kind of reddish-brown from sheer cold. And I love how Lindsay's incredible pre-raphelite hair looks when completely and utterly soaked.
I don't love the showers, which were much much too hot - and some blokes came in to fix them, which made it worse - they had us running in and out under scalding jets of water for some time:
'OW!'
'Is that better?'
'No!'
'How about that?'
'OWW.'
But then we had sausage rolls from the bakers, so everything was okay in the end.
On the subject of Sea Point, I may be heading back there in a week or so to swim with Holly and Jenny. And have a break.
Gotta get my finals out of the way first - expect more posts, Cambridge, Brighton, Ireland - after next Monday.
Yesterday was Jesus Green opening day! Lins and I went down at lunch-time, just like we did in our first year - what goes around comes around, I suppose.
Characters:
Crazy Tracy with her TINY bikini, hoop earrings and full face of make-up.
Excitable man with camera talking about the comparable temperature of pool (15*) and river (15* last week, dropping).
Octogenarian, F., with improbably fantastic legs.
Octogenarian, M., doing a fantastic little warm-up dance.
Dived in. Probably shouldn't have, there followed a strange feeling like a piece of cheese-wire being drawn around the crown of my head, or being scalped in slow-motion. Swam ten lengths in all, half crawl, half breast-stroke; crawl is very, very hard in that beautifully clear water. Or, it is if you're me. Others were ploughing up and down without batting an eyelid, hats off to their strength. Is it only the cold that makes the difference? Or does the absense of either salt or chemicals make the water less buoyant? I don't remember struggling like that at Sea Point last year, for example.
If anyone knows, do reply...
I love the colour your skin turns in the water at Jesus Green. Kind of reddish-brown from sheer cold. And I love how Lindsay's incredible pre-raphelite hair looks when completely and utterly soaked.
I don't love the showers, which were much much too hot - and some blokes came in to fix them, which made it worse - they had us running in and out under scalding jets of water for some time:
'OW!'
'Is that better?'
'No!'
'How about that?'
'OWW.'
But then we had sausage rolls from the bakers, so everything was okay in the end.
On the subject of Sea Point, I may be heading back there in a week or so to swim with Holly and Jenny. And have a break.
Gotta get my finals out of the way first - expect more posts, Cambridge, Brighton, Ireland - after next Monday.
Friday, 14 March 2008
Open Season?
Today we've had the kind of early spring weather that might beguile the brave and the foolish to test the waters of the Granta; today, I spent trawling charity shops for a fancy dress costume - the theme is Wes Anderson, and I shall attend as a Tenenbaum.
Let me tell you about yesterday - when it rained, when the weather was grey, and when Ema and I decided to go running. The plan was to cycle out to Granchester meadows, run to Granchester and cycle back - I can't at this point in time remember WHY we were going running, so don't ask. Just before we pulled out of New Hall, however, I noticed that my back tyre was very flat. Again I forget precisely why, but we decided that, having not run in about a year, we should just go all the way to Granchester, on foot, from there. We did admirably well - by the time we reached the second meadow, Ema's left ankle, my right, her left knee, my right, were complaining rather loudlym or at least inducing us to do so. And then Ema, bright spark, piped up:
"We should have just gone swimming, you know."
Pause. A beat. Me:
"Do you want to?"
We headed back to the swimming hole, running to keep as warm as possible before we got there. Speed seemed important: the longer we took, the more time we had to talk ourselves out of it. We stripped to our underwear, eliciting cheery waves and side-long glances from dog-walkers, cyclists etc. I jumped in, landing up to my knees in slime and up to my neck in the coldest water I have felt since the Alaska Strait. Ema jumped in. I was laughing maniacally - so cold, so far from able to feel my skin, so very, very happy. We swam - Ema breast-stroking as I beat out a spidery crawl in an attempt to get some kind of circulation going - about half way round the first bend up-stream (I wasn't going to risk cramping and getting dragged into the deeper water toward the Newnham Riverbank Club) before we had to emerge.
There is nothing like the feeling of the wind on your body after a swim. It is so warm and, in a strange way, soft. Rain water broke more or less unnoticed on our strange pink all-over raincoats. We walked back along the grass and it wasn't until we stood still to change that my foot, cut very slightly climbing out, actually warmed up enough to bleed. We walked back to Newnham in running gear and wet hair (mine hanging down, hairband bandaging foot)to beg a can of coke from Alison and stay the risk of Weils disease - of which I continue, in Deakin's memory, to be terrified.
Back up to my house for curry and cake.
I don't think I'll return for a week or two - it couldn't have been more than fourteen degrees - but it all felt very wild, and very beautiful. Spring is here, and I have high hopes for the season.
J.
xXx
Let me tell you about yesterday - when it rained, when the weather was grey, and when Ema and I decided to go running. The plan was to cycle out to Granchester meadows, run to Granchester and cycle back - I can't at this point in time remember WHY we were going running, so don't ask. Just before we pulled out of New Hall, however, I noticed that my back tyre was very flat. Again I forget precisely why, but we decided that, having not run in about a year, we should just go all the way to Granchester, on foot, from there. We did admirably well - by the time we reached the second meadow, Ema's left ankle, my right, her left knee, my right, were complaining rather loudlym or at least inducing us to do so. And then Ema, bright spark, piped up:
"We should have just gone swimming, you know."
Pause. A beat. Me:
"Do you want to?"
We headed back to the swimming hole, running to keep as warm as possible before we got there. Speed seemed important: the longer we took, the more time we had to talk ourselves out of it. We stripped to our underwear, eliciting cheery waves and side-long glances from dog-walkers, cyclists etc. I jumped in, landing up to my knees in slime and up to my neck in the coldest water I have felt since the Alaska Strait. Ema jumped in. I was laughing maniacally - so cold, so far from able to feel my skin, so very, very happy. We swam - Ema breast-stroking as I beat out a spidery crawl in an attempt to get some kind of circulation going - about half way round the first bend up-stream (I wasn't going to risk cramping and getting dragged into the deeper water toward the Newnham Riverbank Club) before we had to emerge.
There is nothing like the feeling of the wind on your body after a swim. It is so warm and, in a strange way, soft. Rain water broke more or less unnoticed on our strange pink all-over raincoats. We walked back along the grass and it wasn't until we stood still to change that my foot, cut very slightly climbing out, actually warmed up enough to bleed. We walked back to Newnham in running gear and wet hair (mine hanging down, hairband bandaging foot)to beg a can of coke from Alison and stay the risk of Weils disease - of which I continue, in Deakin's memory, to be terrified.
Back up to my house for curry and cake.
I don't think I'll return for a week or two - it couldn't have been more than fourteen degrees - but it all felt very wild, and very beautiful. Spring is here, and I have high hopes for the season.
J.
xXx
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
noto bene:
With the previous post, no. one is the bottom picture, no. two the next one up....
Jordan.
xXx
Jordan.
xXx
Dublin last summer.
1)Gloria's entry at Forty Foot (I think - suddenly wondering if this isn't Sea Point)
2)Forty Foot swimming club from the coast.
3)Me swimming at Forty Foot.
4)Beached whales at Forty Foot.
5)Tombstoning.
6)Dublin Bay from Forty Foot.
7)Sizing it Up before the Jump.
8)James Joyce museum, Forty Foot. (Closed.)
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Hampstead Ponds
My baptism in these silty springs.
Beautiful Sunday afternoon in Hampstead.
Coldest.
Water.
Ever.
I lasted about a minute and a half, which is good, because they were closing.
I'll be back before November is out. I will, I will, I will.
Gloria
Beautiful Sunday afternoon in Hampstead.
Coldest.
Water.
Ever.
I lasted about a minute and a half, which is good, because they were closing.
I'll be back before November is out. I will, I will, I will.
Gloria
Monday, 10 September 2007
What Happened After Ireland
We've been back since Aug 15th, nearly a month, and money for Common Ground has not-quite-literally been pouring in. If all 1.5 of you who read this want to give us (them) some sponsorship, we'd be most grateful. If you have already, forgive me.
We're also going to put some pictures up soon. We promise. You've never seen a sexier prospect than me in a wetsuit.
Today I went to Brockwell Lido, in S/W London, and it was happy-making. Not least because I haven't swum since Dublin. Also because it was clean, relatively empty, NOT HEATED, and the sun was setting behind the beeches in the park. It's about 35m long, an odd length, and it took me a full 45 min to get used to it, by which time I was tired and got out. I went there a few times when I was little and I remember it being a bit scummy, but now it’s been renovated, and delightful. The showers are adjustable. Adjustable showers! In a public pool!
Anyway, the water. Choppy, from all the hunky men powering up and down in tiny Speedos. And the kids shouting LIDO! as they divebombed the deep end. Beech leaves falling in the water and one of the lifeguards trying to catch them all in a big net before they swam away. I forgot to take my mascara off and emerged a happy panda.
AND IT OPENS AT 6.45am.
I’ll be the first one there tomorrow.
Gloria
We're also going to put some pictures up soon. We promise. You've never seen a sexier prospect than me in a wetsuit.
Today I went to Brockwell Lido, in S/W London, and it was happy-making. Not least because I haven't swum since Dublin. Also because it was clean, relatively empty, NOT HEATED, and the sun was setting behind the beeches in the park. It's about 35m long, an odd length, and it took me a full 45 min to get used to it, by which time I was tired and got out. I went there a few times when I was little and I remember it being a bit scummy, but now it’s been renovated, and delightful. The showers are adjustable. Adjustable showers! In a public pool!
Anyway, the water. Choppy, from all the hunky men powering up and down in tiny Speedos. And the kids shouting LIDO! as they divebombed the deep end. Beech leaves falling in the water and one of the lifeguards trying to catch them all in a big net before they swam away. I forgot to take my mascara off and emerged a happy panda.
AND IT OPENS AT 6.45am.
I’ll be the first one there tomorrow.
Gloria
Monday, 27 August 2007
The Vital Statistics.
Sorry this has taken longer than I thought - real life takes you over, when you get back to it. Domestic trips to London, Aeschylus and the Importance of the Frontier in American History all take on an unprecedented importance. I do intend to put the photos up now I've got them, as well, but I haven't quite mastered the technology as yet...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Number of Swims (Total): Twelve.
(Gloria): Ten.
(Jordan): Ten.
Number of Places Swum : Seven.
Those being: Sea Point, Forty Foot, Barnaderg Bay (Letterfrack), Dawros River, Tully Lake, Inish Bofin Beach (South), Inish Bofin Beach (North).
Distance Swum (total) : 4130m.
(Gloria): 590m.
(Jordan): 3540m.
Our Companions, some thanks, and people who made the trip what it was :
JENNY. Green Umbrella Man. Alex. Johanna. Seamus. Boy who chatted Gloria up in a bar. Polish man who gave us a ride. Bernard and the Herring Gull. Leo and Rob, for telling me it wasn't a stupid idea in the first place, and for all their support. James for daring to wet his immaculate coiffeur. Benjamin, Iona, Ben, Patrick, Richard, the middle aged men reading the paper naked on the bank of the Granta. Lindsay. Sue and Angela at Common Ground. And Jenny, again. It's only fair.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Wild Swimming is everywhere at the moment. Or at least, all over the liberal press - the Independent ran an article last week, and the Guardian had a fantastic supplement this weekend, with a rather beautiful photgraph of Jesus Green pool. I was rather sorry that Deakin wasn't mentioned in either; it is, afterall, a year since his death now, and I don't believe that wild swimming could ever have attained such a high profile without Waterlog. I would like to take this opportunity one last time to thank him for being such a huge inspiration to me - I've never been moved quite so profoundly by the words of somebody I never knew.
Reading about other swimmers' "raisons de nager" always interest me, and they're often completely different from my own. I feel perhaps more kinship with the sight-seeing swimmer, who wants to look at spider-crabs and perhaps a seal than with the tough old octogenarian looking after their heart-rated by plunging into icy water, perhaps, but no two people ever expound precsely the same philosophy.
I have had a number of very different types of swim this summer - poignant and playful in the moat, the odd "symbolic dip" in hideous weather on hove beach, long swims at Jesus Green, icy early morning swims at Emmanuel before lectures, gruelling and satisfying missions across Sea Point, frightening and exhilarating at Forty Foot... not all quite what I would ordinarily think of as "my style". If you asked me, I would tell you I prefer to be in the sea, I like to know which point I'm swimming to and that I'd like it to be a good long distance away; I like, ordinarily, to swim around 2k, something that there was never opportunity for when we were travelling, and didn't quite know our surroundings.
In Ireland, I discovered swimming as a form of tourism, not only because we were travelling. There was one idyllic beach on Inish Bofin, for example, that you could only reach by either climbing quite tricky rocks over rocks, or swimming across - I travelled there one way, and back the other. It lent a sense of rather Famous Five-ish danger and excitement to the place. At Sea Point and Forty Foot, the local swimming culture was the most remarkable thing; at Letterfrack, we discovered that swimming was a good way to make friends. Our trip sounded eccentric enough to Alex, afterall, that he decided to join us and find out what all the fuss was about.
People, I think, need water. perhaps more than they know.
Jordan.
xXx
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Number of Swims (Total): Twelve.
(Gloria): Ten.
(Jordan): Ten.
Number of Places Swum : Seven.
Those being: Sea Point, Forty Foot, Barnaderg Bay (Letterfrack), Dawros River, Tully Lake, Inish Bofin Beach (South), Inish Bofin Beach (North).
Distance Swum (total) : 4130m.
(Gloria): 590m.
(Jordan): 3540m.
Our Companions, some thanks, and people who made the trip what it was :
JENNY. Green Umbrella Man. Alex. Johanna. Seamus. Boy who chatted Gloria up in a bar. Polish man who gave us a ride. Bernard and the Herring Gull. Leo and Rob, for telling me it wasn't a stupid idea in the first place, and for all their support. James for daring to wet his immaculate coiffeur. Benjamin, Iona, Ben, Patrick, Richard, the middle aged men reading the paper naked on the bank of the Granta. Lindsay. Sue and Angela at Common Ground. And Jenny, again. It's only fair.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Wild Swimming is everywhere at the moment. Or at least, all over the liberal press - the Independent ran an article last week, and the Guardian had a fantastic supplement this weekend, with a rather beautiful photgraph of Jesus Green pool. I was rather sorry that Deakin wasn't mentioned in either; it is, afterall, a year since his death now, and I don't believe that wild swimming could ever have attained such a high profile without Waterlog. I would like to take this opportunity one last time to thank him for being such a huge inspiration to me - I've never been moved quite so profoundly by the words of somebody I never knew.
Reading about other swimmers' "raisons de nager" always interest me, and they're often completely different from my own. I feel perhaps more kinship with the sight-seeing swimmer, who wants to look at spider-crabs and perhaps a seal than with the tough old octogenarian looking after their heart-rated by plunging into icy water, perhaps, but no two people ever expound precsely the same philosophy.
I have had a number of very different types of swim this summer - poignant and playful in the moat, the odd "symbolic dip" in hideous weather on hove beach, long swims at Jesus Green, icy early morning swims at Emmanuel before lectures, gruelling and satisfying missions across Sea Point, frightening and exhilarating at Forty Foot... not all quite what I would ordinarily think of as "my style". If you asked me, I would tell you I prefer to be in the sea, I like to know which point I'm swimming to and that I'd like it to be a good long distance away; I like, ordinarily, to swim around 2k, something that there was never opportunity for when we were travelling, and didn't quite know our surroundings.
In Ireland, I discovered swimming as a form of tourism, not only because we were travelling. There was one idyllic beach on Inish Bofin, for example, that you could only reach by either climbing quite tricky rocks over rocks, or swimming across - I travelled there one way, and back the other. It lent a sense of rather Famous Five-ish danger and excitement to the place. At Sea Point and Forty Foot, the local swimming culture was the most remarkable thing; at Letterfrack, we discovered that swimming was a good way to make friends. Our trip sounded eccentric enough to Alex, afterall, that he decided to join us and find out what all the fuss was about.
People, I think, need water. perhaps more than they know.
Jordan.
xXx
Thursday, 16 August 2007
Penultimate Post?
We are back in Brighton after a last swim at Sea Point. The Sun shone, but the wind was high; there was some form of children's sailing class happenning on the far side of the bay - I wish I could tell you what kind of boats they were. I shall send a description to a sailing friend, and ask her to identify them...
I decided to do the crossing one last time. I would have kicked myself if I hadn't. The water was choppy from the wind, but the tide seemed quite still. It had been a while since my last long swim at Letterfrack, so I didn't push the pace - just tried to keep to a crawl as much as I could, or I thought I'd never get back.
When I know that I have a distance to swim, and it isn't one that I have to keep count of, (no monotonous lengths), I get to let my mind wander. If I hadn't been swimming for about twenty minutes, I would have been worrying about packing, travelling, contacting my friend in the city, moving on. Instead, I thought about Communist China (I'm reading Wild Swans, better late than never). I also realised quite how excited I was about an impending visit from my cousin and her husband who live in upstate New York - I hadn't seen John since their wedding.
It sounds odd, sounds backwards, but for me at least, it was the swimming that kept this trip from being a stressful one.
Tomorrow, we'll let you know how far we swum all in, and do a revue of the whole trip. For now, I'll quote you something I've quoted before :
Who am I to tell you
How to manage
The Swimming?
- Maximus.
Jordan.
xXx
I decided to do the crossing one last time. I would have kicked myself if I hadn't. The water was choppy from the wind, but the tide seemed quite still. It had been a while since my last long swim at Letterfrack, so I didn't push the pace - just tried to keep to a crawl as much as I could, or I thought I'd never get back.
When I know that I have a distance to swim, and it isn't one that I have to keep count of, (no monotonous lengths), I get to let my mind wander. If I hadn't been swimming for about twenty minutes, I would have been worrying about packing, travelling, contacting my friend in the city, moving on. Instead, I thought about Communist China (I'm reading Wild Swans, better late than never). I also realised quite how excited I was about an impending visit from my cousin and her husband who live in upstate New York - I hadn't seen John since their wedding.
It sounds odd, sounds backwards, but for me at least, it was the swimming that kept this trip from being a stressful one.
Tomorrow, we'll let you know how far we swum all in, and do a revue of the whole trip. For now, I'll quote you something I've quoted before :
Who am I to tell you
How to manage
The Swimming?
- Maximus.
Jordan.
xXx
Monday, 13 August 2007
...back in the saddle...
"I must go down to the sea again..."
"Go on, then."
*****************
Low tide at sea point this evening, after a day spent girding the loins (by doing absolutely nothing).
So we walked, to Forty Foot.
Forty minutes, on foot.
Funny, how these things work out.
People diving, people swimming, young people, old people, skinny people, normal people.
A very pretty polish girl with a fake tan in a thong bikini.
"Oh this is too cold for me".
Fish out of water?
G in first, down the ladder. Then I beat out a few strokes. I feel WEAK, after feeling strong all trip. This was Jenny's first swim at Forty Foot she couldn't quite believe she was doing it - but we'd clocked how tough she was within a second. We have an un-repayable debt to this wonderful woman, but we've given her swim-fever, and we've won a friend.
All our skin felt as if it was burning...
Purple sea on the way home, and purple sunset now.
Tired and hungry, and pleased.
****************
Jordan.
xXx
"Go on, then."
*****************
Low tide at sea point this evening, after a day spent girding the loins (by doing absolutely nothing).
So we walked, to Forty Foot.
Forty minutes, on foot.
Funny, how these things work out.
People diving, people swimming, young people, old people, skinny people, normal people.
A very pretty polish girl with a fake tan in a thong bikini.
"Oh this is too cold for me".
Fish out of water?
G in first, down the ladder. Then I beat out a few strokes. I feel WEAK, after feeling strong all trip. This was Jenny's first swim at Forty Foot she couldn't quite believe she was doing it - but we'd clocked how tough she was within a second. We have an un-repayable debt to this wonderful woman, but we've given her swim-fever, and we've won a friend.
All our skin felt as if it was burning...
Purple sea on the way home, and purple sunset now.
Tired and hungry, and pleased.
****************
Jordan.
xXx
Swimming Culture in Ireland
Jenny and I went back to Seapoint yesterday lunchtime, whilst Jordan de-phlegmed. Sunny Sunday, over 50 people in the little changing shelters, on the rocks and in the water, many of them in their seventies and eighties, as well as a tiny girl in armbands and a pregnant woman who dived as gracefully as the black guillemots which accompanied us out to Inishbofin. Everyone chatting, changing, dipping and comparing, all the time various states of toggage und undress, wetness and basking. It struck me where I had encountered such a leisured water-culture before; the baths in Budapest. True, those were single-sex, but there was the same quiet yet sociable enjoyment of being not only in, but about to be in and having been in, water. I haven't encountered quite the same thing in British lidos, but I rather hope it flourishes in Hampstead Ponds, where I, shamefully, have never swum. People getting in, shivering, saying 'It's lovely, isn't it', and at least half-meaning it. It's the feeling afterwards you're looking for though, and the warmth of pride that comes with the boast to friends that you've done it before and you'll do it again.
Gloria
Gloria
Sunday, 12 August 2007
Dublin : The Return.
Sligo. Nightmare. From sleeping under canvas on a rainy Inishbofin, I got a cold. Then in Sligo, IT RAINED. And I felt awful. The beaches were stunning, and we hunted for shells. If I'd been on form, I would have swum and loved it - but cold rainy swims are more my style than Gloria's. She likes to actually enjoy swimming - and prefers not to go in alone, which I understand.
She should be back in Sea Point today with the wonderful Jenny. I'll be grumpy on the sea shore wishing I could get in. And coughing, and reading Aristotle. Oh Yes.
(I'll be better tomorrow, Swimming. And having something interesting to say.)
Jordan.
xXx
She should be back in Sea Point today with the wonderful Jenny. I'll be grumpy on the sea shore wishing I could get in. And coughing, and reading Aristotle. Oh Yes.
(I'll be better tomorrow, Swimming. And having something interesting to say.)
Jordan.
xXx
Saturday, 11 August 2007
Wednesday, 8 August 2007
On The Road.
Clifden, Co.Galway, Direction : Sligo.
River with the french kids once more before kicking out of Letterfrack, also 800m across the bay for me.
Inishbofin - isle of the white cows - is an island.
Shell beach and rock pooling in the rain, followed by christening my wetsuit, about 13 degrees a mad woman swam a long way and gloria got a little scared and clambered on the rocks.
A caribbean looking beach with a cross-current and a rip-tide but a beautiful little pool behind rocks to climb on and another 400 m me, Gloria made friends with a canadian named colin and we built a fort and played long-jump in the sand. (we can jump about two metres I reckon).
Seriously low on disposable internet funds so by way of a goodbye:
Gloria is afraid of swimming in the sea.
Jordan is afraid of sheep.
Gloria wins.
(and I have come to understand much about Kerouac's prose-style...)
Jordan.
xXx
River with the french kids once more before kicking out of Letterfrack, also 800m across the bay for me.
Inishbofin - isle of the white cows - is an island.
Shell beach and rock pooling in the rain, followed by christening my wetsuit, about 13 degrees a mad woman swam a long way and gloria got a little scared and clambered on the rocks.
A caribbean looking beach with a cross-current and a rip-tide but a beautiful little pool behind rocks to climb on and another 400 m me, Gloria made friends with a canadian named colin and we built a fort and played long-jump in the sand. (we can jump about two metres I reckon).
Seriously low on disposable internet funds so by way of a goodbye:
Gloria is afraid of swimming in the sea.
Jordan is afraid of sheep.
Gloria wins.
(and I have come to understand much about Kerouac's prose-style...)
Jordan.
xXx
Wednesday, 1 August 2007
connemara - chonamara : Letterfrack.
this post will be needfully short, as I spent most of my internet money on trying to make the "@" key work so I could sign in... sticky shift...
so we're in letterfrack (leiterfraic), Connemara, County galway! Five hour bus journey to get here but worth every moment, as we're now officially in the middle of nowhere, which is where we like to be. Camping in the garden of a big hippy hostel - low security but the best breakfast (scones, porage, buttermilk bread...) you ever did dream of. it's something of a shame that my sleeping bag, and gloria's phone, were stolen yesterday, but we have moved on unscathed, I think!
sorry if this blog becomes preoccupied with food, by the way. i'm swimming and being outdoors a lot, I'm beginning to dream about dinner...
on the last bus up the windy hill on monday, past many lakes, puddles, inlets and the like, we met an excitable french chap, name of Alex, who is working in a local b&b. he's an engineer from toulouse, and he decided he wanted to swim with us! so, after attempting to differentiate between the various european hippies staying here, and the various european hippies working here, we got the tent up and headed down the hill to the sea loch to meet him. the water wasn't as saltily buoyant as Dublin Bay, but without such strong tides it was much easier to make headway. we played and splashed and tied bits of kelp around each other. language barriers - and automatic barriers between new acquaintances - soon disappear in the water.
yesterday was the day of the Great Bedding Heist, so after climbing Diamond hill, our first tame little peak of the trip, the afternoon was concerned with dealing with the garda, leaving little time for swimming - you'll be pleased to know, however, that we made time for a stout before bed, and that's the really important thing...
which brings me, at the end of this badly-punctuated ramble, to today. This morning, after a broken night (rain noisy in tent) we headed out on a little ramble. we left the footpath and scrambled through bog and over rocks for a mile or so - stop shaking your heads! we know we shouldn't, but there are big paved trails and boardwalks and PEOPLE everywhere, we had to escape... and we came upon a river. Quite shallow, but very strong. yellow from the peat (pete?) in the hills, but clean enough for salmon and freshwater mussels - again G wouldn't let me cook them - so clean enough for us. now, we had, very cleverly, left our towels and swimming gear behind - we thought we were just off for a walk, afterall - so we had to find a secluded spot... we're getting used to this lark! we bathed where it was about waist-deep, getting clean as we could 9hostel showers : cold drip). and swimming against the current - I understood, suddenly, how it feels to be a hamster!
This evening i went for a long swim out across a part of the sea-loch (lough?), with Gloria as my spotter. About 800 metres, warm and smooth to begin with, getting colder and harder as the wind got up...
Right. We're off to the pub. Stay tuned!
J.
xXx
so we're in letterfrack (leiterfraic), Connemara, County galway! Five hour bus journey to get here but worth every moment, as we're now officially in the middle of nowhere, which is where we like to be. Camping in the garden of a big hippy hostel - low security but the best breakfast (scones, porage, buttermilk bread...) you ever did dream of. it's something of a shame that my sleeping bag, and gloria's phone, were stolen yesterday, but we have moved on unscathed, I think!
sorry if this blog becomes preoccupied with food, by the way. i'm swimming and being outdoors a lot, I'm beginning to dream about dinner...
on the last bus up the windy hill on monday, past many lakes, puddles, inlets and the like, we met an excitable french chap, name of Alex, who is working in a local b&b. he's an engineer from toulouse, and he decided he wanted to swim with us! so, after attempting to differentiate between the various european hippies staying here, and the various european hippies working here, we got the tent up and headed down the hill to the sea loch to meet him. the water wasn't as saltily buoyant as Dublin Bay, but without such strong tides it was much easier to make headway. we played and splashed and tied bits of kelp around each other. language barriers - and automatic barriers between new acquaintances - soon disappear in the water.
yesterday was the day of the Great Bedding Heist, so after climbing Diamond hill, our first tame little peak of the trip, the afternoon was concerned with dealing with the garda, leaving little time for swimming - you'll be pleased to know, however, that we made time for a stout before bed, and that's the really important thing...
which brings me, at the end of this badly-punctuated ramble, to today. This morning, after a broken night (rain noisy in tent) we headed out on a little ramble. we left the footpath and scrambled through bog and over rocks for a mile or so - stop shaking your heads! we know we shouldn't, but there are big paved trails and boardwalks and PEOPLE everywhere, we had to escape... and we came upon a river. Quite shallow, but very strong. yellow from the peat (pete?) in the hills, but clean enough for salmon and freshwater mussels - again G wouldn't let me cook them - so clean enough for us. now, we had, very cleverly, left our towels and swimming gear behind - we thought we were just off for a walk, afterall - so we had to find a secluded spot... we're getting used to this lark! we bathed where it was about waist-deep, getting clean as we could 9hostel showers : cold drip). and swimming against the current - I understood, suddenly, how it feels to be a hamster!
This evening i went for a long swim out across a part of the sea-loch (lough?), with Gloria as my spotter. About 800 metres, warm and smooth to begin with, getting colder and harder as the wind got up...
Right. We're off to the pub. Stay tuned!
J.
xXx
Sunday, 29 July 2007
DUBLIN : First Time.
July 28.
Jorney et cetera. Bus-Plane-Bus-Small Bus. Same as journeys always are, but with more pressure to SPEND. Was secretly quite glad we don't have any money - one in the eye for the capitalists...
Arrived at Jenny's (Holly's WONDERFUL ma who is an absolute godsend, a thing of beauty and a joy forever...) in the afternoon. She let us make sandwiches, and took us down to SEA POINT, which is right by her house. Tide out. Paddled. Played in rock-pool. Found ENORMOUS shrimp, which I wanted to cook for dinner. G&J were less certain - apparentlu, Dublin Bay's, like, not completely clean or something. Who knew? Jenny insited G and I get our Togs on (swimwear uniformally known as "togs" here it seems) and Get Out There. Gloria christened her new wetsuit. We waded. We flopped. We splashed. We tried to swim. Cold and calm - fifteen degrees?Tide in-coming. FUlly-dressed man with green umbrella and the bottom of his trousers rolled paddled. Gloria thought he was "looking for poems", I thought he looked like what Vettriano would paint, if Vettriano were any good.
That night, we had Chocolate Malts ad Eddie Rocket's and Gloria laughed and made a note when I said I wished I were blonde, it were the fifties and she were a man.
I make a point of doint my wishing in the conditional tense.
July 29th.
(My notes about today are LONG. I don't have long on the hostel computer. I'm editing as fast as I can...)
Quite a day. Up early after early night. "The sea air makes sleeping incredibly sweet" - Diane Cluck, Monte Carlo. That is my song. "Oh the green wothe botheth": Stephen Daedalus' song, if you recall, and our first swim of the day was under Joyce's tower, now a (closed, it's Sunday) museum in his memory.
FORTY FOOT. (Sandy Cove. Dun Loaghaire - pronounced "Leary". who knows why?)
Rocks, steps with hand rails, used to be gentlemen only, now lets the likes of us in (at swim, two birds?). Joyce's "Scrotum Tightening" water. Gloria prepares for cold with a wetsuit. I prepare by sunbathing before making the descent. GLORIA IS CLEVERER THAN ME. There are a lot of people in, though where the waves grash against the under-water shelf that I believe gives Forty Foot its name, there is a sucking whirlpool.
We get in, Jenny watching so brave faces all round! I strike out towards a flag, but turbulence from the Dun Loaghaire ferry makes turning back advisable; after it has gone down a little, I talk to a local Diving Man about where it might be advisable to jump off a rock. He tells me. I chicken out. Then I see a small boy manage it, and my jaw sets.... Three. Two. One. I am reminded of Gorge Du Verdun, Blue Pool on Welsh Camp, even Mirror Lake, and every other jump in between. There is a wordless moment between jumping and hitting the water. Oh, adrenaline! Jenny took a photo of me in mid-air, which I'll get up as soon as I can : it doesn't look quite as slick as it felt...
Back at SEA POINT. Jenny has lived there since, I think, 1992, but today was the first day she got in! I went in with her while Gloria stayed by the bags, the idea being that we would operate a kind of tag-team. As Jenny got to knee-deep, she announced that she could no longer feel her legs - I have stopped noticing this phenomena, but I becam aware, when she said it, that it was true... I favour a fast entry myself, diving where possible, so I waited to see (I wrote sea!) her safely submerged before heading for the jetty on the other side of the bay-cove-thing. Around halfway across, I became aware of what I was feeling in this incredibly buoyant water. If I stayed on the surface, I could feel the Sun warm on my skin through the cold water! I swam crawl until my triceps hurt, breast-stroke until the burn was gone, then crawl again, and so on. Nearing the jetty, I saw a man in his sixties set out on a surf-board. The people of Dun Loaghaire are incredibly hardy, and their blood appears to be largely sea water : I wasn't the only one swimming these epic lengths accross the bay, but I believe I was the only one finding it difficult! I got out on the jetty and looked back to where I'd come from, attempting to communicate to Gloria, who worries about such things, that I was still alive. I realised at this point that I was overwhelmingly hungry, and the fastest way to lunch was back across the bay...
Gloria joined me as I neared the changing beach (and I must describe the changing shelters better later, or perhaps I'll leave that to Gloria, who is better with adjectives than me...), and she remarked on something I have been thinking about : In the sea, you have to play. If you try to be serious with it, it hits you in the face.
Once or twice in my life, I have been more tired and more hungry than I was emerging from the sea today. Alongside this, however, I was pink and exhilarated, and aware that I was stronger than I had thought - or more determined, at least... I discovered that a kilometre is rather further in the sea than the pool, especially when you're trying to swim quickly so nobody worries!
There are many things I haven't talked about, but I have made a note of some of them, and saved them for later... Cormorants and didused lidos in particular!
Tomorrow: Galway, Connemara, and camping!
Until I get to a computer again,
Jordan.
xXx
Jorney et cetera. Bus-Plane-Bus-Small Bus. Same as journeys always are, but with more pressure to SPEND. Was secretly quite glad we don't have any money - one in the eye for the capitalists...
Arrived at Jenny's (Holly's WONDERFUL ma who is an absolute godsend, a thing of beauty and a joy forever...) in the afternoon. She let us make sandwiches, and took us down to SEA POINT, which is right by her house. Tide out. Paddled. Played in rock-pool. Found ENORMOUS shrimp, which I wanted to cook for dinner. G&J were less certain - apparentlu, Dublin Bay's, like, not completely clean or something. Who knew? Jenny insited G and I get our Togs on (swimwear uniformally known as "togs" here it seems) and Get Out There. Gloria christened her new wetsuit. We waded. We flopped. We splashed. We tried to swim. Cold and calm - fifteen degrees?Tide in-coming. FUlly-dressed man with green umbrella and the bottom of his trousers rolled paddled. Gloria thought he was "looking for poems", I thought he looked like what Vettriano would paint, if Vettriano were any good.
That night, we had Chocolate Malts ad Eddie Rocket's and Gloria laughed and made a note when I said I wished I were blonde, it were the fifties and she were a man.
I make a point of doint my wishing in the conditional tense.
July 29th.
(My notes about today are LONG. I don't have long on the hostel computer. I'm editing as fast as I can...)
Quite a day. Up early after early night. "The sea air makes sleeping incredibly sweet" - Diane Cluck, Monte Carlo. That is my song. "Oh the green wothe botheth": Stephen Daedalus' song, if you recall, and our first swim of the day was under Joyce's tower, now a (closed, it's Sunday) museum in his memory.
FORTY FOOT. (Sandy Cove. Dun Loaghaire - pronounced "Leary". who knows why?)
Rocks, steps with hand rails, used to be gentlemen only, now lets the likes of us in (at swim, two birds?). Joyce's "Scrotum Tightening" water. Gloria prepares for cold with a wetsuit. I prepare by sunbathing before making the descent. GLORIA IS CLEVERER THAN ME. There are a lot of people in, though where the waves grash against the under-water shelf that I believe gives Forty Foot its name, there is a sucking whirlpool.
We get in, Jenny watching so brave faces all round! I strike out towards a flag, but turbulence from the Dun Loaghaire ferry makes turning back advisable; after it has gone down a little, I talk to a local Diving Man about where it might be advisable to jump off a rock. He tells me. I chicken out. Then I see a small boy manage it, and my jaw sets.... Three. Two. One. I am reminded of Gorge Du Verdun, Blue Pool on Welsh Camp, even Mirror Lake, and every other jump in between. There is a wordless moment between jumping and hitting the water. Oh, adrenaline! Jenny took a photo of me in mid-air, which I'll get up as soon as I can : it doesn't look quite as slick as it felt...
Back at SEA POINT. Jenny has lived there since, I think, 1992, but today was the first day she got in! I went in with her while Gloria stayed by the bags, the idea being that we would operate a kind of tag-team. As Jenny got to knee-deep, she announced that she could no longer feel her legs - I have stopped noticing this phenomena, but I becam aware, when she said it, that it was true... I favour a fast entry myself, diving where possible, so I waited to see (I wrote sea!) her safely submerged before heading for the jetty on the other side of the bay-cove-thing. Around halfway across, I became aware of what I was feeling in this incredibly buoyant water. If I stayed on the surface, I could feel the Sun warm on my skin through the cold water! I swam crawl until my triceps hurt, breast-stroke until the burn was gone, then crawl again, and so on. Nearing the jetty, I saw a man in his sixties set out on a surf-board. The people of Dun Loaghaire are incredibly hardy, and their blood appears to be largely sea water : I wasn't the only one swimming these epic lengths accross the bay, but I believe I was the only one finding it difficult! I got out on the jetty and looked back to where I'd come from, attempting to communicate to Gloria, who worries about such things, that I was still alive. I realised at this point that I was overwhelmingly hungry, and the fastest way to lunch was back across the bay...
Gloria joined me as I neared the changing beach (and I must describe the changing shelters better later, or perhaps I'll leave that to Gloria, who is better with adjectives than me...), and she remarked on something I have been thinking about : In the sea, you have to play. If you try to be serious with it, it hits you in the face.
Once or twice in my life, I have been more tired and more hungry than I was emerging from the sea today. Alongside this, however, I was pink and exhilarated, and aware that I was stronger than I had thought - or more determined, at least... I discovered that a kilometre is rather further in the sea than the pool, especially when you're trying to swim quickly so nobody worries!
There are many things I haven't talked about, but I have made a note of some of them, and saved them for later... Cormorants and didused lidos in particular!
Tomorrow: Galway, Connemara, and camping!
Until I get to a computer again,
Jordan.
xXx
Saturday, 28 July 2007
Friday, 27 July 2007
Famous Firsts.
Gloria arrived in Brighton today - hurrah! Waterlogged country no obstacle to our dedication! And other such gung ho exclamations on the part of two over-excited girls.
To celebrate her safe arrival, we did something neither of us had ever quite dared to do before - walked down along the sea-front, past the crazy golf and a precarious looking flat in the arches, into Kemptown... and the nudist beach.
We were the only women there, but it was remarkably un-threatening; it's a certain kind of person that takes of their clothes in public in such patchy weather. I'm not sure it would be me again - novelty is one thing, routine nudity another. G didn't like the look of the waves, and didn't swim. I didn't think they were any bigger than at Tidemills on the seventh, and gave it a shot. The breakers, however, came in at a strange diagonal, and had a very strong pull; as soon as I'd got in and splashed around a little, I thought better of staying in any longer. I didn't want to try and fight them when I was tired.
I am trying to get my head around John Berger's line, "To be nude is never to be naked". The nude is aware that they are watched; at once vulnerable and powerful? There is a dishonesty, I think, in the intimacy of the nude. I think they should be called "nakedist" beaches.
Later on, we went out on a trip-launch fundraising expedition! In about an hour and a half, and two of my local boozers, we made about £35 (just under) for the cause. A special shout out to Lewie and Patrick for their generosity.
One final thought:
WE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROW! And, In the immortal words of dear Thomas, "I'm so pumped!"
Jordan.
xXx
To celebrate her safe arrival, we did something neither of us had ever quite dared to do before - walked down along the sea-front, past the crazy golf and a precarious looking flat in the arches, into Kemptown... and the nudist beach.
We were the only women there, but it was remarkably un-threatening; it's a certain kind of person that takes of their clothes in public in such patchy weather. I'm not sure it would be me again - novelty is one thing, routine nudity another. G didn't like the look of the waves, and didn't swim. I didn't think they were any bigger than at Tidemills on the seventh, and gave it a shot. The breakers, however, came in at a strange diagonal, and had a very strong pull; as soon as I'd got in and splashed around a little, I thought better of staying in any longer. I didn't want to try and fight them when I was tired.
I am trying to get my head around John Berger's line, "To be nude is never to be naked". The nude is aware that they are watched; at once vulnerable and powerful? There is a dishonesty, I think, in the intimacy of the nude. I think they should be called "nakedist" beaches.
Later on, we went out on a trip-launch fundraising expedition! In about an hour and a half, and two of my local boozers, we made about £35 (just under) for the cause. A special shout out to Lewie and Patrick for their generosity.
One final thought:
WE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROW! And, In the immortal words of dear Thomas, "I'm so pumped!"
Jordan.
xXx
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Water, Water everywhere, and not a drop to swim in
Still working at Radley College, there are floods all around. Walking down to the pub last night the air smelled of river - as though one were likely to slip down a bank at any moment. Ironically, it may be water that causes problems to the start of my journey. At the moment it seems impossible to get from Radley to my home before going to Jordan's.
I am thinking about the fields near Burford I visited with my parents two weeks ago - an oxbow bend in the river which Roger Deakin writes gleefully about in Waterlog. It was the most gorgeous hot afternoon, and we had a great walk through geraniums, cows, sheep, meadowsweet, swans and peacock butterflies. But the bend was fenced off. One of the fat pollard willows by the place where the bend comes in so far it nearly forms a circle has a sign on it saying 'Private Land - Go Back To The Path'. I was torn between obeying the landowner and giving in to the fast pull of the water. Now I think of those fields covered with water, the willows planted in them seemingly with no roots, mushroom-like, and all the prints on the footpath erased.
Gloria
I am thinking about the fields near Burford I visited with my parents two weeks ago - an oxbow bend in the river which Roger Deakin writes gleefully about in Waterlog. It was the most gorgeous hot afternoon, and we had a great walk through geraniums, cows, sheep, meadowsweet, swans and peacock butterflies. But the bend was fenced off. One of the fat pollard willows by the place where the bend comes in so far it nearly forms a circle has a sign on it saying 'Private Land - Go Back To The Path'. I was torn between obeying the landowner and giving in to the fast pull of the water. Now I think of those fields covered with water, the willows planted in them seemingly with no roots, mushroom-like, and all the prints on the footpath erased.
Gloria
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