Crossing the Hellespont: The Ultimate Open Water Swim

PHOTOS BY PERCY CLARKE

BY LUCY GROVE

On the European banks of the Bosphorus, among Istanbul’s wheedling street hawkers and fishermen, three tourists are staring into the water. They are counting jellyfish. 10…16…25… They observe the little clear ones, the big purple ones, the ones with a funny indigo frill and the tubular brown ones. They exchange worried glances, apprehensive in the knowledge that they will soon be swimming in these waters, crossing over to Asia.

‘The Hellespont is the ultimate open water swim,’ Simon Murie of SwimTrek tells me. ‘It crosses continents; it’s got mythology; it’s romantic; it’s literary; it’s a classic!’ Yes, but what about the JELLYFISH? There is, however, no record of them bothering classical stud Leander, as he swam across nightly to spend a lustful few hours with Hero (though he did eventually die in the process). And crazy Byron didn’t seem to mind when he did it in 1810, rating his crossing as an achievement even greater than his poetry.

Every year for the last 21 years, there have been around 200 Turks, young and old, competing to cross what is today known as the Dardanelles, as part of their August 30th Victory Day celebrations. This year, for the first time, there are 120 foreigners taking part; Daisy, Jez and I are three of them.

In Canakkale we congregate for a safety briefing the day before the race. Daisy and Jez, who swam the Channel last year in relay, invent a new game called Spot the Nemesis. There are several with the long limbs, honed shoulders and steely expression of the competitive swimmer. I look for my own nemeses and am relieved to see that they are there too: rather more average of build and looking a lot more nervous. For us mere mortals the competition is with ourselves rather than each other; our goal is to complete the crossing safely within the 90 minutes that the strait is closed to ships.

Pre race jitters kick in as Simon Murie explains the route. The current will be strong heading out towards the Aegean sea, and therefore we will swim in a wide arc bearing left, but being driven right all the time. The swim is current assisted, making the 4.5km more like 3.5. There will be 45 sheep boats herding the racers, and yes, there ARE jellyfish but there is vinegar on the boats so you need not worry. Vinegar?

Saturday dawns brilliantly, roasting hot by the time we are breakfasting. The Dardanelles looks beautifully calm. There is a multilingual buzz of excitement as we traipse down to the registration point, adrenaline pumping. It’s all becoming a bit too real as I collect my hat numbered 266.

Half an hour later all 300 racers are loaded into the ferry to Eceabat on the European side. Bodies are thickly sun creamed and Vaselined. The Turks seem to have a trick up their sleeves as they smear themselves with red anti-jellyfish gel, until we work out that this is in fact just dyed Vaseline for a patriotic touch. Conversation is of nothing but the swim. Past open water achievements (Channel, Gibraltar Straits, Alcatraz…) are dangled like bait for the competitive, and like warning signs to others.

As we walk down to the start beach I am quaking in my complimentary towelling slippers. However I am still able to appreciate that we must look ridiculous: 300 rubber-hatted, greasy bodies of varying shapes and sizes and in an array of swimming attire, all padding down to the beach in slippers like lemming-penguin hybrids.

Disconcertingly, the water feels thick and around our calves, porridge-like with the amount of swirling jellyfish. Oh dear, I think, but it’s too late to turn tail.

The claxon sounds and we’re off. The orange hats of the foreigners mix with the yellow hats of the Turks and suddenly the water is a flurry of windmilling arms and gasping mouths. The jellyfish porridge is soon far behind and I get into my stride. ‘Ride the Glide,’ Daisy’s training partner used to say, and so that’s what I do, and it’s lovely. Warm and delicious swimming, dare I say it, relaxing. At times I am alone and at others swimming neck and neck with other swimmers. Either way, it is wonderful.

Finally the end is in sight. Here the current becomes evident, threatening to sweep swimmers under the dock unless you grab one of the ladders. Umpires shout numbers and times as I clamber out dizzily, it’s all over so quickly. It didn‘t feel like 62 minutes.

Once everyone is out and enjoying long-awaited celebratory beers, there is a wonderfully haphazard award ceremony. Women’s names are called out in men’s categories and vice versa and some award winners appear to have gone home, but we are enormously proud to have 10 podium finishes among the foreigners. Did we really hear Daisy’s name? Clutching her silver medal for the women’s 30-40s category she gleefully cries “I’ve never been on a podium before!” Later we find out she should have got gold, since the winner they had written down was actually a man. But the chaos is part of the charm.

Later on, blessed with a beautiful sunset, we enjoy an end-of-swim barbeque. Now 120 swimmers happily bond over their experiences. Breaststrokers rub shoulders with crawlers, novice swimmers with experienced triathletes; everyone is beaming and already planning more open water swims.

From Cynthia, a young Texan who couldn’t swim a year ago and decided to train for this, to Richard, who swam the Hellespont 40 years ago and today won the award for the oldest participant at 81, to George, who was inspired by the Hero and Leander tapestries in the Bratislava palace where he was married, – everyone had a different reason for wanting to do this iconic swim, but now we all share the satisfaction of having done it. We give everyone a round of applause as they accept their certificates and, as if just for us, victory fireworks explode over the Hellespont.

Lucy flew to Istanbul’s Sabiha Gokcen airport with Easyjet, from £64.99

Travel from Istanbul to Canakkale by coach (Truva) or plane (Atlasjet)

Race entry, 3 days B&B accommodation in Canakkale and some meals arranged through Swimtrek, £360

For further reading
: Hero And Leander by Christopher Marlowe
: Memed, My Hawk by Yashar Kemal
: The Towers of Trebizond by Rose Macaulay