{"id":204,"date":"2013-11-11T11:45:49","date_gmt":"2013-11-11T10:45:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/?p=204"},"modified":"2014-05-05T10:58:26","modified_gmt":"2014-05-05T09:58:26","slug":"swimming-the-hellespont","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/?p=204","title":{"rendered":"SWIMMING THE HELLESPONT"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/span><\/p>\n

\"swim\"<\/a>This picture is from an earlier swim across the Bosphorus.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cDo you want to swim the \u00c7anakkale Bo\u011faz\u0131?\u201d Mehmet asked me. Mehmet had already swum the Dardanelles a few times and had got me involved in a race across the Bosphorus the previous year in which I had placed close to last in a large field.<\/span><\/p>\n

But did I want to swim the Dardanelles? I thought of Hero and Leander, Xerxes and the Persian army, Lord Byron, World War I. Of course I did. Or rather, I wanted to have done it. I wasn\u2019t sure about the actual swimming. I remembered \u00c7anakkale Bo\u011faz\u0131 as significantly wider than its \u0130stanbul counterpart.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d He knew I would. \u201cThe race is on Saturday August 30th<\/sup>. You have to register in \u00c7anakkale before 5 p.m. on the Friday before.\u201d OK, so now I was going to do it.<\/span><\/p>\n

.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>My bedraggled-looking 1982 Ford Escort sat there and glared at me. I couldn\u2019t see any loose connections in the electrical system. But when I turned the ignition key, there was no starter motor sound. It had done this three months ago but not since then. I knew if I waited an hour, it would go back to normal and start without any problems. But I didn\u2019t have an hour. I was near Tekirda\u011f and in a hurry to get to \u00c7anakkale before five.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The Oto Elektrik\u00e7i made an eloquent face as I realised how the Escort\u2019s filthy engine compartment must look to a professional. He started it with a screwdriver and some bits of wire, then said it was a dynamo problem and he could fix it in an hour. I didn\u2019t think it was the dynamo, was fairly sure that one hour would stretch to three and I didn\u2019t have an hour to spare anyway. I paid him and continued.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>A road map supplied by a major daily newspaper showed a main road along the Marmara coast from Kumba\u011f to \u015eark\u00f6y. Great, a short-cut. Unfortunately after Kumba\u011f, the road degenerated into a pitted track covered in grass. Rocks stuck up 30cm from the surface in an engine-threatening manner. Occasional showers of stones bounced across the road from the high cliffs on the right. The recent rains had raised the water table and fresh water bubbled up in the middle of the road. Rockfalls on the right coincided with washaways on the left.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The car hated it. The temperature gauge shot up to maximum and I smelled steam. I didn\u2019t dare stop. I had only seen one vehicle since Kumba\u011f – some brave soul on a motorcycle. The track followed the terrain and the gradients were frighteningly steep. The car swore at me and growled on. <\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>But the views were magnificent. Wild mountains plunged down to the serene Marmara. Secluded beaches nestled in green coves. Cultivated patches were visible on tiny squares of flat land.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I came to a beautiful cliff-hugging village inevitably called Yenik\u00f6y and drove past donkeys, goats and curious men outside the coffee-house. The road got worse. Sometimes it seemed to disappear altogether but when I steered through the least rocky areas, there it was again. I was treated to the sight of waterfalls plunging to the road and carving bits of it out.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>Then came heaven in the shape of U\u00e7makdere, a tobacco-growing village with a track leading to a beach. Some lucky T\u00fcrks had heard about the place and were having their holiday there. One day, I will too.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The road got better after U\u00e7makdere and the little Escort sped through \u015eark\u00f6y, Gelibolu and into Eceabat to join the queue for the \u00c7anakkale ferry. It was 3:55. I had to catch the 4 p.m. ferry or I wouldn\u2019t be able to register and the trip would have been in vain. I tried to restart the car. Nothing. Same problem.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I would have to leave the car here. But not in the ferry queue. I spotted an empty parking space 100 metres away and started pushing. A friendly simit\u00e7i saw my efforts and leaped to help me. Made it. I grabbed my bag, locked the car and ran.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I bought my jeton from a man who looked and moved like a Galapagos tortoise and sprinted through the gate with the simit\u00e7i cheering me on. The ferry was moving. I hurled my bag over the raised vehicle ramp, leapt for the railing at the side, clung on and hauled myself on board. I wondered if any other swimmers were training for the race like this.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

It seemed a long ferry crossing. I looked around at the coastlines and tried to figure out the race route. They\u2019ll choose the easiest way, I thought. Maybe from that point on the Asian side to that big castle at Kilitbahir, directly opposite \u00c7anakkale. I began to feel quite good about it. The current would carry me most of the way if I got lazy. <\/span><\/p>\n

I tried not to look down where there was a plague of those enormous purple-tentacled jellyfish which get swept down from the Black Sea. I wondered what it was like to swim through them.<\/span><\/p>\n

In \u00c7anakkale, I found an office marked \u201cInformation\u201d so I went in and asked where I should enter for the swimming marathon. A helpful girl pointed at the road to \u0130zmir on a map. What? I repeated my request. This time, she pointed out some nice swimming bays near \u00c7anakkale. No, no, no. \u201cY\u00fczme maratonu. Yar\u0131n. \u00c7anakkale Bo\u011faz\u0131 Ge\u00e7me Yar\u0131\u015fmas\u0131.\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d she said with finality.<\/span><\/p>\n

Someone was listening though, and after a few phone calls, he had found out where I should register. I jumped into a taxi, got to the 18 Mart Stadium and found the right building. A man was waiting for me and helped me fill in my form. Done it. It was 4:57. I congratulated myself on my careful planning and impeccable timing.<\/span><\/p>\n

I found a pansiyon, then headed back on the ferry to see about my car. The crossing seemed longer than ever and the jellyfish were increasing. Good thing we won\u2019t be swimming this way.<\/span><\/p>\n

.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 .\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .<\/p>\n

My tyre\u2019s flat. But every car here has a flat tyre. I\u2019ve parked in the place reserved for dolmu\u015f drivers. I guess they didn\u2019t like that. Oh well, better than a wheel clamp and a fine. I change the tyre. The car starts first time and sits there giggling at me.<\/span><\/p>\n

I drive to the Oto Sanay\u0131, pump up my tyre and put it back on. The Oto Elektrik\u00e7i looks at my car. \u201cThere is no problem.\u201d I explain that the problem only happens if I have driven fast for a few hundred kilometres. \u201cBring it back when you\u2019ve driven fast for a few hundred kilometres,\u201d he retorts, and goes away. Meanwhile, a small boy has washed the battery with gallons of water which have seeped through the air vents and made a small lake inside the car. I tip him for this and slosh back to the ferry terminal.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Next day, I find the place where the \u00c7anakkale Rotary Club has set up race headquarters. I meet Peter and Susan, a distinguished-looking American couple. They know the headmaster who hired me at an American school in \u0130stanbul and Susan has just written a book about Troy. We have our blood pressures taken. There is concern when Peter\u2019s is reported as 28 but two leaps of understanding later, it turns out to be 120 over 80. He\u2019s all right.<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s mass movement afoot so I follow the crowd to two boats and sit on the roof of one with a bunch of alarmingly fit-looking young men who are discussing race tactics. Last on board is Mehmet with his all-swimming family. He says, \u201cWe managed to register you by fax. You didn\u2019t need to come yesterday but we couldn\u2019t contact you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The boat starts off. We\u2019re heading towards Eceabat. I wasn\u2019t expecting that. I ask where we start from. \u201cThe ferry dock at Eceabat.\u201d It turns out that we\u2019re swimming further than the ferry goes. I start to worry. More than five kilometres? Oh, dear. <\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>Knowing my interest in biology, Mehmet begins to tell me about the sharks that a relative of his saw whilst diving at World War I shipwrecks just beneath us. Some helpful points about how to tell if a shark is about to attack improve my confidence.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The frighteningly healthy youths strip down to purposeful-looking racing trunks and cover themselves in pink grease. They do professional stretching exercises. They agree on the ideal strategy for the race. They will head directly for the very tall radio mast on the European shore. This ensures that they will not be carried too far downstream by the current. Then they will head in a graded curve along the bay and be swept with precision between the buoys which mark the finish. An excellent plan, I think. If only I could have done it.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>We reach the ferry dock. Race marshals make sure of numbers and issue bathing caps. I stretch the yellow rubber over my head and presume that now I am safe from any hazards.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>Without apparent warning, people start jumping into the sea. I push through a crowd of men with stopwatches and jump into a space between crowds of small boats. The start is a mass of kicking legs as we sort ourselves out into positions in which we can actually start to swim. <\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I find the radio mast on the opposite shore and commence the enormous task of heading towards it. The Asian shore may as well be the Australian coast for all the hope I have of reaching it. I look back at the ferry dock. To my surprise, it\u2019s already a long way behind. It doesn\u2019t make the far shore look any closer but it\u2019s encouraging. <\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I put my head down and try to get some distance covered. I look up. Where\u2019s the tower? Turn 30 degrees. Swim again. Eventually, I resign myself to alternating my faster crawl (freestyle) with a breaststroke which gives me a bit of a breather and lets me correct my course. <\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I bump into a group of swimmers. We recognise each other from the boat, have a short conversation and get back to business. The atmosphere is great. It\u2019s the swimming that\u2019s the problem.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>There are dozens of boats around. Knowledgeable-looking men occasionally drive up to me and give me instructions along with a face full of exhaust gases. I look around. Most swimmers seem to be ahead of me and upstream. No matter. I keep swimming towards the radio tower.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The castle at Kilitbahir is now in sight. I\u2019ve swum far enough to see some progress. Head down again. Looking underwater is like swimming in a 60\u2019s Lava Lamp. Out-of-focus blobs of jellyfish everywhere. They\u2019re not too bad so far. None of those Black Sea monsters.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I remember Xerxes and his bridge of boats. How many hundreds of boats did he use? Maybe I could build a bridge of jellyfish. A man on a boat tells me to be careful of the current. I look up. The tower has slipped off to the left a bit.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>Leander swam there and back every night? He must really have loved that girl. How did he have any energy left when he got there? Was there any point in making the swim? He must have had muscles like cannonballs.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>The jellyfish have disappeared for a while but have been replaced by mats of grass or seaweed which get caught on my hands. I look to the right again. I can see open water to the south-west between the Asian and European shores. I guess that\u2019s why the current is getting stronger. Back to work.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>A bit more hard swimming. I can see the buildings of \u00c7anakkale clearly now. A couple of patrol boats up ahead. I see the model of the Nusret<\/em>, the heroic minelayer from World War I. Just to the left of it is a patch of trees which marks the finish. It doesn\u2019t look too far now.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I remember someone telling me about a negative current if I get too close to the shore. So I don\u2019t. I start swimming straight to the target. There are two or three swimmers near me doing the same thing. Nearly there. One last effort.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I hear yelling. I look up. There is a boat either side of me. People are shouting at me to swim upstream. I look to the shore. I\u2019m level with the Nusret<\/em>. People standing near it are gesturing urgently towards the left.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>And I\u2019ve lost sight of the finish line. I\u2019ve been swept around a point. No negative current here – the entire force of water from the Sea of Marmara is shoving me towards the Aegean. I swim as fast as I can but make no headway. Damn the Dardanelles! The only thing I can do is swim towards the shore.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>In the shelter of the land, I can make some progress. But when I get to the little headland, the current hits me again. There\u2019s a boat moored to a jetty there. This is the hardest part. I swim as hard as I can for what seems like ages. I look up. I have moved no distance at all. This is horrible. This is the last time I try to emulate Lord Byron.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I let myself drop back, then swim between the boat and the jetty. That\u2019s easier. I wave at the people peering down through the narrow gap. They give me a bit of a cheer.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I\u2019m through. I swim in calm water to the beach. Mehmet and another swimmer are just taking in the buoys which mark the finish line. That makes me the last official finisher. I stagger onto the shore. I don\u2019t feel really tired, just as if I\u2019ve been on a boat for a week and can\u2019t remember how to walk on land.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cHello.\u201d Mehmet is unruffled, as always. \u201cI guess you went a bit far with the current.\u201d I watch another couple of swimmers lurch out of the water. I know how they feel.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>I meet Peter and Susan. Susan made it despite some early cramps. She\u2019s talking about a swim from Abydos to Sestos, Leander\u2019s actual route in the legend. Peter is looking superior. He got on a boat half way through and doesn\u2019t look dead, like we do.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>We watch the awards ceremony. Mehmet, his mother and his younger brother appear an inordinate amount of times to collect prizes. I get my participation certificate, made out in\u00a0 a name that almost, but not entirely, unrecognisable as mine.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>Mehmet\u2019s final words are, \u201cIt will be much easier next year. You know where you went wrong.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n\"Share<\/a>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This picture is from an earlier swim across the Bosphorus. \u201cDo you want to swim the \u00c7anakkale Bo\u011faz\u0131?\u201d Mehmet asked me. Mehmet had already swum the Dardanelles a few times and had got me involved in a race across the Bosphorus the previous year in which I had placed close to last in a large […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":129,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[40,42,14,50,41,43,46,47,54,52,48,49,45,44,53,51],"class_list":["post-204","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-add-new-tag","tag-bogaz","tag-bosphorus","tag-byron","tag-canakkale","tag-derdanelles","tag-ford-escort","tag-hero","tag-jellyfish","tag-kilitbahar","tag-leander","tag-lord-byron","tag-marathon-swim","tag-swimming","tag-ucmakdere","tag-xerxes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/204","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/129"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=204"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/204\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3972,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/204\/revisions\/3972"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=204"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=204"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.enormousfish.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=204"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}