Somewhere in the middle of the fast-running Dardanelles (formerly the Hellespont), the body of water that separates Europe from Asia, I stop swimming and try to spot the 50m radio mast on the far shore that I am supposed to be heading towards. It had been so obvious on the ferry to Eceabat, on the European side of Turkey, from where we started the swim. Now, it has disappeared in the haze and I’m not sure which part of the coast to aim for. Nor can I see any of my 139 fellow swimmers. The ‘holiday’ had seemed like a good idea at the time – a race celebrating the 200th anniversary of the first-ever swim crossing of the Hellespont by Romantic poet Lord Byron, himself inspired by the Greek myth of Hero and Leander, in which Leander swims the Hellespont nightly to be with his lover. Byronic derring-do, Homeric heroism – what was there not to like? I signed up, and started training in my local swimming pool. |
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