Polar bears in Levanto. Winter 2020 – 2021

Allison Robertson

The Italian government’s covid restrictions in autumn 2020 were fierce. Stay at home, but individual outdoor exercise is permitted. A little group of women in Levanto avail of this permission, and discover winter swimming.

2020 was a strange and sad year of fear, loss and restrictions. In our small Mediterranean seaside town, the summer season came to an early halt when the weather broke in October. It seemed that even the late summer beach days were to be denied us. One day however the sea was calm, the sun came out and it was bright and quiet. I went for a swim. It was lovely. As I left the beach I bumped into a friend. ‘Che bello! Tomorrow I’ll come with you‘. She did.

So we went the day after, and the next, and the next and when the rain came we didn’t stop. It wasn’t long before we found like minds, and every morning at an appointed hour a small group of women was scurrying towards the sea, towels in hand. Soon there were encounters with a large octopus, a small moray eel, an enormous shoal of mullet and one slightly too close, with the last of the summer jellyfish. Our meeting point moved around the bay each day to where the water was calmest, or clearest, or to find dry shelter for undressing, or a sunny place out of the wind for drying off and dressing.

As the sea temperature dropped we upgraded our swim kit, buying neoprene and yulex, full length or shorties, from the local surf shop, some of us wearing gloves, some bootees, one of us got chilblains. We almost all go for swimhats or double swimhats, thick cosy rubbery ones. The Pole in our midst is hardcore and swims in bikini, head up, with woolly bonnet and pearl necklace. Class. One of the husbands comes along, the only man. He goes for full-length, high-strength, total cover wetsuit, with balaclava style head gear. He brings along an ingenious high-viz lightweight lifebuoy. Brilliant idea, we hadn’t thought of that.

We’re a mixed bunch of hoteliers, restaurant workers, the odd artisan (me). There’s a teacher, a business manager (yes, the pearls, she organises us straight away, gives us a name and a whatsapp group), a physiotherapist (useful), a doctor (very useful), a yoga teacher (very restful). We learn the kundalini breath of fire.

We are of all ages but of course all young at heart. At weekends a little huddle of our still school-age offspring plays on the beach or shelters among the rocks, reading comics, giggling, keeping a judgemental eye on us.

We are international. There’s the Pole, but also a German, a Swiss and a Scot (me again). Not all cold blooded however, there’s one from Ecuador, and of course the Italians. From as far apart as Puglia and Lombardy. Two are from Liguria. Just one is born and bred in Levanto – our sea queen. We didn’t all know each other before this winter but before long there’s a sense of team spirit. As we pull off jackets and boots there are laughs and jokes, and chat and gossip as we squirm into costumes and tuck hair into caps. There’s the group selfie: the manageress has the latest iphone. Then there’s the chill of the plunge, the shriek of it.

Then we swim:

With different strokes we embrace the cold waters. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we swim in silence, sometimes we wander, sometimes swim hard. If the sea is calm we stay longer, swim further. If it’s rough we stay close to the shore and play in the waves. Afterwards there’s  shivering as we dry and dress and pour ginger tea with gloved hands from thermos flasks and sip through chattering teeth. Eyes bright under our woolly hats, we grin, exultant. Then off, to our houses and showers, families or work, and to the rest of our winter’s day. ‘See you tomorrow!’

There was the day that it snowed and we went anyway. The winter solstice when we swapped our herb tea for mulled wine and cake. There was the day of the rainbow, and the day that Beppe the mechanic came with us. The whole town knows that Beppe swims all year round and has done for years. The local fishermen nod to us, bemused. The local surfers wave and laugh. We know the names of the winds too now, and fear the tramontana from the north. We know the temperature of the water. The local gulls, ducks and cormorants grant us their solemn company every day.

The Mediterranean sea in winter is a similar temperature to the North sea in the height of summer. While wild swimming is a familiar, even popular, concept in the UK and other far colder countries than ours, it is not common in Italy. We are lucky to live by a sea that for five or six months of the year is warm and welcoming, and is also full of bathers, boats of all sorts, kayaks, sups and airbeds. Normally, for the rest of the year we only ever watch it from the shore, empty of boats and bathers. Now, every day we are in it. We plunge in, taste and smell it, filling ourselves with its light and its colours. The winter sky touches us, the cold surrounds us, the land awaits. Our breath quickens and steadies, our hearts pump strong and slow, our senses are heightened and we swim and smile and swim.

Yes, 2020 was a strange, sad year of fear and loss and restrictions. In our small Mediterranean seaside town a door that had always been there, opened.