Flevoparkbad: Swimming at the end of the line
A satisfyingly thick hand drawn felt tip circle marks the spot on my tourist city map: the best outdoor swimming spot is here, apparently – the receptionist at my hotel has told me so. We’ve taken two trams, and have trudged in the heat round a deserted industrial docklands area, past empty buildings and waste land. The sun is beating down relentlessly, and we don’t really know where we’re going, or what we’ll find at the other end. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m desperate for a swim.
We arrive at the spot circled on my map. There is a café bar; a beer garden made with reclaimed industrial scrap; a beach fashioned by throwing sand on a jetty; and people lying on sand, on concrete, and pretending they are at ‘the beach’. They lie on towels sunning themselves amid the concrete and rusted steel. But although it’s a scorching hot day nobody is in the water. There are no steps down and no way to get out of the high sided walls of the dock that I can see. I don’t feel comfortable swimming here. We turn around and trudge back to our hotel, disappointed, parched. I think back to the enticing felt tip pen mark. Apparently there is swimming and then there is swimming.
In the cool, hip,’ lobby of our hotel, we rest in the shade and order rhubarb lemondade to console ourselves. It comes in large heavy crystal glasses, crammed with ice and lemon slices, condensation forming beautifully on the outside of the glass, inside delicious cold red nectar. We sit in silence and glug down our drinks, our thirst quenched. My disappointment wanes.
The next day I try again. I’ve heard there is a good outdoor pool I should visit. We set off in hope.
Flevoparkbad is in a park, at the end of a tram line, in a suburb of Amsterdam. We jump on the no 7 tram and head out. The canals and tall elegant townhouses disappear making way for nineteen sixties apartment blocks and graffiti. The tram is empty by the time we reach our stop.
At the very end of the line, Flevoparkbad. We pay our entrance fee and are in!
It’s a warm and still sunny day but hardly anyone is here. A café sells crisps and coffee. We sit briefly on wooden loungers listening to the faint sound of blackbirds singing, children laughing, water splashing. It’s a million miles away from the hustle and bustle.
I strip off and jump into the beautiful blue water of the 50m lap pool. The water is chilly and fresh, clear and blue, twinkling and delicious. It gives welcome goosebumps on a hot day. There are only half a dozen of us in the pool, we have more than enough space to not be anywhere near one another. The pool walls are painted a dazzling Mediterranean blue. The sunlight twinkles and dances. As I breathe I can see only blue sky and trees with the odd tram meandering by. I am in heaven. A short sweet tranquil swim and I am refreshed.
My mom – who doesn’t swim – has been patiently waiting for me, on a long bench in the sun. I try to explain what it’s like, a swim like this: “Remember those long fresh cold drinks we had yesterday?” I ask her “How delicious and quenching they were when we were hot and thirsty?” I smile. “It’s just like that.”
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