SYDNEY
At Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton Pool
— named after a homegrown
recordbreaker — you’ll
find swimmers huffing and
puffing in pursuit of their own
personal bests, while across
the bay you can spy on most of
Australia’s Navy, moored up
at Potts Point
T
he world looks different from the
water. You get new views, new
perspectives. You see the birds, the
contrails of planes, the blues of the sky, the
clouds forming into the shapes of countries
you’ve visited or the faces of people you
love. Floating in the cool blue water of
Sydney’s many pools, I saw different sides
to this city of swagger and sweetness: one
Australians find overbearing, yet Brits find
positively restful.
The joy I get from a dip in the pool
— wherever in the world that happens, be it
in Sydney or near my home, at London Fields
Lido in Hackney — encouraged me to write
a book about the world’s greatest al fresco
pools. A return to Sydney to swim in the most
magnificent ones of all seemed obvious.
Australia’s largest city quivers on hot days,
and the pool is where you cool off. At the
1930s North Sydney Olympic Pool, frogs and
seahorses dance across the art deco walls
like some kind of seaside Jazz Age spectacle.
Sydney Harbour Bridge soars above you. At
Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton Pool — named after
a homegrown recordbreaker — you’ll find
swimmers huffing and puffing in pursuit of
their own personal bests, while across the
bay you can spy on most of Australia’s Navy,
moored up at Potts Point.
Sport is the voice Australia has used to
speak to the rest of the world (if you discount
TV soap Neighbours) and swimming is one
thing it’s excelled at. Over at Bronte, on
the pavement by the changing rooms, I’m
inspired to tell one small story in my book
after chancing upon a plaque dedicated to
Evelyn Whillier. She was a freestyle swimmer
who competed for Australia in the 1936 Berlin
Olympics and then taught almost everyone
in Bronte to swim at the jaw-dropping Bronte
Rock Pool, set beneath under the cliffs.
The ocean is more fun, but the waves that
roll in all the way from Chile and bash you up
like a cat trapped in a washing machine are
sometimes too much for even an experienced
swimmer like me. The rock pools like Bronte,
Clovelly and the famous Icebergs at Bondi lie
somewhere in between the human-made
and the godlike. Coogee has its Ocean Baths,
which are nothing more than a load of rocks
dumped into the sea, and the charmingHanging out at lidos is a great way to experience Australia, and the outdoor pools
that dot the Sydney coast offer a watery way to get under the city’s skinWylie’s — a privately run rock pool where
the pastel colours painted onto wooden
decks and jaunty font of the signage remind
me of the New York State summer camp in
Dirty Dancing. It’s overrun with bluebottle
jellyfish when I swim there and I have to
avoid the little blighters on each length, like
I’m playing a real-life computer game. Some
other interlopers have snuck in too: spiky
little sea urchins the lifeguards scoop up
and put in a Tupperware box for intrigued
punters to take home and cook. Next door is
the only lido I can’t visit, McIver’s: a women-
only coastal bath where, so I’m told, going
topless is practically compulsory.
Swimming is only half the story, of course.
Eating your lunch, reading, idly scrolling on
your phone, sunbathing — poolside is where
Aussies chill out and yabber. I watch families
bicker, teenagers moan, couples flirt, tourists
get their photo taken (and yes, I join in), see
a Love Island contestant on a photo shoot,
and lads throwing themselves into the water
from the cliffs above Bronte pool.
As Melburnian author Christos Tsiolkas
points out, pools are a part of what being
Australian means. His writing is inspired by
the culture of changing rooms and sundecks,
each informing his acute observations of
everyday Australian life. You see everyone
at the pool, from the fearless kids splashing
around to the grandmas serenely taking
their daily dip. In a classless society like
Australia’s, the pool is for everyone; for a few
quid, or often even for free, you can get your
diurnal exercise and your mental respite, to
boot. The pool is a safe space in a country
where seemingly everything else, from the
spiders to the seas, is trying to kill you.
Whenever I visit Sydney, the last thing
I do before leaving is go for a swim in the
sunshine, usually at Bronte or Coogee where
I can alternate between lengths in the pool
and some wilder action in the surf. And it’s
never failed to put me straight to sleep — a
most peaceful sleep, too — on the flight back
to London and, inevitably, the cold.Lido, by Christopher Beanland, is published by
Batsford and is available from 6 August. RRP: £20.
ILLUSTRATION: JACQUI OAKLEY @ChrisBeanland
NOTES FROM AN AUTHOR // CHRISTOPHER BEANLAND
SMART TRAVELLERJul/Aug 2020 33