At Samphire Beach, a Japanese woman stands in front of Dover's white cliffs. It is 10 past seven on a Tuesday morning. Most people will be having breakfast or getting ready for a day at the office. Miyuki Fijita is swimming to France.
Through my aircraft window, the river resembled a snaking green lava flow. A couple of days later Iâ€™m swimming in it, a wetsuit protecting me from the 13C chill.
Columnist Matthew Parris has been called "ignorant" and his actions "dangerous" after swimming across London's River Thames. But up and down the country, people are dipping a toe in the trend for outdoor swimming.
I am swimming in the middle of the strait dividing Europe from Asia Minor and I sense most of us are not going to make it.
A mile and a half across the bay, lies the prize of San Francisco - a thicket of skyscrapers shimmering in the early morning haze.
The indoor pool was a child of the industrial revolution: mass construction began only after the Baths and Wash Houses Act of 1846.
Two new books with almost identical titles illustrate the rise of a new literary phenomenon - the wild swimming tome.
Is "free swimming" a government gimmick or a genuine boost to the nation's health?
Twenty feet down through the hazy blue of the Caribbean, several lean, grey Zeppelins cruise silently by.
In the haze of rubbed out chalk I can just make out: "Today's temperature 12C, 53F". The atmosphere is Dunkirkian among the old campaigners, some of whom are in their eighties.