In early February, Clarissa invited me to see Ludovico Einaudi perform live on his Summer Portraits tour. I first discovered this Italian pianist in high school, when a friend suggested I learn one of his pieces (Nuvole Bianche) on the piano. His compositions are emotive and minimalist, grounded in classical tradition yet quietly contemporary.
The concert was held at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl, an outdoor bandshell nestled in the gardens of Kings Domain, near Melborne's Arts Centre. After the sun set behind the city skyline, Einaudi moved seamlessly between solos and his seven-piece ensemble, conducting from the piano. Layered strings and percussion elevated his signature blend of classical and ambient textures into something expansive and cinematic.
It was one of the best performances I’ve experienced, maybe ever. Intimate yet grand. Minimal yet immersive.
Crossing it requires significant logistics to manage unpredictable conditions and heavy boat traffic; not something that you attempt alone. Since 2014, the Rip Swim project has guided 35 crossings, with around 1,200 swimmers total. The winter crossings are the most extreme: colder water, no wetsuits allowed.
On Saturday morning, Tom and I carpooled with my swim squad mate, David, driving two hours down to Queenscliff on the Bellarine Peninsula. Around 70 swimmers gathered before boarding the ferry for a 15-minute crossing to Point Nepean on the eastern head. There was a palpable buzz in the air.
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Photos by Timothy Syrota |
There was plenty of waiting as safety teams assessed the conditions. Fortunately, we were gifted near-perfect weather.
When it was finally time to jump off the ferry, I swam alongside David while our coach Nick kayaked beside us, adjusting our course as tides and currents shifted beneath the surface.
The water was a deep, luminous blue—clearer than I expected. A few lion’s mane jellyfish drifted past, but otherwise the opean ocean felt vast and expansive.
Roughly an hour and 3.5 km later, we reached Point Lonsdale beach. David and I were ecstatic. It felt rare. Special. Fewer people have swum the Rip than the English Channel.
A fun full-circle moment: In 2024 I cycled 220 km Around the Bay, crossing the heads by ferry. Having now swum the Rip, I can say I’ve navigated the entire Melbourne bay 100% self-propelled!
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Feb 7, Rip Swim Honour Board #982 |
One week later, Valentine's Day, I was back in the water for the annual U24 swim. I only signed up for two athtletic events this summer, and they happened to fall on back-to-back weekends.
This couse runs along the Mornington Peninsula, with options to swim 6 km, 12 km, or 24 km. After completing 6 km last year, I knew almost immediately that I wanted to attempt 12 km this year.
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| Photos by Nick Robertson |
Tom and I left Saturday morning for the easy one-hour drive south to Capel Sound. I was excited to see some familiar faces among the 12 km crew. We began swimming at 11am, after which Tom went for a long run—our own parallel endurance rituals.
My kayaker, Siena, paddled beside me, navigating and carrying nutrition.
Conditions were favorable, with mostly helpful currents and only a 3 km stretch where the wind picked up. A few small jellyfish floated past; otherwise not much sealife—though some swimmers spotted a dolphin pod!
I stopped briefly three times to refuel (something I should have practiced in hindsight), which conveniently broke the swim into four mental segments.
I’m drawn to endurance events for their steady, meditative rhythm—the satisfaction of settling in and holding pace over time. But this swim felt different. A persistent shoulder pain, something I’ve been actively working through with coaching and stroke refinement, stayed with me from start to finish, making the effort feel more deliberate and hard-earned than usual.
Still, I was surprised when we reached Sorrento around 2:30 pm, 30 minutes faster than expected.
