felt

Warm lights shine from the houses that dot the wintry slopes of Mount Fløyen and a cold wind blows as I stand in a swimming costume trying to talk myself into joining my friends in Bergen harbour. Stars are already appearing in the inky mid-afternoon sky.

Life-changing moments are easy to spot in retrospect, but at the time they can feel so ordinary. I didn’t know then that my wintry swim would lead to a year of adventures. I was a hair’s breadth from wimping out, but then I was in. The water was so cold it burned. I gasped for breath. The bones in my feet ached with cold as I trod water, legs frantic under the dark surface. It lasted under a minute and then we were out.

As we warmed up, hands around mugs of hot chocolate, skin zinging from the experience, more and more women arrived at the cafe, hair wet from the sea. As stars spread across the early evening sky, we chatted about swimming and how it made us feel. I’d been looking for something to pick me up ever since I had left my job on the verge of burnout. I said to my friend: “I’m going to spend a year doing this. I’ve finally found what makes me feel alive. I’m going to spend a year swimming in the Nordic countries.”

There are some delightful generalisations to make about Nordic people. Finns, they say, are born in the sauna. Norwegians are said to be born on skis. But if you ask me, all Nordic people are born with saltwater in their veins: that’s how much they love the sea. In Iceland it’s so ingrained that people see water as a cure-all. If you need time to think, if you need perspective, they say you should lay your head in water. It became my mantra for the year.

I decided to swim once a week wherever I was. After my experience in Bergen, I returned to my home in Copenhagen and started to plot a route around the region. Where would I swim if I could swim anywhere? I could take a dip in the harbour outside my flat – that was easy. But what about Sweden, 35 minutes away by train? What about the Arctic – could I do that? Maybe I’d swim in Allas Pool, the heated floating swimming pool in Helsinki harbour I’d seen on Instagram.

As a journalist covering Scandinavia, the travel side was easy; all I had to do was pack my kit wherever I went on assignment. I only needed a swimming costume, two towels, one for my feet and one for my body, and an S hook to hang my bag from. That last tip came from a lady I swam with one pitch-black morning in central Copenhagen: you don’t want to inadvertently leave your bag in a puddle, after all.

I reached out to other Scandinavian swimmers on Instagram to ask if I could join them for a dip if I was in town. I looked up places with saunas, natural spas and simple stretches of beach where other people regularly swam. Serendipitously, things started to happen. I went to write about a tiny hotel on a remote archipelago in Arctic Norway and I found myself packing a swimming costume. I landed in a snowstorm and the next day picked my way down an icy path from the Arctic Hideaway’s sauna to the quay in my flip-flops. Looking down, I could make out the dark purple spiny sea urchins moving on the seafloor. And then I was in, head under the water, in a sea where an orca had been seen just days before.

At the Arctic Hideaway I met Siri, a champion freediver, and a few months later I went to meet her in Oslo. I swam in a harbour pool all by myself, as if I owned it, with views of the Oslofjord’s rocky pine-covered islands stippling the horizon. At lunch, Siri told me how she had dived with orca in northern Norway and seen a huge bull orca spot her, turn and swim towards her. He had appraised her with one of his black eyes before calmly swimming away. I was in awe of what you can find in the sea if you go looking.

As the year went on, my swimming confidence grew. I met dippers dressed as mermaids, whirlpool swimmers, lighthouse swimmers and a lot of naked swimmers. I met people setting themselves big swimming challenges, and those who make a daily practice of submerging themselves in the water for their health and for fun. It has been a life-changing adventure.

I knew I had really changed when I found myself swimming in Greenland. On a tiny island called Uunartoq in the south of the country, I stripped down to my black swimming costume. Just off shore, two icebergs, each the size of a three-bedroom detached house, floated beneath stern black mountains. Up the hill, there was a natural hot pool with gently simmering water. But all I wanted to do was get in the sea.

My feet sank into the feather-soft sand of the beach as I ran and threw my body into the waves. Little pieces of seaweed drifted in the water and I could see all the way to the bottom. I was out quickly, unable to take the cold for long. But I ran up and down the beach to warm up so I could go in again, this time for longer. Then I climbed the hill and sank into the 38C waters of the island’s hot spring, watching tiny bubbles percolate up from the silty floor.

After a year of swimming in some of the world’s coldest seas, I’ve learned a lot about my ability to do hard things. I’ve learned that doing things that make you feel alive, with other people who feel the same, is intoxicating. I’ve found that sinking into nature on a regular basis makes you feel part of it. I’d started the year feeling burnt out and depressed, not sure if I could find a future for myself in this part of the world. But I learned that while I will always be English, it’s still possible to get a little saltwater in your veins.

The Year I Lay My Head in Water: Swimming Scandinavia in Search of a Better Life by Laura Hall is published by Icon at £18.99. To support the Guardian, buy your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply

The passenger said she was flung out of her seat when the plane suddenly dropped – Ryanair has stated the plane was forced to make a U-turn due to air turbulence

A passenger aboard the Ryanair flight forced to return to the United Kingdom after a mid-flight emergency has said the experience ‘felt like something out of a horror movie’.

The Boeing 737 MAX, which departed from Birmingham Airport at about 2.50pm on Sunday, December 28, issued a 7700 squawk over Brittany, France, after reaching an altitude of 35,000ft. This code signifies a general emergency.

The Boeing was bound for Tenerife but was forced to return to the UK mid-flight.

“It felt like something you see on a horror movie,” said a 33-year-old passenger from Lichfield, who did not wish to be named.

“We were smooth cruising then out of nowhere all of a sudden the plane jerked to the left extremely quickly and then to the right, it felt like a loss of control, and then we plummeted down and we were flung out of our seats,” the passenger said.

Passengers informed The Aviation Herald that flight FR1121 experienced turbulence, resulting in injuries to several individuals while cabin service was underway. The flight then made a U-turn and descended to FL100 (flying at 10,000ft).

The aircraft safely touched down back at Birmingham around one hour and 32 minutes after take-off. According to AirLive, it was parked on a remote stand at the airport for paramedics to attend to passengers. The severity of the passengers’ injuries is yet to be determined.

“I came out physically unharmed but the mental toll this has taken it awful… this has really traumatised me,” the woman said.

“The cabin crew said within their 10 years as cabin crew they’ve never experienced anything like it.”

She said other passengers claimed to see a fighter jet pass the Boeing before the incident, but this has not been confirmed.

Ryanair said in a statement: “”FR1121 from Birmingham to Tenerife on 28th December returned to Birmingham Airport shortly after take-off due to air turbulence.

“The aircraft landed normally before passengers disembarked and returned to the terminal, where a small number of passengers were provided with medical assistance. This flight continued to Tenerife at 21:06 local.”

The Mirror has reached out to the airline for further comment.