On January 6, we gathered at the Nieuwe Meer for a New Year’s dive, organized by Gay Swim Amsterdam, the swimming club I’ve been part of for about three years now. The Nieuwe Meer is a recreational area just outside Amsterdam’s ring road. The lake itself was created in the 1950s through sand extraction, intended for the construction of the highway around the city.
We don’t organize a New Year’s dive every year, but some members felt it was high time to do it again. The idea had come up spontaneously in our group chat.
Some members also swim here regularly in the summer. In 2019, a jetty was built in the lake, which has become very popular with outdoor swimmers and young people who simply enjoy taking a refreshing dip on hot days. The jetty gives easy access to the deeper water, without having to walk over big stones or other obstacles in the shallows. On the other side of the lake, there’s also a nudist and gay cruising area that’s well-known in the Amsterdam LGBTQ scene. I’ve been there too, back when I lived nearby in a student flat – but that wasn’t what we were here for today.
The thermometer in the water showed six degrees. Outside it was about four, but the wind made it feel much colder. Everyone wore thick winter coats and gloves. A few people who had organized the dive – or had done it before – brought hot chocolate and spirits. According to Dutch New Year’s diving tradition, the two get mixed together as a post-swim warm-up for those who want it. But only after the dip.
A few days earlier, I’d seen in our group chat that a New Year’s dive was being organized. I immediately thought: it would be funny to join as a merman. But during the weekend I was busy with chores and hadn’t taken the time to plan anything. An hour beforehand, I thought: this is too fun to skip. I ran through the house – my swim gear and mermaid tail were still scattered everywhere – and packed my things. I threw my swim trunks, towel and tail in a bag and quickly got on my bike. My boyfriend smiled, probably already imagining how I’d enter the water.
The atmosphere at the jetty was immediately cheerful. A few people were already there. Some joked around, others wondered how cold it would be. People asked who had done it before. There were about fifteen of us – not bad for a spontaneous gathering. I told the organizers I thought it was a great initiative.
We chatted for a while and then everyone started changing. It was funny to see: just minutes ago we were all bundled up in thick coats, and now we stood in swimwear. I pulled my mermaid tail out of my bag. People laughed. “Are you really going to wear that?” Of course. That was the whole idea.
We counted down and dove – or jumped – into the water. It felt instantly cold, tingling across my skin. My breathing sped up. I didn’t stay in long, but I wanted to make a few strokes. Then I climbed back out, just like the others. Only a few people – not part of our group – stayed in longer. They were regular swimmers who come here year-round. We talked to them for a bit, and they laughed at how cheerful and chaotic we were. They said they didn’t see that very often.
Afterwards we stood on the jetty wrapped in towels, shivering. I drank hot chocolate – with a shot of course. Others passed around stroopwafels. Despite the cold, the mood was really warm.
For me, it was also a moment to show off merman swimming. We took a quick group photo. Then we hopped on our bikes and cycled into the city for the GSA New Year’s reception, where we could share our wild stories with the people who hadn’t joined us.