I swam from Asia to Europe. A surge of hope kept me going

By Stephanie Halasz, CNN

Istanbul (CNN) — The echo rang out as I passed beneath the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge. One of my fellow swimmers had shouted in joy, and the sound reverberated across the water.

I swam on until the second bridge, the 15 Temmuz Şehitler Köprüsü, came into view. It seemed impossibly far away, and I thought: What am I doing? Why was I, a sensible working mother in her 50s, trying to swim across the Bosphorus, the strait that divides Asia and Europe in Turkey?

One reason was that I was a participant in the 37th Bosphorus Cross-Continental Swimming Race, an annual contest that challenges thousands of amateur endurance athletes to make the journey between two continents in the waters of Istanbul. Beyond that, as the brine splashed my face, jellyfish drifted by, and the horizon dipped below shallow waves, I wasn’t exactly sure.

I had been preparing for months. When I registered at the start of the year, I needed to submit documents proving I was fit, that I belonged to a swimming club, and that I had a coach. I love swimming and have raced before, but the Bosphorus is in a different league from ordinary long-distance events.

Organized by the Turkish Olympic Committee, it is a serious event. Once a year in late August, the Bosphorus — which connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara — is closed to marine traffic for a few hours. This year more than 2,800 swimmers signed up to cover the 6.5-kilometer (four-mile) course down the waterway, which is 700 to 750 meters wide. The currents, flowing north to south, push contestants to near-Olympic speeds.

Troubled waters

My training was straightforward: I swam. Over the summer, I bought a red safety buoy and stretched out my distances. In early August, I entered a race in the Mediterranean, which didn’t go well — I came last out of 90 swimmers, was stung in the face by a jellyfish, and developed an infection that kept me out of the pool for the week before Istanbul. Still, I was determined to reach the Bosphorus starting line.

At the end of August, my family and I flew to Turkey. The race is always on a Sunday. The day before, swimmers collect their accreditation at the finish area. That’s when reality set in: my fellow participants were serious athletes. Competitors from 81 countries, kitted out in professional gear, compared notes on currents and boasted of the number of times they had completed the race.

My biggest fear was failing to finish before the cutoff: two hours after the last swimmer enters the water. Though passionate, I am slow; I breaststroke rather than crawl. When I admitted this in the prep area, others drew in their breath as if to say, “Forget it—you won’t make it.”

But there was no turning back. Race day dawned. At the hotel breakfast buffet, I loaded my plate with what I hoped was the champion’s menu: coffee, eggs, hummus and more coffee.

Because the race runs downstream, swimmers gather first at the finish line, in Cemil Topuzlu Park on the European side, then board boats to the start point just north of the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge, on the Asian side.

That boat ride seemed endless, carrying us farther and farther from the finish.

My nerves were fraying, but I managed to chat to some of my fellow swimmers. A Ukrainian woman said she had not been able to train because her local pool had been bombed. A group of bronzed Italians in Speedos sang “’O Sole Mio” as if they were on a Sardinian beach. A Dutch woman leaned in and whispered what I was already thinking: “What are we doing here?” An American couple calmly discussed strategy: “Jump in, get your bearings, head for the middle of the first bridge.” I filed that away and wrestled my swimming cap over my hair. Each competitor is assigned a cap by age group. Mine was bright orange, announcing “Over 50.”

A surge of hope

Istanbul summers are usually glorious. But on this morning, a sudden storm pelted down just after 10 a.m., as the first swimmers entered the water. By the time my age group started at 10:40 a.m., the rain had passed, but the strait still churned. We dashed to the platform and plunged in. The water was fresh but not cold. I adjusted my goggles, found my bearings, aimed for the bridge, and pushed forward. Around me, hundreds of swimmers thrashed toward the middle of the channel.

From then on, there was only the rhythm of stroke after stroke. Passing under the first bridge, hearing the echo of a jubilant yodel, I felt my doubts being replaced by a surge of hope.

The Bosphorus bends and narrows, and the currents shift with each turn. We had studied maps showing when they would swing left or right, but in the water I forgot everything. A mistake here could sweep you off course or even past the finish. My strategy became simple: follow the swimmers ahead.

Bridge. Bend. Left. Right. And then, suddenly, the second bridge loomed, near the finish. I began to believe I might actually make it. Watches are forbidden, so I had no idea how long I had been swimming. The water was clear, with only a few harmless jellyfish, and the current carried us along.

Dangerous currents

On and on we went — slightly left, straight, slightly right. My inner clock told me more than an hour had passed when the white tents of the finish appeared. I had stayed mid-channel, wary of countercurrents near the European shore, but now I had to cut across. The pontoon was visible, but the current hit me full force.

Though I angled right, I kept drifting straight. For the last hundred meters I swam almost sideways, fighting to cross. Stroke by stroke, the finish grew closer. Swimmers clambered up the steps, and suddenly I was among them.

I stumbled over the electronic finish line in a daze, barely realizing I had beaten the cutoff. My time: one hour and 40 minutes. The winner, a Turkish Cypriot man, finished in 56 minutes.

The race is not without risks. A 29-year-old Russian swimmer went missing that day and has not been found. Although the race is challenging, incidents like this are rare. Extensive safety measures are in place, with the Olympic Committee reportedly having 100 vessels monitoring swimmers during this year’s event.

Afterward, I collected my belongings, drank nearly two liters of water, shed a few tears, and reunited with my family. Friends had also come to Istanbul for the occasion. Seeing their relief — and their smiles — was wonderful.

That night, we celebrated with a Turkish feast. I probably consumed 5,000 calories. The once-in-a-lifetime challenge had come and gone — and I had done it.

What kept me going was something my 14-year-old son had told me the day before. He grabbed my shoulders and said, “Mum, you have trained so much for this. You’re ready.” It’s a sentiment anyone can take into daunting situations. I was especially glad my 16-year-old daughter saw what women can achieve.

I may not race it again; nothing could top that day. But if you love swimming and want an unforgettable experience, the application process for the 2026 Bosphorus Swim opens in January.

The-CNN-Wire
™ & © 2025 Cable News Network, Inc., a Warner Bros. Discovery Company. All rights reserved.