Living the life of a swimming nomad

Imagine selling or giving away almost everything you own, packing what’s left into a waterproof bag, and setting off on a swimming journey that you think might take seven years or more.

He sent me this update:

Hello Simon!

I’ve been out on this adventure for almost nine months now—at least I think so. It’s hard to keep track of time when you live like this. When you’re constantly moving, drifting from place to place, fixing broken gear, flying back to Sweden to meet sponsors, then heading out again, time loses its meaning. Eventually, you stop counting days and months.

And really, it doesn’t matter. What matters is moving forward.

People often ask me: How far have you come? How many kilometres have you swum?

But those numbers don’t mean much to me. The only thing that matters is that I’m progressing on the map—that I’m still going forward.

Many people say you need to plan everything before you start.

But if you remember our live stream on YouTube, you know that an adventure like this cannot be planned. You have to take it day by day. You must stay open to new solutions all the time—otherwise, it simply won’t work.

I’ve now switched to swimming with a stand up paddle board and keeping my bags on land. I’ve developed my own wheel system, which you can see in the photos. The wheels can be folded up when I’m in the water, and once I reach shore, I can roll my equipment inland. Many campsites are several hundred meters away from the beach, and carrying that amount of weight by hand is impossible. This system is what keeps me moving.

I’m far behind schedule, mainly because Ryanair lost one of my bags. When I finally got it back, it was damaged—causing even more delays. As a result, I’m now in a place where I was never supposed to be in the middle of winter. But here I am. January. February. Still swimming. One day at a time.

Winter changes everything. There are so few daylight hours that I can’t swim more than about 3 kilometres per day. The rest of the time goes into drying wetsuits, recharging solar panels, and recovering enough energy to do it all again the next day.

One thing I find truly remarkable. During these nine months, I haven’t encountered a single other open-water swimmer out at sea while I’m swimming. Not one. That should give you an idea of how remote and lonely some of these stretches have been—long sections swum entirely in solitude.

I now carry a four-person tent. If someone wants to join me on this adventure, there’s always space for one more person. Even with two people inside, there’s still plenty of room.

And about that famous crystal-clear Mediterranean water?

I haven’t really seen it. Only about 20% of my swims have been in clear water. The rest of the time, the sea has been so murky that you can’t see anything at all beneath the surface.

Still—this is the adventure. And I keep moving forward.

Jari

Pioneering attitude

I think of myself as an adventurous swimmer. I like to try new events, swim in challenging conditions and explore new places. But Jari takes adventure to a level far beyond what I could contemplate for myself. He asked me to add this brief follow-up note to his letter:

“I swim into the wild, unafraid of wrong turns, for every setback is a lesson that sharpens my path.”

Could this also be a metaphor for the adventure of life? Life is full of the potential to make “wrong turns” – but could we reframe those as lessons, and lessen our fear of them?

Join the adventure

If you want to take up Jari’s invitation to join him for part of his journey, email me (simon@renaissanceswimmer.com) and I will connect you.

You can watch our interview with Jari on Outdoor Swimmer’s website here: https://outdoorswimmer.com/featured/jari-tammi-interview/