Our North Sea Plunge (Jackie Van Dyk)

This weekend Anna, Kelsey, Meagan, Kaitlyn, and I hopped on a train headed east to Scarborough to jump into the North Sea. Now I am well aware that this is not the smartest idea, not even close. It was partly cloudy with an air temperature of 45°F, and the water was about 42°. It became even less of a smart idea the closer we got to the sea and the more people we saw in full winter jackets.

On getting to Scarborough we went to find the water and scope out the best place to jump in. Walking around, it became clear that we were going to have to do this on the main beach area, with everyone and their dog watching us. But we were determined to earn a towel (yes, we college students are easily bribed). We also decided that if we were going to do this, we would properly document our bad decision. We did that in a video that you won’t regret watching:

After a quick little dip in the sea, we went in search of food. We decided to go to Winking Willy’s fish and chips restaurant to warm up. Now I can report that I have learned one lesson in my time abroad: never order a burger at a fish place, especially if that place is like Winking Willy’s and literally has a fish as its logo. It’s just not good. Just don’t do it.

After lunch we began to walk around, and tried to figure out what to do with the hour and a half before our train left for York. All of a sudden we heard a strange Dutch accent in the back of our heads telling us to go see the grave of Anne Brontë. (That was our professor Frans van Liere; our internal monologue isn’t really in a Dutch accent, despite our being Calvin students).

So we whipped out our phones and looked up the graveyard. Once we got to the church, we realized we actually had no idea what Anne’s grave looked like, so another google search later we found a picture. Now it was just a game of hide and seek with a dead person. After a bit we found it. We also met the sweetest old lady who, after mentioning dogs, cryptically told us that “there was no room in the inn, if you know what I mean.” Of course we didn’t, but I have found it best not to question older women you meet in graveyards, so we said yes and she was on her way. Maybe she was referring to Anne Brontë’s going to Scarborough to stay at an inn while trying to recover from tuberculosis, but we will never know for sure.

Back on the train at last, Meagan and I were confused that someone was in our reserved seat on the train. Figuring it was a mistake on the booking site, we sat in different seats and waited patiently for the ticket man to come around. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the booking site’s fault but that of a 21-year-old girl booking tickets at 11 p.m. after spending for 4 hours in the library working on a paper. Yes, somehow, I accidentally booked tickets back from Scarborough for the NEXT Sunday instead of that same day. Whoops. Thankfully the ticket man took pity on us and just told us to be more careful next time.

But we did it. We officially completed the Cold Knight Plunge and can rest easy that we never have to do it again (at least not until next year…).