The Aral Sea has disappeared. The Aral Sea is terribly polluted. The Aral Sea is extremely salted, so much so that no fish can live in it. I have heard these things said so often that it never occurred to me to go for a swim. But there on the waterfront, just below the Aral Sea Yurt Camp, is a changing hut and a jetty. No, it’s not Bognor or Bournemouth, but I’m no Victorian lady.

I knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to go swimming in the Aral Sea.

I didn’t bring a swimsuit with me to Karakalpakstan. Of course I didn’t. I rummaged through my bag: a t-shirt and one of my more respectable pairs of knickers would have to do.

Thankfully, the yurt camp also lent me a decent size towel.

It was 8 o’clock in the morning on Saturday 14 June. The sun had already been up for a couple of hours, and as it was almost midsummer, there had been weeks of hot weather. Investigating, I dipped in a toe. The shallow water wasn’t quite bath temperature, but almost. There would be no gasping or shrieking as I descended the ladder.

My feet sunk into a sticky, slimy mud. That was the least pleasant part of the experience.

Undeterred, I lent back and began to float, the saline water effortlessly supporting my weight.

I swam on my back, I doggy paddled on my front, and I shrieked with a childlike joy.