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A rant about the local fear of water and the drowned potential of the country's seaside.

I like Belgium. It is a good place to work, has a moderate climate, and I met fine people here. Beautiful cities provide a wealth of public programming, and there are also pretty natural features to be found, be it charming hills or magnificent bodies of water.

Unfortunately, enjoying open water in Belgium is an afterthought. Let's begin with the main issue: swimming in most of the nation's waters is illegal.

In this article, I take a closer look at the crown jewel of Belgian coasts, its North Sea shore. However, the main reason it leaves a lot to be desired is the rules enforced inland, too. Because swimming is prohibited unless onlooking authorities supervise it, there are very few places to do so: outside the sea, there are fewer than 60 legal open-water swimming options nationwide [1]. To further reduce accessibility, most legal swimming options operate only for a limited time during the summer and charge an entrance fee.

The Belgian seaside has 84 lifeguard posts [2], all of which have free admission. That is a great asset to the coast. But given that many residents cannot legally bathe in a lake or river where they live and must travel to do so, they might as well go to the sea, and those 84 posts quickly become inadequate. And while one does not have to pay to enter here, the remaining restrictions are still present. So, let's look at them and examine how they work.

First, it's the availability. While a few lifeguard posts are staffed during limited days between mid-May and mid-September, most are operational only in July and August from 10:30 to 18:30 [2], sometimes less if the guards feel like it. I can appreciate that it's when most families go to the sea. But then, if I want to go for an after-work swim in the summer evening, I am out of luck, no matter the long and warm days. Same story if there's a 30°C weekend in early May or late September. Second, the size: even when the guards are present, the area they oversee is rather small.

Since the legal zones are pretty narrow and many people go to the water for play or to cool off, swimmers have to go farther to find a bit of room. The legal swim zone tends to end while I can still stand on the seabed—not too far, in other words. Yet, I had occasions when the guards came with a boat to tell me I was beyond what they consider acceptable. I stopped swimming and stood up, with my shoulders outside the water, but it did not matter. "Closer to the shore!" I was ordered. It always felt excessive and frustrating, considering that it's not that there wouldn't be more room; outside the legal swim zones, the beach has maybe a 500m buffer, and then it sits empty, including the sea.

I asked locals how they feel about the restrictions and whether they are enforced. A few told me they got a fine, up to hundreds of Euros, for unsupervised swimming. That is quite a discouragement, and it explains the empty beaches even at the height of summer. Others, on the other hand, praised the ban as a good safety measure.

I understand that water can be dangerous, and I also want people to be safe. In 2022 (the latest available data), Belgium reported 75 people dying by accidental drowning [3]. That is 75 too many. However, the dangers of swimming can be accounted for by acting responsibly, in the same way that one has to be responsible while doing other potentially dangerous activities, which Belgium (and any other country) is full of. Cycling, for example: 100 cyclists died on Belgian roads in 2022 [4], yet Belgium did not outlaw cycling while wearing clothing as protective as a swimsuit, and drivers can legally overtake cyclists at 90 km/h at places. It is a personal responsibility. Alcohol consumption can also be dangerous. In 2021 (the latest available data), Belgium attributed more than 4,000 deaths to alcohol use [5], but it also legally allows anyone as young as 16 to drink as much beer as they want. It's down to personal responsibility. Even if the alcohol deaths dropped by a thousand in 2022, it would still be over 40 times deadlier than swimming. Still, god forbid you take a dip in an unauthorized open water!

Those advocating the removal of personal responsibility from swimming might say that the number of drownings being so much lower than the alcohol deaths is because the ban is in place. However, unsupervised swimming is perfectly legal in Scotland, where the seas also have currents and tides; moreover, the water temperatures are generally colder. Scotland reported 45 accidental drownings in 2022 [6]. If we adjust that number for Belgium's population and coastline length, we'd get approximately 0.33 deaths per year—roughly one every three years [7]. That number would be even smaller if we accounted for all the inland waters where folks are also allowed to swim. The ban does not make swimming in Belgium any safer, and I'd argue that enforcing it does the opposite. The limited opportunities to practice led to generations of less confident open-water swimmers. Belgium could have gone a similar way to Scotland. They could have installed "At your own risk" signs along the coast, informing people about potential dangers and swimming tips, educating them about the amazing resource that water is. Instead, they spent the money on the abundant "No Swimming" signs, which teach people nothing but to fear water. For a seaside country, I think that is ridiculous.

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Since a person cannot legally swim in the sea for most of the year, one would think that, at least, it would be possible to enjoy the sea from the shore. However, that is where the second major letdown comes: the wasteful land use ruined most of the coast's natural feel.

In the cities, the sea is lined by a homogeneous concrete wall of relatively tall buildings, mostly without any greenery. It is convenient if you want to find a restaurant nearby, but if you prefer calmer, more natural settings, the options are sorely limited.

The situation could have been saved between the cities where there used to be vast dunes. Still, the seaside that wasn't claimed by the cities features an industrial port, military areas, and a couple of golf courses. Hence, the area with remaining natural areas is rather small. And yet, they built a big coastal highway lined with abundant parking along the sea, right through the remaining dunes.

The highway is not some driving heaven. You often can't see the dunes or the sea when you drive (or cycle) on it, and it is mostly a straight road with multiple traffic lights breaking the flow. However, it is made so convenient that most people with a vehicle can't be bothered with any of the more sustainable alternatives, and they clog the dunes into what might as well be the longest parking lot in the country.

Speaking of alternatives, there are plenty: the seaside has a major train station every <20 kilometers [8], many buses serve the area, there is also a tram line that runs along the entire coast, and passenger ferries cross the ports in Oostende and Nieuwpoort. And yet, one of the most accessible forms of transportation has been mostly forgotten: bikes.

The region's official tourism website says they are "crazy about cycling" [9], but sadly, you'd never guess it if you only saw the coastline. While the cities feature greenways near the sea, the moment one leaves the urban areas, they have to join the busy highway if they want to stay close to the shore. Granted, the highway has a bike lane, but aside from a few exceptions, it's a pathetic one surrounded by speeding traffic.

Most trails through the dunes are explicitly forbidden for bikes. It might seem reasonable to give pedestrians enough room, but that perspective holds only until one realizes the space the coastal highway and all the parking take up.

The situation is especially sad, considering that just outside Belgian territory, one can see how it could be done differently. The Netherlands has more preserved dunes with excellent cycling paths along its coast, despite having a higher population density than Belgium:

One could argue that the Netherlands has more preserved dunes because it also has a much longer coastline than Belgium, but shouldn't that be a reason to protect the Belgian coast even more? Compare the pictured Dutch environment with the image of the highway. Both images show similar dune areas near the North Sea with a road that helps people to reach it. Which one would you rather visit?

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The Belgian seaside is close to being fantastic. The cities host festivals, boast nice promenades with loads of cafes, and have cool playgrounds for kids. They even installed a wealth of public sculptures to further boost the location's attractiveness, but they range in size, themes, and, arguably, quality. As such, I found one that captures how it feels to witness all the good qualities being butchered by prioritizing car visitors at the expense of paving over one of the reasons it would be nice to come here in the first place, and by banning swimming outside the overly restrictive conditions.

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Sources (tap to view):

1. 1. There are 36 legal natural outdoor swimming areas in Flanders (Outdoor Swimming), but three (Antwerpen, Brugge, and Overijse) are closed as of the writing of this article. Valonia has 33 legal outdoor swim zones, but eight are closed (ODWB). Brussels has none (Outdoor Swimming).
   2. IKWV: Locations
   3. Eurostat: Causes of death - accidental drowning and submersion per country
   4. Statbel: Road accidents
   5. For a healthy Belgium: Burden of alcohol use
   6. WAID Scotland 2022 Summary for Water Safety Scotland
   7. The Scottish seaside is about 18,743 km (marine.gov.scot), while Belgium has 65 km (Kustportaal). The 2022 population in Belgium was roughly 11.6 million (Statbel) and 5.4 million in Scotland (Scotland's Census).
   8. There are four major stations (Ostend, Blankenberge, De Panne and Knokke) and the coastline is 65 km long (see #7).
   9. Visit Flanders: Cycling in Flanders: a marriage of sport and tradition.

All accessed in Aug.2025