Gorge-ous day

We were late for our Canoe booking and the sour-faced guys from the French Canoe rental place were not happy.  I was reminded about the sometimes charmless intolerance of the French and their tendency to get bad tempered especially with the English or as our camping neighbours muttered behind our tent ‘les gros beef” and I’m never sure what that means but it sounds  .  They had given us no instructions but were still annoyed that we weren’t ready. Three of our fellow Canooists (not sure that is the right name) were neatly and efficiently waiting for us by the bus.  Somehow they knew exactly what to wear and do.  We called them ‘the bank managers’.  But I forgave all this negative pouting and tutting because I love their country, the way they live, their artistic flair and their great food.  And the fact that they have to repeat this rigmarole with tourists every day. 

An hour later we were on the water in our orange Canoes.  Taran in one and Kelty and me in another.  It was immediately spectacular.  We paddled our way through 24k of the most stunning scenery, through towering, majestic limestone rocks, sighting swooping Eagles, visiting pristine white rocky beach landings, and charging at frantic and for me quite challenging rapids.  Here are some words the others came up with:  Playful, cheeky, chaotic, chatty, sublime, epic, adventurous.  It was empty, silent and mesmerising.  Sitting in front I was relying on my trusty husband/navigator who was always reassuring until we reached the last, most challenging and scariest of the rapids.  We were suddenly hurtling towards a huge rock but the boat didn’t seem to be steering away from it and the next thing I saw was the underside of the boat and I wasn’t in it.  I had survived my first capsizing.  Taran, however, had skilfully twisted and turned his way through without a similar outcome.  He had certainly taken to this new sport like a courageous and adventurous duck to white water.

After a cliff jump, a lazy picnic at 20km into the trip, we were totally absorbed in the gorgeouseness of the gorge.  We were going to be late again for our bus.  I couldn’t face the stern faced man again so Kelty jumped ship to help Taran speed up and I went round and round in circles as I chose not to move to the navigator seat.  Not a good decision as boats passed either laughing at me or offering advice and I did feel a bit of an idiot.  According to one this was called a ‘twisted boat’.  The ridicule got worse when I staggered onto the bus to a roar of hilarity, laden with three bags full of our wet stuff.  I looked at them defiantly in the eye demanding to know what was so funny.  They found that even more comic.  Taran remarked that they were probably likening my chaotic organisation of our stuff to our current political situation.  Of course the bank managers were sitting perfectly, already changed into new dry clothes with small neatly packed bags sitting on their laps.   I looked for my phone to record for the blog but found that it had also capsized so now it is resting in a bowl of rice, hoping for recovery.