In deep waters

I hate any water that does not come out of a tap!
A swimming session for me means wearing a natty costume, glamorous dark glasses, a frivolous hat, sipping a cool, refreshing drink and staying out of the water.

A trip to the Philippines meant studying brochures about golden beaches, lagoons, scuba diving and other watery disasters that I intended to ignore while professing to enjoy the cultural aspect with museums, folk dances and other enlightening pastimes — in fact anything that would keep me on terra firma.

However, travelling with a group of enthusiastic and intrepid tourists makes it difficult to dodge the itinerary, which usually holds a fair share of water sports.

Shooting the rapids

Upon arriving in Manila, we were informed we had to go to Pagsanjan, the magnificent waterfalls being a great tourist attraction and shooting the rapids had been specially worked into the itinerary.

This announcement was greeted with whoops of joy but my whoop sounded rather hollow.

The day dawned and though I had spent a sleepless night trying to find an excuse to get out of this harebrained scheme — headache, stomach upset, museums are more educational, etc — nothing was plausible enough to get me out of this expedition.

We assembled in the lobby and piled into a bus, full of bonhomie. Everyone seemed to be correctly kitted out for this outing: shorts, spare clothes, rubber slippers (“there are always a few spills, ha, ha'').

Stories of previous bravery were swapped with much humour while I sat with a fixed smile seemingly enjoying the passing scenery and hoping my churning stomach would settle down.

Fooled by the ambience

An hour's drive past picturesque scenery brought us to a lodge — a pretty little hotel built on stilts a gently flowing river. It looked quite peaceful, so my courage was slightly restored.

However, when I saw the flimsy canoes that we were going to ride in, I almost turned around and fled. Rough dugouts with two boatmen and two passengers, these canoes looked light enough to be blown away in the wind, let alone sail down the river.

“Sailing down the river'' was somewhat misleading, as I was soon to discover. Anyway, an inconspicuous board read that “non-swimmers must wear life jackets'', presuming no self-respecting person would be a non-swimmer.

Sheepishly, I admitted my inability to swim and was promptly made to wear a life jacket that looked like a relic of the Second World War.

Gathering all my courage, I stepped into the boat, which lurched alarmingly, making me immediately look around for something to be strapped to.

The boatman waved airily towards a flimsy rod and told me in his best broken English: “You hold it strong.''

As another passenger stepped in, the boat rolled again and my stomach churned with fright but I realised there was no escaping now. The boatman leapt in and soon all the canoes were ready to go.

Frozen smile

Laughter and jocular insults filled the air; cameras were brandished, with people requesting you to “smile, please'' (my smile had long ago frozen into a grimace).

The boatmen hitched their canoes to a boat with an outboard motor and we started to proceed upstream.

The pace was even and the scenery beautiful — the banks were covered in lush vegetation.

We passed an occasional village with women washing clothes on the shores and children frolicking in the water.

Lulled into a false sense of security, I began to enjoy myself, waving nonchalantly and sharing jokes with the rest of the group.

Soon the river narrowed and the canoes were disconnected from the boat. The water still looked placid, so I was quite relaxed when the boatmen began paddling upstream.

Gradually, the river started narrowing further and the water started getting choppy.

The fun begins

My smile vanished and I concentrated on the piece of wood I was clutching on to. Rocks appeared and the real fun began.

The boatman leapt out and pushed the canoe on, kicking at larger rocks while we hung on to dear life.

The water cascaded and swirled around us. We had long since ignored the spray but were now actually sitting in water.

The sodden passengers were still enjoying themselves, egging the boatman on with much hilarity.

I was feeling as miserable as I was looking, saying little prayers while mentally berating myself for being so foolhardy.

The stream now looked quite angry, with water boiling over the rocks.

Occasionally the canoe would get wedged between rocks and we were tilted at an alarming angle. Through it all, I clutched my precious bar of wood, any pretence of bravery long since forgotten.

Finally, the horrendous journey drew to an end and the stream widened into a small pool with a waterfall concealing a cave.

A few brave ones went to explore the cave on rafts while I sat on a rock, wet and miserable and wondering if I would make it back to the hotel.

Cheerful stories of how canoes overturn and trap passengers underneath, falling on rocks and hurting one's head or simply drowning kept the atmosphere light and frivolous.

There was much laughter as each disaster was described at length.

Finally, we started on our return journey. Compared to this, a rollercoaster feels safer — one is at least strapped in safely.

We sped downstream, bumping on rocks as the boatmen tried to keep the canoe upright with their legs flailing at boulders.

The scenery passed in a blur, my stomach had been left behind a long time ago and I am not sure if I was breathing.

We hurtled along, laughter long wiped from everyone's face as we concentrated on staying afloat. I prayed and hoped my life jacket was not as leaky as it looked.

A silent Thank You

Eventually, a million years later, the pace slowed, the canoes steadied, the paddles reappeared and the jokes were reassumed.

The lodge came into sight and the canoes drew up alongside the pier. I stumbled out of the boat on wobbly legs and managed a “thank you'' to Him while joining in the raucous laughter of shared bravery.

Imperceptibly, I squared my shoulders and swaggered towards the changing room, happy to be on firm ground again.

— Nirmal Khanna is a UAE-based freelance writer

Go there ... Pagsanjan Falls

From the UAE
Manila is the closest airport.

From Dubai
Emirates flies daily.
Fare from Dh3,060

Cathay Pacific flies daily via Hong Kong.
Fare from Dh3,230

From Abu Dhabi
Etihad flies daily.
Fare from Dh3,240

— Information courtesy:

The Holiday Lounge by Dnata.
Tel: 04 4298576