Messing About On The River

It was a year ago that it happened and I only now feel able to relive that fateful day.

Anna, my wife, and I were visiting the beautiful town of Perigueux for the first time. The sun was shining and I suggested a kayaking trip down the river. We left our Airbnb accommodation (next to the Saint-Front Cathedral), with a spring in our step and sac à dos (with all our electronic devices in) on my back. 

On arriving at the boating centre the young man who kitted us out in life jackets and paddles asked if we would like a small plastic barrel to put the aforementioned electrical devices in. I told him we didn't need one, big mistake. 

He asked us if we would like to row up stream or down. We said we would like to paddle upstream so we could view the town. The boathouse was at the bottom of a weir and to go upstream we were told to paddle over to the far side of the weir, disembark, carry our kayak up a flight of steps, remount, and away we go...simple! 

So we settled into our craft, Anna at the front, me at the back and our rucksack with phones and iPad on the middle seat. We paddled across the river and managed to ascend the steps lugging the ridged plastic kayak. Anna got back in the front, rucksack in the middle and as I was fannying around about to embark, I heard Anna shriek, as she is wont to do, and when I looked up saw the front of the vessel was being dragged towards the top of the weir. Not wanting to be separated from Anna, I leapt in. 

There was nothing we could do, the boat was dragged over the top of the weir, rolled and in we went. As we resurfaced I was laughing nervously, whilst choking on a mouthful of L'Isle, Anna was repeatedly shouting an expletive. We managed to grab boat, paddles and rucksack before they floated down stream but a sun hat and pair of sunglasses were never seen again. 

We managed to flounder our way to the bank, where a beautiful young man (who was taking photos of his beautiful girlfriend) helped us out. Anna who had looked radiant not two minutes earlier in her summer outfit now looked like a drowned rat; mascara running down her face, sunhat flopped on her head like a big wet pancake. She started giggling coquettishly as the Adonis pulled her out.

We squelched into our craft and paddled away (making sure we didn't repeat our flume ride) as quickly as possible. 

As we glided through the town (me in the back, Alice Cooper in the front and an iPad and phones drying in the sun) we tried to laugh it all off. But, 40 minutes later the nervous laughter dried up as we approached the weir on our return journey. 

To avoid another dunking I suggested that I drop Anna off on the bank, with the valuables, and she walk over the bridge and meet me at the boat house. Her disembarkation into the thicket of nettles wouldn't have looked out of place in a Norman Wisdom film, one leg on the bank, one on the boat, she was almost doing the splits before grabbing a handful of nettles and yanking herself to shore.

Like all good stories our narrative divides. I paddled towards the weir and prepared for the worst, but found I had become stuck on the concrete ridge at the top. The boat master was shouting something in French and crossing his arms. I just wanted the ordeal to end and so stood up and started jumping the kayak forward inch by inch until I felt the force of the water pulling me down...

Anna had thought her troubles were over but she realised she could not cross the bridge as it was for vehicles only. Just then she saw a large, barking dog running at her. After the initial mount, it turned out the slathering canine was very friendly and belonged to two blokes enjoying a few bottles of cider and smoking some herbal substances. Anna explained the situation, why she was soaking and covered in angry red hives and asked if there was any way across the river. They offered to show her where the footbridge was (luckily they had run out of cider and the footbridge was on the way to the off-licence). En route one of them asked Anna if she thought “the French accent was sexy? No?” She laughed nervously and asked what the dogs name was. Looking across the water she saw an over turned boat, with her husband flapping in the water trying to retrieve his paddle. 

I had shot down the weir, again, and performed another unintentional eskimo roll. I don't know if you've ever tried to get back in a boat whilst standing on the river bed, but let me tell you it is not easy. I had to launch myself into the air and (like the shark in Jaws shortly before eating Robert Shaw) see-saw my way in. 

On my eventual return to the boathouse the boat master could not understand why I was soaking wet and my wife had disappeared.

I wanted to get away from the boathouse ASAP, but had to wait for half an hour (in an ever increasing puddle) for Anna to rock up. She eventually did and explained the off-licence was further than she thought. 

We squelched back into town (leaving a wet trail behind us), trying to quantify the levels of embarrassment we were both experiencing, but having a good laugh as we relived the events. 

The moral of the story? If you are ever offered a small plastic barrel...take it.