So it’s the dreaded kayaking day. The sun is out, cheering me on. After a bit of breakfast, that was marginally better than the other meals of over cooked egg and dried up cool toast, we head out to the kayak centre. One of the Portuguese ladies, Dita, is also terrified. Possibly more than me, as she can’t swim and hates deep water.
I put on a life jacket, and all the buckles are broken and it’s too tight, making me feel claustrophobic. Leon is my hero and swapped his for mine, and we pick up a paddle. The kayaks are about 7ft long and a molded flat plastic. I’m so pleased we are not in the ones with holes you sit in. I tentatively, and slightly embarrassingly ease myself onto this floating lump of yellow, and feel really unsteady. I go shoeless for better grip. The kayak man is tutting at me and my lack of physical stability. Ah well. I’m on it! I’m fairly pleased with myself but an underlying worry of how I will get off the thing. We have half hour to paddle about, gazing at the superb majesty of the steep lumps of mass, sprouting with vivid green plant life. I feel peace. Deep peace combined with a bit of back ache. Leon and I love the kayaking and,l work well and rhythmically together to navigate our way.
I get off the kayak just fine. Much easier going a step up than a step down.
One of the Muslim Singapore lady (Emma) was also very nervous and wasn’t going to go, but I am really proud to say, we all did it! We are double high fiving, along with Porto Dita. The greatest sense of achievement you can get with a soggy bum!
Once on main boat, I fashion my clothes line onto the railings in a triumphant display of stripy PJ shorts flapping in the wind.
We head to the Pearl Farm.
