“If you can’t swim, find a trail,” advised Myand, who is aware of my river obsession. Perhaps he could see the lustful look on my face while looking at the rather strong rapids of Kanlaob. And perhaps he could also see the will to test its stubbornness with my very own body, with my very own stubbornness. With the torrents in front of us, my rather rusty frog stroke had no use. Kanlaob is no swimming pool.