A mind of its own: The hardest part of
paddling a kayak is learning to go forward

Ecole is a story—even a sitcom—unto itself. The hostel is filled with and run by a consortium of young ecological gringos, profacial hair elder trekkers from northern California, and world-class kayakers, all bonded by a profound appreciation of the Grateful Dead.

The first day of class, our intrepid band, joined by two affluent Chilean families, trekked to a nearby lake to learn the basics. Our first goal was to get all the gear on: wetsuit, paddle jacket, life jacket, and spray deck (the thing that keeps the water from getting between you and the kayak). A spray deck goes on like a skirt and looks really cool when you're in the kayak, but walking around you look like you're wearing a lopsided tutu.

While preparing my kayak, I noticed that a small crowd of spectators had gathered, probably to watch what they thought was beach ballet.

We eventually wedged ourselves into the boats and pushed off. Learning to paddle should more specifically be called"learning to paddle straight." A kayak seems to have a mind of its own. It instinctively wants to go any direction except, well, forward. Paddling is a series of compensating strokes. Signe's technique, for example, was a series of S-turns, which from a distance made it look like she was running a giant slalom course.

After we mastered moving in one direction, it was time to roll our boats—the famous Eskimo roll, or giro in Spanish—just in case, presumably, we needed to impress someone with a cool kayaking maneuver. I was first. The idea is that while upside-down and underwater, you're supposed to stick your paddle out of the water, turn it and, in a single motion, push on the paddle, snap your hips, and pull your head back out of the water without sucking more than two liters of water up your nose.

After I got the hang of this, I got a bit carried away. I was rolling every five seconds. I was as excited as a yuppie having a midlife crisis in his first turbo Porsche, showing off for everyone. "Signe, watch this!" "Hey, you on the beach, watch this!" I bellowed.

After an hour or so, the excitement wore off and I realized that during my 150 rolls I'd accumulated an entire pond in my head.

It rained the second day and the air was cold enough to see your breath. But it seemed silly to cancel the lessons; I mean, staying dry is not exactly the object. However, the two Chilean families backed out.