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“Bet you won’t jump” shouted Duane from below. Giving myself a quick countdown for some psychological courage, I launch myself down into the breathtakingly clear water, whooping and hollering from adrenaline as I fly through the air. Three friends and I are canyoning along a river not far from Cape Town in South Africa. So far, it’s involved an outdoor-enthusiasts smorgasbord of hiking, swimming, jumping and boulder-hopping as we follow the river on its twisty, windy route through the Hottentots Holland Nature Reserve. The river is named Riviersonderend (translated as “river without end”) and in this sunny, glorious playground we find ourselves in, that idea suits us just fine. But to view as just a day of adrenaline-inducing activities would be an injustice to our surroundings. Above all else, it’s a chance to literally immerse ourselves back into nature. All around us birds are chirping and calling in an endless cacophony of sounds. Little bugs and butterflies flutter about in a never-ending dance through the air, and the river contentedly gurgles and chatters along as our background melody. The fynbos (flora found nowhere else in the world) forms a kaleidoscope of scents and colours, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that the air seems that much bluer and clearer out here. The next pool is a little way below us, and over countless years the river has smoothed the rocks into a natural slide. We slip and slither our way joyfully into the water below, admiring the ferns and mosses which frame the pool into a picture of tranquillity; perfect for a snack break. This is as far removed from my normal London existence as it is possible to get. No red buses. No crowded trains. No smoggy horizons. It may as well be a different planet from the world I now find myself exploring. Continuing on our merry way the river continues to serve up a delicacy of tranquil mountain pools, picturesque waterfalls and exhilarating jumps. Before long we reach the final hurdle, and the reason the route is named “Suicide Gorge.” The next pool lies roughly fourteen metres below, and the only way down is to jump. Summoning up our courage for one last time, we take the plunge. Challenge accepted; mission accomplished. Hiking out of the riverbed and back toward our car, with sunburnt arms, aching muscles and tired smiles, the irony of thinking of this as travel is not lost on me. I grew up on an apple farm not far from this river, and my childhood was spent exploring these mountains. These friends are the ones I spent my formative years with, and the fact that time spent together like this is such a rare occurrence makes it all the more special. Days like today also serve as a wonderful reassurance: no matter which part of the world I currently call home, or how far I roam, these rivers and mountains will still be here, unchanged and awaiting my return.