We moved very slowly against the current of the swift-flowing river, but we had no desire to hurry. It was really enchanting. From narrow, pebbly beaches on either bank rose rugged cliffs which seemed to tower mountain high, throwing deep shadows into the canyon and leaving only a narrow ribbon of sky above us. And these cliffs were hung with a tangled undergrowth through which small, white waterfalls rushed and rustled. Where the river broadened, here and there, we came upon groups of bright-clad natives who regarded us with great curiosity, and at one place we saw half a dozen women starting up the steep bank with graceful brown water-jars balanced on their heads. Each one was carrying at least six, one on top of another, and all of them full. How they managed it was beyond comprehension. We watched them until they were out of sight and not one of them ever raised a hand to her head. As a matter of fact, they were nonchalantly smoking and chattering away as if they were quite unconscious of their burdens, though the slightest unrhythmical motion would have spelt disaster for them all.