Tuesday, 21 January 2014

Horsey riding

Udaipur
 
Two of  the three of us have never ridden a horse. The third claims to be an expert from a brief ride as a youngster at a school camp. Two of us are soft from sitting in offices. Swags is a plumber. Whenever we go on long bike trips, we’re complaining within the first two hours from sore under-bottoms (once, on an ambitious 80km adventure down the Wanganui river trail, I could only ride half the journey, and had to walk back the next day).
 
We set out. The fourth horse, the one at the end of the column ridden by our new friend, starts to buck and fray, nearly sending the guy crashing to the ground. Nervous looks ensue. They swap horses, and five horses set off on a gentle walk, all in single file. The tour is led by an ancient Afghani looking man, complete with red turban, dark, deeply lined skin, and Sherpa style clothing. He rides a pure white horse; mine is a beautiful looking apache.
 
The unease at riding an untamed horse through the countryside quickly dissipates, and I find myself looking in awe at the surrounding countryside. It’s nice to escape all the noise, traffic and pollution; and the hills and trees look so peaceful. It’s slightly damp, the last of a light morning fog remains, and there is a slight chill in the air.
 
We ride through a village that hasn’t yet seen electricity, or the modern world for that matter, looking at the small huts made of clay stone and straw roves, saying hello to all the children, and leaving a spray of dust through the main streets.
 
We eventually reach an isolated lake side setting, looking out over the ever-peaceful lakeside scene, watching our horses munch the trees. We mount once more, and begin the journey back.
 
I am one with the beast. Or so I tell myself.
 
My horse is the last of the pack, and every so often, we find ourselves trailing. I give a quick kick to the side and we begin a trot, catching up to the others. It’s a serene feeling to be in control of a horse; to tell it to trot, to stop, to turn, and to simply rub your hand across its powerful body.
 
Later that evening, looking over the city from a rooftop once more, I couldn’t help but feel the chill on my skin once more, and remember the stroll through the countryside, where hardly anyone said a word, and it was the beauty of the countryside that reigned supreme, save for the bond between animal and man.
 
***
 
Sadly (or perhaps, fortunately) I didn't have my camera on me that morning, so I'll just throw in a few random photos with captions to explain. Udaipur is a beautiful place and we were certainly spoilt. Here's just a few of the many good ones we took along the way.


Trying unsuccessfully to be a tourist. I took hand soap. Fortunately this kind old lady cleaned my trousers. It cost me 50 Rupees and took her about 20 minutes. Best clean ever.

The Royal Palace.

View of the little people.

Breaking the rules again. For once they didn't tell us off (maybe security were on a lunch break).
 
Swags being swags. These shoes would later be stolen on a train. Stink.

The palance at the centre of the lake. Visually stunning, especially with the sun reflecting off it.


Lord of Udaipur

Another of my favorite sunsets. Beautiful.


 

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