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.
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