Riding in Cars with B.... - no wait, that's something else. Me. Riding on the backs of animals. Yep, that's it.

An awfully long time ago now I was in New Zealand's South Island, approaching the town of Westport. Travelling on the Kiwi bus, part of the experience was trying "new, exciting and challenging things" in each place we stopped on the coach circuit. Sometimes it was black water rafting. Sometimes it was bungee jumping. Sometimes it was zorbing. This time, it was horse riding. I put my name on the clipboard straight away.

I mean how could I resist? I've always thought that had I grown up elsewhere I could've been quite 'outdoors-y' and that it was only my location living in the SW London suburbs which held me back. I mean, I love animals - I really love them. Also, I was in Lord of the Rings country (and I'm a massive, huge, verging on weirdo fan of the books and the films) - how could I turn down the opportunity to roam around, in the beautiful, untamed, wild open spaces I came to love so much in the movies. I could even pretend I was Gandalf. So yeah, you see that this decision making process wasn't a tough one for me - there were horses, I was damn sure I wanted to ride one.

Arriving at the stables, a nice dutch girl with ruddy cheeks, who sort of actually looked like a horse (that thing about people looking like their animals) got us kitted out in the riding gear. Traveller 1 and I (Traveller 2 opted instead to do a ride on a power speedboat near the Huka falls, clever girl) walked into the dusty courtyard with the rest of the wannabes bit where they were all tethered. The dutch instructor asked us if any of us had any horse riding experience. Well, I mean, I'd done a bit on school trips and then a bit more on family holidays - but that was more, riding a bored pony along the beach, not guiding a stallion through the wilderness. Regardless, myself and a couple of others shot our hands into the air and were taken to our 'special' horses. Because we were the 'experienced ones' our horses were those who needed someone a little more confident riding them. The instructor told me that my horse was an absolute sweetheart, he just had a slightly faster natural walking speed than the others. Fine. That was fine. I could totally deal with that.

I thought.

After freaking out a bit about the lack of instruction she received as a novice rider, Traveller 2 was away! There was no stopping her. She commanded that horse like a boss and whilst we were told hers was one of the oldest there and a 'compliant gentleman' I still reckon she was a natural. I, on the other hand, could not have felt less confident. My horse literally did not give a sod that I was astride it's back. It acted exactly as it would have done had I not been there at all, fruitlessly hollering commands and tugging at the reigns. Oh and the thing about the 'slightly quicker walk' was bulls***. This horse knew only how to gallop. Galloping and stationary. It's only two ways of being. It was either running off to munch yet another branch/bush/lump of grass, or it was already there, refusing to move whilst sloooowly chewing it.

Our journey went in and out of some truly gorgeous forest and streams, and after a short while we found ourselves in an open field. Some of the other riders were whimpering and b****ing about their horses too - not liking the lack of control they had over their respective 'rides'. Then it happened. My horse, my bloody horse, out of nowhere bolted. I barely had time to gather my thoughts (I'd been watching a butterfly or something equally ridiculous) when I had to brace myself for a hard fall. I was thrown off and he (my horse) dramatically ran off. Some of the other horses started freaking out and I could hear lots of commotion.

I was laying there face down for a good 30 seconds before I could appreciate what was going on. The way he shook me off as he was changing direction, meant that I was thrown at an angle and directly onto my chest. Hard. Never ever been winded like that. All the air rushed out of my lungs and the quickly developing bruises made it seemingly impossible to inhale. Never one to miss an opportunity to over-react my first rasped words were a panicked "I CAN'T BREATHE". Dutch instructor tried to calm me down by informing me, that actually, I could breathe, or else I probably wouldn't be able to say I couldn't breathe. I assured her with as much of a venomous stare as I could muster that that surely not be the case as I was convinced I was dying in that field. This went on for a minute or two and eventually, I figured she must've had a point, or else I probably would have been unconscious by then. But it did really, really f***ing hurt. With each deep breath I took upon sitting and then standing (yes, most of this exchange took place with me face down in the mud) - a deep ache, that I'd continue to feel for the next 7 days, pulsed through me. I was seriously miserable. Bit embarrassed too.

A tad disorientated, the instructor points over towards my horse - standing innocently munching grass - the only one aside from hers without a miniature person on their back. I look at her in a "b***h, are you crazy?" kind of way. She gets it and informs me that if I don't want to ride again, which is fine, I'll have to walk instead. Nooooot really up for that, so 5 minutes after literally being chucked from a galloping horse, I get straight back on it. (I've since used this experience to seize upon any opportunity to say "you've just got to get back on that horse" and then proceed to go on about how that saying "just has so much more meaning to me now, I've actually done it, you know?". Ha! Probably really winds up Travellers 1 & 2.) Anyway, the rest of the ride was comparably uneventful and upon getting back to our hostel, I resolved that whilst it was a nice way to see things, riding just probably wasn't for me.

Fast forward 2 months and I'm in a village on the outskirts of Luang Prabang town, in Laos and Traveller 2 and I are kitted out in matching blue culottes and loose fitting light denim shirts. Our uniform is that of the Mahout and we are gearing up to go elephant trekking having learned the ropes at a Mahout 'training camp' that afternoon.

A mahout was the first thing (other than 'really tall' or a fire fighter) that I wanted to be when I was little. I vividly remember sitting and watching the discover channel, or something like that, with my parents and being totally blown-away, awed and excited by the prospect that somebody's life work could be riding, washing, teaching, playing with and caring for an elephant from childhood. My parents found it hilarious and cute how steadfastly I clung to the idea and for a couple of years at least, I could see no other future for myself outside the life of a mahout. Eventually, as with all of us, I was exposed to other things and the dream of being a Mahout drifted into the background - but I always remembered it (possibly because my parents didn't stop taking the piss out of me!). Anyway, when we arrived in Luang Prabang, on the way to dinner our first night there we saw advertised a 'Mahout camp' experience and I knew regardless of expense, I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by. We signed up and a day later found ourselves out there in the countryside surrounding the Nam Khong part of the Mekong river, elephants at the ready.

All our 'teaching camp' really involved was the repetition of a few words, and practicing how to pronounce them and getting a very basic understanding of the four Lao speaking tones. Once the two of us were confident with the commands and actions, we excitedly headed for the elephant paddock.

Sod's law, which seems to play quite a major role in my life, inevitably intervened and I was given the Matriarch elephant to ride. Elephants, even in captivity, live in groups led by a elder female. She's the top dog and all the others do well to remember it. Traveller 2s elephant seemed to forget himself and (unbeknownst to us) broke a key rule by over taking my mama elephant during the first 10 minutes or so of our leisurely stroll through the bush. This was a mistake, granted, but rather than giving him a quick slap on the bum with her trunk for being a disrespectful youngster, she figured "I need to rectify this situation, asap". So with me precariously astride her neck, she ran. MY f***ING ELEPHANT RAN. I think my screech echoed throughout the valley. I have know idea how, because they look all slow and calm, elephants can reach fast speeds in hardly any time (probably something in them having massive long legs). The Mahout who was sitting behind me was clearly surprised and shaken by this too and was yelling a stream of ignored commands at her to stop. With no straps or harness of any sort I was rocking all over and didn't fancy the idea of falling under an elephant on a mission, so I grabbed the only thing close to me which wasn't the elephant herself. My Mahout 'Kumn'. Or rather, Kumns crotch, which was directly behind me. Awkward. Lao people aren't tactile at the best of times so this probably ruined his life a little bit and he visible was glad when, on retaining her preferred position at the lead, our elephant stopped and I, in turn, let go.

After this I couldn't relax. I kept snapping at a super chilled out and elated Traveller 2 not to let her bloody elephant over take mine, because my heart would fail if she gathered speed again. Traveller 2, who was more than comfortable on her elephant, chuckled and said there wasn't really anything she could do and that I'd probably be fine. Hmm.

The rest of the ride was incredible, even if I had all of the muscles in my body tensed. We trekked through a maze of bush, a stunning open plain, the grounds of our camp and finally into the river where we cried out "Boon, Boon!" ("splash, splash!") to our elephants who doused us repeatedly with water as they washed, swam and drank. I even struck up a bit of a bond with my old girl by the end of those few hours - she was a bit mardy like me and sort of wanted things her way (at one point the whole 'passenger thing' clearly got old, because she kept grabbing twigs and trying to swat us off her back); she could be difficult and did some weird stuff without explanation - but ultimately, she got on with the job at hand, enjoyed a stroll in the sun, cared very much for the other in her group and loved goofing around in water. Total babe.

So, alright, it all ended well. I can tick 'wilderness horse-riding' and 'mahout trekking' off my bucket list and I certainly feel so, so lucky to have done both these things under such extraordinary circumstances and in really beautiful settings. In future though, following the above described close shaves and given my track record, if given the choice to ride on the back of an animal, I may just have to decline....

NBF xox