The guy at Dahab Horse Riding Club asked if I’d ridden before. I said yes. This was the kind of yes that’s doing a lot of heavy lifting because the last time I was on a horse was years ago on a tiny Polish Konik at my friend Orest’s family farm.
Koniki are small, mouse-grey, semi-feral. They look like someone tried to breed a horse but got bored halfway through and stopped at pony. They’re used in rewilding projects across Europe because they’re tough enough to live outside year-round and eat whatever’s growing. I remember the ride with Orest mostly because his Konik, Getynga, kept bumping into mine. Over and over, shoulder to shoulder, pushing me sideways. I thought the horse was being aggressive. We investigated. Turns out… it was scared of butterflies. A breed that survives Polish winters in open marshland, supposedly descended from wild tarpans, panicking because a tiny insect 10m away. The horse they gave me in Dahab was not spooked by anything. A truck went past on the road, maybe three metres away. A plastic bag caught the wind and snapped right next to us. I flinched more than the horse.
The thing about Arabians is that they’re actually very controllable, much more than the Konik, but you need to know horses. The breed has been bred for agility, stamina and control. They have one fewer vertebra than most breeds, an enlarged nasal passage for dry air, and they’re built to run long distances on almost nothing.
We were on the beach, along a low stone wall, and the speed was felt like flying. Wind, spray, the horse flat out and loving it. Then the horse took a hard left through a small gate in the wall. He knew this route and I did not. He went left, I went straight, and I landed in the sand. I was fine.
Forsha was at the gate. She sniffed my trousers, smelled horse and sand and probably embarrassment, and walked us home.
Horseback Flying <3