These books about horses, riding, and adventure are the true stories of some remarkable horsewomen from across the ages.
Long before I set foot in Kenya, I had read the stories of the likes of Beryl Markham and Karen Blixen, adventurers who called Kenya home. Finding a kindred spirit in their tales, Kenya called to me for a very long time, and did not disappoint. Kenya is an intoxicating mix of wild animals, fast horses, and beautiful country, and the camaraderie of danger shared and overcome among riders creates lasting memories and friendships.
Masai Mara - Infinite Wilderness
The urban sprawl of Nairobi disappears beneath us as the tiny aircraft enters the clouds. Bounced and buffeted by every gentle breeze, we emerge above the clouds. Just a short while later, the clouds part as we begin to descend towards a landscape devoid of development, endless plains of red dirt and green grass. We can see herds of dark shapes moving in waves across the vast expanse but can’t tell from up here what they are.
The plane touches down surprisingly gently on a packed dirt airstrip, after a man on a motorcycle has ridden the length to make sure it’s devoid of wildlife. We hop out of the plane, greeted energetically by Daisy and Simon, our guides, as they bid farewell to their previous group, ushering them onto the plane and us into two safari vehicles.
A lioness, so comfortable with the presence of safari vehicles, decides to use us for some shade on a sunny afternoon.
Not 5 minutes from the airstrip we spot a lioness, strutting through the tall grass. Not stalking, not slinking, but proudly strolling while a herd of wildebeest gaze warily in her direction. Beneath the shade of an acacia, she joins another female and a young male and plops down for a siesta. Not a bad idea, as the clouds are dilating and the day is warming up. We spy zebra, giraffe, impala, topis, and cape buffalo. A pack of hyenas chew the leathery hide of a hippo carcass, the exposed skull, jaw, and massive teeth picked clean nearby. A couple of jackals patiently wait their turn in the shade. Among the wildlife, Masai shepherds watch over herds of multicolored cattle.
A Day in the Life on a Horseback Safari
Dawn
I’m having a dream about zebras galloping across the plains when I’m gently awoken by the soft murmur of footsteps outside my tent and habari za asubuhi (good morning in Swahili) as the camp staff set a bowl of warm water, tea and coffee outside my tent door. I roll out of bed and right into my riding pants, physically ready to go but mentally still dreaming about zebras, or maybe a little fuzzy from an evening of gin and tonics.
We sip tea and coffee and nibble on pastries as the sun casts its first light across the savannah. As soon as we’re remotely caffeinated, we mount up. The grooms, up well before dawn to feed and tack the horses, have polished our saddles since yesterday and they catch the slanted rays of the early morning sun, now just above the horizon. I love these dawn rides the most - I really hate the part where I have to get out of bed, but once I’m on the horse it’s magical. Droplets of dew sparkle on every branch and blade of grass, and everything from the air to the animals feels shiny, clean, and new. There’s still a bite to the breeze and I soak it up, knowing that the sun will be hot and high overhead before too long. The cool mornings are a great time to spot hippos out of the water, returning from their nightly jaunts, and large herds of wildebeest, antelope, zebras, and giraffe, grazing peacefully knowing the lions are done hunting for the night. These morning rides start out pretty mellow as horses and riders alike take their time waking up, but by the time we ride back into camp a few hours later, we’re all revved up and ready to go. Just in time for breakfast.
Breakfast
Bush traffic jam
Breakfast is the real deal, each and every day. A full English breakfast with bacon, sausage, eggs cooked any which way you like, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, buttered toast, fruit, yogurt, muesli, and of course, more coffee and tea with rusks. It’s a leisurely affair, and by the time we’ve finished, our tents have been made up for the day: beds made, windows rolled up, pajamas folded, solar lights set out in the sunshine to charge, and our boots have been polished to a shine I’ve never seen before.
Morning Ride or Game Drive
Breakfast
If it isn’t a moving day, we’ll go out in the vehicle for a game drive and try to cover some ground in order to spot animals we will try to go back out and see on horseback in the afternoon. Often these include elephants, lions, or even cheetah.
We return in time for lunch and a siesta before the afternoon ride. If it’s a moving day, we will mount back up again after breakfast and take our lunch and siesta somewhere in the bush - the game vehicle will meet us with tables and chairs, a scrumptious picnic, and a full bar. Cushions and blankets are laid out for a bush nap, and we all split up to claim cushions and find a shady corner to read or sleep before carrying on. Moving days are the longest but we ride through the most incredible landscapes. Even in the heat of the day the landscape is never devoid of wildlife. In any given direction, you can spot the far away silhouettes of wildebeest grazing, jackals playing, birds circling overhead, and elephants ambling along in small groups.
The feel of watching animals on horseback versus in the vehicles is completely different. In the vehicles, we’re looking at them, but on horseback, we’re right in it with them, a part of the landscape, a fixture in the circle of life here. Often, the horses will alert us to animals before we spot them, and we’re always wary of the horses’ signals when trekking through tall grass or through deep scrub brush, anywhere that could make for a perfect ambush. We approach animals strategically on horseback, staying downwind of the elephants and speaking quietly, not moving too fast around large herds of wildebeest and antelope (unless we want to incite a stampede, which is great fun!), and never EVER turning our backs on the lions. In the vehicles, we can sometimes get much closer but there isn’t the same connection with the landscape, with the wildlife, with the feel of a place.
Happy Hour
When we arrive into our next camp, our tents are set up and ready to go. Our luggage is exactly where we left it in the tent in the last camp, down to the contents of the night stand. It’s as if the whole camp has been magically transported - instead, a crew of 30 or so, including the horse grooms, kitchen staff, and the tent boys, have transported every last stitch of fabric and tent peg to a whole new location while we were out riding.
The bar is open as soon as we dismount and hand off our horses to the grooms, but showers come first. Hot water, heated by hand over a fire, awaits us in each shower tent (one shower for every two tents), with a lever to release the water. It’s a short shower, but the hot water is glorious after a day of dust and dirt while riding. Only after rinsing the adventure from our faces and our pores are we truly ready for happy hour.
Gin and tonic, the quintessential drink of East Africa, is the go-to, but the young bartender can mix up just about anything and comes well-equipped. We swap stories until dinner time and then the festivities move to the candlelit dinner table.
Dinner and Bedtime
Dinners al fresco
Three-course meals are served nightly, paired with a selection of wine and topped off with desserts that are sheer perfection. By the time we finish eating there is a fire going, and we settle into the folding chairs to continue the festivities. Some evenings we are content to stay in camp and shoot the breeze, too tired to keep moving but having too much fun to go to bed just yet. Other nights we venture back out for another game drive in the vehicle with the spotlight, and on one such night we come upon a whole pride of lions feeding on a zebra carcass, the cubs playfully antagonizing their father, who patiently bats them away, ensuring he gets more than his fill of the pride’s catch.
By the time we turn in for bed, our sheets have been turned down and our beds are pre-warmed with hot water bottles. Our boots have been shined once again and are at the foot of our beds, the tent doors and windows closed against the evening chill. Each night I fall into bed exhausted but exalted, and dream of things like galloping zebras.
Riding from Vail to Aspen on Horseback
Ten riders, (mostly) strangers, arrive at Bearcat Stables, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Two couples, two friends, a father and daughter, and two solo travelers including myself, all ready to spend the next four days on horseback deep in Colorado’s backcountry, trekking through the rugged wilderness and rocky terrain between Vail and Aspen.
There’s always a clear distinction between the Western riders (cowboy hats, worn boots, pearl-snap shirts), English riders (helmets, half chaps, comfortable breeches), and the non-riders, although this trip doesn’t tend to attract the latter. Long days in the saddle are no gentle introduction to riding, and even though this ride doesn’t move very fast, there is still some skill involved, as we navigate tricky terrain, ducking under low branches, riding through creeks and ravines, and traveling along narrow single tracks that drop away steeply.
Horses are ready and waiting when we arrive
The horses await us, tied along the stable rail, tacked and ready but calm and bored. For us, this is the start of an epic adventure, but for them it’s just another day at work. They knows their job and they do it well; it takes a special kind of horse to handle this terrain and do so with a different rider each and every time.
The ride begins up the road from the stable, at the quiet Squaw Creek trailhead surrounded by aspens. We begin to gain elevation almost immediately, the aspens and underbrush closing in around us as we switchback uphill. The riders are quiet - it’s hard to carry on a conversation when riding single-file, focusing on the trail and trying to dodge low branches, but we will all be able to multitask by the end of the trip. From time to time the greenery gives way to open meadows carpeted in purple and yellow wildflowers, with views towards the towering New York peaks just beyond the treetops. We break for a picnic lunch beneath the pines, stretching our legs as we sit in the shady grass before remounting. We ride late into the afternoon, arriving at Peter Estin hut just in time to watch the sun set over distant 14ers from the deck, cold drinks in hand and charcuterie and appetizers before us.
Sundowners on the deck of Peter Estin Hut
The hut is a 2-story log cabin with solar lights, a wood-burning stove, no running water and a drop toilet outside. The bunk room upstairs sleeps up to 12 on side-by-side bunks with two small bedrooms each sleeping two. Picture windows on either end look out over the valley below. The best feature is the large deck facing the meadow and the valley, where we enjoy the last rays of afternoon sun.
Whatever type of meal the guests imagine, Chef Adam exceeds all expectations, working his magic whether in the kitchen or over an open flame outdoors. Lamb romesco, grilled cabbage and zucchini, beet carpaccio, miso eggplant with marinated skirt steak, honey charred carrots, pickled shiitake and sweet hibachi style noodles, just to name a few. And the desserts…don’t get me started on the desserts. Blueberry bars, cookies so soft they melt in your mouth, and the best peach cobbler I’ve ever had (don’t tell my mother), made with Palisade peaches grown right here in Colorado.
Breakfast is just as delightful, hearty and filling, and readies us for another long day in the saddle. Our horses await, tacked and ready, and we set off downhill. Much of the ride weaves through pines and aspens, snaking our way downhill single-file. In some places, the angle is so steep on either side that a single misstep would send the horse tumbling into the ravine below, but they are steady and surefooted. The forests open onto meadows, still deceptively steep, until we cross a river towards Lime Creek Canyon and stop for lunch. We can just make out the glint of the sun on the roof of last night’s hut, faraway across the valley on the opposite mountain, just below treeline.
Meadows slant at impossible angles, but the horses cut across them with ease.
Rain starts to sprinkle on our last descent towards the guest ranch in the Frying Pan valley, but it’s welcomed after a warm day. It picks up as we hurry to get the horses unsaddled and corralled, but by the time we drive a few minutes up the road to the guest ranch, the rain has come and gone.
A unique homemade firepit fashioned from an old propane tank.
The ranch is rustic but welcoming. Quaint cabins along the river are clean and comfortable, even if they haven’t changed since they were built in the 1970s, and hot showers await us to ease sore seat bones. We watch the stars come out around the fire pit over another delicious dinner, and are fast asleep in our cabins not long after.
The third day takes us past several stunning private ranches nestled deep in the wilderness of a remote valley dotted with creeks and lakes, and then we begin climbing again. The aspens and pines eventually give way to open meadows as we emerge above treeline and trek over the peak of Mount Yeckel. One of the few spots on the whole trip with reliable cell service, we take a pause to call and text loved ones as we take in the sweeping panoramic views. We remount, and continue on to our third and final cabin.
Panoramic views from the peak of Mount Yeckel
The “phone booth” - everyone searches for sell service on the remote mountaintop.
Like the first hut, the deck of Margy’s hut faces an open meadows that sweeps downhill, with an excellent unobstructed view of distant peaks - Maroon Bells, the New York Mountains, and the Flattops - some still snowcapped even in August. We build a fire after dinner, roasting s’mores and telling jokes and stories. It feels as if we’ve all known one another for years rather than days. Something about long hours in the saddle and the remote wilderness, difficulties shared and overcome, amplifies the short time we’ve spent together. We’re all looking forward to the last day of riding, but dreading the moment when our trip and time together will come to an end.
We set off after breakfast and meet a light mid-morning rain. Donning our dusters, we watch the mist drift through the valley, clouds moving below us. Before we begin our descent into Aspen, the clouds part and the rain clears, revealing the cut paths of the distant ski slopes bathed in sunlight. Towards the end of our ride, the trail winds past stately homes and ritzy neighborhoods, a stark contrast to our accommodations over the last few days, and we pass hikers and bikers on the trail who don’t look like they’ve endured anything near what we just have.
The descent into Aspen
At the trailhead, the horses are loaded into trailers and people into the van for the 2+ hour drive back to the stables where we will say our final farewells. The ride is quiet, everyone processing the adventure, reminiscing already, and although our bodies are still together, our minds are all focusing on the next thing. At the stable, it’s as if the spell has broken, everyone is sorry to see one another go, swapping contact information and promising to keep in touch, maybe even come back again for another go on this particular whirlwind adventure.
What to Pack for your Egyptian Horseback Adventure
Part of the appeal of traveling to Egypt is the sunshine and warm weather. Rain gear and winter wear are not something you will need on this trip! Here are a few packing suggestions before you begin your journey.
Packing List for Egypt
Riding boots - tall boots or paddock boots with half chaps are recommended. You will be riding English, so calf protection is helpful, rather than just riding in short boots.
Helmet - you can bring your own or one can be provided for you.
Lightweight socks
Sun shirts - riding shirts that protect from UV rays, especially for longer rides.
Gloves are optional but can be helpful.
Scarf to protect from sun and cover shoulders (if exposed) when visiting historic or religious sites.
Sun hat
For the ladies – sports bras
Riding breeches - 2-3 pairs
Comfortable walking shoes (you will sometimes be visiting sites in your riding boots, so wear boots you can also walk in)
Casual clothes for sightseeing - remember that this is a Muslim country and traditionally conservative, and it is respectful to dress accordingly. No bra straps, bare midriffs, short shorts, etc.
Swim suit
Sunscreen
Chapstick with UV protection
Sunglasses
Band aids, moleskin, and/or second skin plasters for blisters or chaffing
Ear plugs - the call to prayer begins at approximately 4am. If you don’t want to be woken up, plan accordingly.
Our Egyptian rides benefit a horse rescue, and horse supplies can be hard to come by in Egypt. If you would like to donate supplies, reach out before your trip to learn what could be useful, and your gear donations are much appreciated!
Making a difference in Egypt, one horse at a time. Annmarie and Ganun rescue horses from abuse and neglect, rehabilitating them to rehome or use for their horse tours and trails.
There's an immensity to desert landscapes that cannot be understood without experiencing it. Without trees, people, horses, camels, or vehicles for scale, it’s hard to know just how far it is to the rocks in the distance. Every day the sky is endless blue, the rocks hues of tan, red, orange, and brown that change throughout the day in the shifting light. Deep purples and dark blues lounge in the shade, the occasional sprig of green springs peeking out of the tracks where occasional rainwater trickles down the rocks. The valley floor is carpeted in soft green grass, dotted with miniscule purple wildflowers after a wet winter (by desert standards). Dust devils and the distant outlines of meandering camels are the only things that move except our horses and the light breeze.
The horses arriving in style.
We arrive at Captain’s Camp at dusk, so the next morning grants us the first true glimpse of the otherworldly landscape of rust-colored rocks and gold-tinged sand. The horses arrive in vividly-painted open trucks, saddled and ready to go. We mount up and begin our journey into the desert, past a 10km camel racing track.
Emmanuelle, our host and guide, could pass as a Bedouin, if not for her blond hair and French accent. She is as at home in this desert, which she knows like the back of her hand from 30+ years of wandering amid the valleys and rocks on horseback as she is in the French Alps she hails from. She’s fluent in Arabic, on a first name basis with every Bedouin within a several hundred mile radius, and knows this land inside and out. Umsara, the Bedouin call her, “mother of Sarah.” In Bedouin tradition, men are called after their firstborn, so Sameeh, Ahmet, Marmood, Mutlak, and the whole Bedouin crew have bestowed her with this sobriquet, which they use both as a term of endearment and to tease her. Each day we ride back into camp, we are greeted by a chorus of umsaras.
She, Sameeh, and Ahmet take turns guiding the rides and caring for the horses. They have a seamless rhythm together like a well-oiled machine, having run these rides together for well over a decade. They know each horse like their children, taking care to assign each accordingly with the right rider.
Soft sand makes for great gallops.
The landscape of Wadi Rum is a cross between Southern Utah and Mars. The resemblance to our neighboring planet is so much so that Matt Damon's movie The Martian was filmed here, which inspired a pox of bubble-dome accommodations now found in nearly every camp we ride past. The premise of the bubble in the movie was that it provided an airtight, secluded living space protected from the environment, which is essentially what it does here, offering a climate-controlled panoramic view of the desert without having to actually set foot in the heat and dust. With their wide windows all facing the same direction, they look like rows of giant astronaut helmets. What began as a gimmick, a unique accommodation, has become the norm, slowly becoming more prevalent than the more traditional Bedouin tents.
Desert bubbles
Each day we ride to different camps, passing through canyons and stopping at distinctive landmarks in the natural rock. We picnic at camps along the way, or tucked into the nook of a box canyon, where the camp crew meet us with lunch. We tether the horses in the shade and take a nap in the cool canyon while the heat of the day passes overhead, the only sounds the occasional murmur of the horses and the lilt of Emmanuelle and the guys joking in Arabic as they sit drinking tea.
The accommodations get more rustic as we ride further into the desert. All the Bedouin camps offer a taste of the traditional, with fabric tents, but have indoor plumbing and comfortable beds. Our last camp is by far the most rustic but feels the most genuine. Four modest tent rooms sleep two apiece with a panoramic view towards the open desert where the horses are tethered. We lounge in the heat of the day and take our meals on a carpet and pillows beneath a fabric canopy adorned with bits of Bedouin flair. Dinner is cooked in a pit, covered with a lid, carpet, and sand. The tea is nonstop. Mutlak, the camp host, clad in a red scarf turban and white galabaya, says it keeps the Bedouin thin - they eat rich foot to keep their energy up in the hot, dry desert environment, but the tea keeps them from getting fat. Where the logic lies on this one is a mystery to me, as I watch him heap sugar into the teapot. We spend two nights in a his camp, listening as he regales us with his version of Bedouin history and tells us of his love for camel racing. We eat sitting on the ground because the Bedouin say it brings us closer to the desert.
We watch the full moon rise over the rocks above camp, and lose count of the stars as they appear overhead. There’s a strength in the friendships that form in the far corners of the world, removed from all that feels familiar, and by the time our week in the desert comes to a close it feels as if we’ve known one another for years. We part ways with promises to return again and to visit one another, knowing that may or may not happen but it doesn’t matter. We will always have the memories of our shared time here in this otherworldly landscape.
I rise before dawn to arrive at the gates to Jordan’s Lost City before 6am. Horses are only allowed into the historic site before 7:30, so we have to get in early and get out. Even so, it's more complicated than that. Permission is only granted to certain guides on certain days, and never guaranteed. Though we got permission yesterday, there are still hoops to jump through. I wait in line at the ticket office, even though I have a Jordan Pass, I need a physical ticket, but the ticket man is still asleep when he is supposed to open the window at 6. Sameeh, my guide, wakes him up, but this upsets him so he decides not to open the ticket window until 6:30 out of spite, even though there are now a couple dozen visitors waiting. Instead we go to the gate itself, where Sameeh shows the attendant my Jordan Pass. The attendant shakes his head; he can't let us in without the ticket. All of this transpires in Arabic, but I get the gist. Sameeh persists, and the gate attendant continues to shake his head, but I can see a small starting to play at the corner of his lips and I know Sameeh has won him over. Sameeh knows it too, but knows it's the attendant’s job to put on a show of not making an exception for us, so Sameeh lets him think he's putting up a good fight. Finally he waves us through. We are Petra’s first visitors today, and the horses are waiting.
I ride a chestnut stallion named Sultan who is still half-asleep. The path into Petra, paved in recent years, is steep and a little slippery for the shod horses so we take it nice and slow. We are still a step ahead of even the earliest tourists but a few ambitious visitors are trickling in behind us, everyone trying to be the first to arrive, to see the dawn sunlight descend over the façade of the Treasury, and to get the perfect photo without anyone in it. As we descend deeper into the canyon, the walls on either side close in, narrowing above our heads. The horses’ hoofbeats on the pavement and Sameeh’s soft singing echo back at us. Signs of the ancient inhabitants start to become visible; steps carved into the sandstone, then images, then caves, hollowed out into geometric rooms in the rocks. The pathway between the cliffs is a natural main street lined with small canals, carved into the stone to bring water into the city from stone dams, built to catch the rainfall that trickles down the red rocks.
Sameeh and I rocking the Indiana Jones look as we ride in his footsteps
We round a final corner and emerge in front of the Khazneh - the Treasury - ancient monument to a long-forgotten king. The red sandstone seems to glow from within, although the morning sun barely enters the deep canyon. We share the moment only with a handful of early-rising tourists and local Bedouin vendors setting up their wares to sell. The ancient Nabataean city is at the heart of a labyrinth of gorges and passageways, nestled deep in the mountains of the Jordanian desert. We are walking in the footsteps of the ancients; first the Nabataeans, then the Romans, whose influence and architecture is reflected alongside that of the Byzantine, Christians, and later Muslims who ruled the Arabian peninsula. Petra was lost to the Western world for many years, inhabited by the Bedouin tribes of the desert, until a Swiss traveler stumbled upon it in 1812. The Bedouins were removed to the local town of Wadi Musa, but among them they still know whose families occupied which homes and caves and still think of this as their ancestral home.
Architectural styles from different empires across the ages mark the facades of multi-colored stone, changing color as the sun begins to hit it.
We ride along the Siq, the gorge and main road leading from the treasury to the rest of the ancient city, lined with elaborate royal tombs, half-built, half-carved into the stone cliffs. Because we’re on horseback and on a time limit, we can’t stop to hike to the monastery or climb to the High Place of Sacrifice at the top of Jebel Madbah Mountain. Instead, we get the Siq to ourselves, watching the sunlight slowly crawl across the valley that opens up at the end of the gorge. We take the back way out, climbing through the rocky hills and traversing sandy dry riverbeds, passing the occasional Bedouin riding a donkey to work in the ancient city until we weave our way back to the city of Wadi Musa and get the horses ready to depart for Wadi Rum - our next adventure.
The tranquility of Luxor is a welcome relief after the hustle and bustle of Cairo, especially on the West Bank, away from the downtown and touristy areas. The morning call to prayer wakes me just before dawn, when the air is still and cool. From the rooftop terrace of the hotel I can look out over the Nile, watching colorful Dahabiya boats crisscross the blue waters. On the opposite bank, I can see the towers of Luxor Temple, juxtaposed with the Winter Palace, a colonial-era palace now turned 5-star hotel.
Rooftop view
On the street, I’m greeted by the smell of sunbread rising outside mudbruck houses, of meat and beans cooking, diesel, livestock, and burning trash. Niqāb-clad women in twos and threes sit chatting on doorsteps and children wave at us as we ride by. Donkey-carts are an almost-as-popular form of transportation as cars in the narrow, dirt-packed village streets. Colorful streamers left over from Eid celebrations canopy the span between buildings, and colorfully-decorated walls proudly proclaim which households have made the hajj, the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca.
Eid streamers
Further from the Nile, the villages give way to fertile fields full of wheat, sugarcane, bananas, beans, alfalfa, and more I can’t identify. Men work the fields with the help of donkeys and water buffalo, in many areas farming the same way they have here for thousands of years. In ancient times, the Nile flooded annually, believed to be the tears of the goddess Isis, but since the 1902 completion of the Aswan Dam, the waterflow is now controlled and the river remains within its banks.
Annmarie and Astrid feeding carrots
My hosts in Luxor are Annmarie (American) and Ganun (Egyptian), a couple who have made it their mission to rescue and rehabilitate abused horses in Egypt, which are far too common. Their stable is just a block from the banks of the Nile, painted with colorful hieroglyphs, and home to around 20 horses they have rescued so far. Some will be our mounts for the week, others are still being nursed back to health. A combination of Arabians, Baladi, and Arabian-crosses, the horses are enthusiastic and energetic but remarkably calm in the face of motorcycles careering around corners in the narrow streets, donkey carts piled meters high with straw and wheat, and children running and yelling through the streets.
Ancient statues, columns, and remnants of long-gone monuments are scattered throughout the villages and farmland.
We ride from the village to the temples of the West Bank, found at the edge of the fields where farmland meets desert. In ancient times, the floodwaters came all the way to these sites, allowing the Egyptians to unload stone quarried from Aswan and brought down the river. At Habu Temple and Rammseum, I dismount and meet our guide, Mohammed, or “Professor Egypt,” I call him. He’s an Egyptologist, incredibly knowledgeable, and his passion for Egyptian history is almost tangible. Over the course of the week, he will guide us through the sites and history of Luxor, from Karnak and Luxor Temple on the East Bank to Hatshepsut Temple and Valley of the Kings in the west. He speaks as if he knew the ancient kings and queens personally, recounting their lives like gossip. At the tombs, where guides cannot enter, he sends us ahead to “meet the king,” and tells us to “say hello to him for me.”
Columns of Rammeseum
Rammeseum
Each day we ride through different parts of different villages and Ganun tells us about the differing cultures from one village to the next - his village is more focused on tourism, the next one on farming, and the next one prides themselves on their cattle. He points out new archeological sites where a village has been unearthed beneath what used to be a field where he played soccer growing up, until someone discovered an underground chamber full of golden treasures. On a nearby hillside, his grandparents used to live in a village where the homes were built on top of ancient tombs, using the emptied burial chambers as rooms. Once the burial sites were “discovered,” the villagers were forced to move. Everywhere we look, ancient Egypt continues to affect the daily lives of the locals, whether by shaping the landscape where they now live or bring the tourists who now feed their economy.
The late afternoons often find us at the edge where farmland meets the desert, the setting sun casting us in a golden glow from behind the distant mountains, the soft sand perfect for long gallops.
We spend one lovely evening on board a dahabiya, one of the colorful boats found up and down the Nile which act as water taxis, dinner cruises, party boats, and more. We watch the sun set over the slowly rising river - it will reach its high point in just a few weeks before starting to recede again towards the end of summer.
The morning before we all part ways, we take the horses for a swim in the Nile, which is almost at its high point. Dahabiya boats, felucca sailboats, and cruise ships sail by as we ride bareback through the warm water, tall grass tickling our toes. I look forward to my next visit - exploring more ancient wonders in the area and seeing the progress the latest rescues have made.
Swimming in the warm waters of the Nile
To see Egypt is to see the culmination of humanity since the dawn of civilization. It is a land of contrasts; the ancient and the modern, the marvelous and the mystical, the decadent and the despondent. Rich in cultural history, poor in infrastructure, daily life in Egypt is both illuminating and alarming.
Cairo - City of Chaos
My taxi driver from the airport used to be a history teacher, but now he’s studying to be a certified tour guide. Better money, he says, and tourists are more reliable meal tickets than the government. He complains about the current administration continuing to build palaces with money that should be spent on education and healthcare, while simultaneously pointing out with pride the multitude of palaces we pass that have been built throughout the ages by other leaders, dictators, tyrants, and corruption in other forms. Disappointment and frustration with the current state of affairs is still trumped by national pride as we zig zag through Cairo, surrounded by traffic and history. I have found this to be true in Greece and Rome as well – the mentality that everything’s going to pieces, but there is pride in belonging to a culture that dates back to ancient times.
I can’t call Cairo a beautiful city. There are beautiful things in it, and there is a beauty to it, but it isn’t physical. The beauty is in the joy that can be heard on the street, the rhythm of the chaos punctuated with moments of stillness, the music of the call to prayer five times a day, the chorus of all the mosques at once just after sunset.
My tour guide, Amr, tells me that there are so many mosques worldwide that with all the calls to prayer across the different times zones, at any given moment there is always music coming from a mosque somewhere. As he puts it, “the music never leaves the earth.”
Dancing with Death while Driving
Camels are as common on the streets of Cairo as Subarus in suburban USA.
Egyptian traffic is legendary, and driving in Cairo is an adventure in and of itself. The Cairo cab drivers are made of the same mettle as the ancient Egyptian warriors, with nerves of steel as they do battle on the semi-paved roads. I have nearly a full hour from the airport to Giza to experience the free-for-all of cars, trucks, horses, strings of camels ridden by men smoking cigarettes and yelling into cell phones, entire families piled onto motorcycles, tired donkeys ridden by small, barefoot children and crinkly old men in galabayas, and people on foot, so many people on foot. Even though it’s the middle of the night, it’s the eve of Eid, the celebration of the end of Ramadan, and everyone is out (although I will come to learn that this is the norm, not the exception, as Cairo never sleeps). Traffic lanes, where they exist, are purely decorative. A whole, inscrutable language is spoken with the beeping of horns as we careen between cars. A city of nearly 30 million people, and there are hardly any traffic lights. Every intersection is first-come, first-served, every roundabout enter-at-your-own-risk, every pedestrian crossing a high stakes game of Frogger.
Unfinished Projects
By daylight the next morning, I get my first real glimpse of the city. A slight sepia tone colors the city and landscape, a potent combination of desert dust, city smog, and humidity from the Nile delta. Everything is the soft colors of the desert, variations of beige, brown, tan, punctuated by the bright colors of women’s outfits adorned with colorful niqābs (headscarves), shopfront advertising, street vendors, and brightly-painted trucks and carriages. Many buildings appear to be crumbling, the leftover bricks lying by the roadsides, remnants of unfinished projects. After spending thousands of years building monuments that might outlive humanity itself, it’s as if Egypt has spent the last century starting projects without completing them. Forests of skyscrapers across the city are skeletons of brick and concrete with rebar columns stretching to the sky like antennae and gaping holes where windows should be, sitting empty and abandoned indefinitely. Some buildings are finished on the lower levels, inhabited even, but families continue building as they can afford to, one floor at a time. Even the new Grand Egyptian Museum, three decades in the making to become the biggest museum in the world, was supposed to open in 2016 and has been delayed over and over again.
The Great Pyramids on Horseback
West of Cairo on the west bank of the Nile, where lush green crops give way to dry desert, crumbling pyramids, temples, and monuments dot the landscape. Once nearly reclaimed by the desert sand, these monuments have been heavily explored, excavated, and exploited over the last 150 years to become Egypt’s most iconic symbols and most visited sites.
We first glimpse the pyramids through the front gates, but they take the long way around to approach them across the desert.
First, we once again brave the Cairo traffic to drive from our hotel to the front gates of the Great Pyramids. We elbow our way through the gates following our turbaned and galabaya-clad guide and meet our horses on the inside, all Arabian stallions. Once we are inside the gates, we take the long way around so there is nothing between us and the pyramids except open desert, and as soon as we hit the sand the horses break into a gallop, racing each other across the expanse until we reach an overlook that gives us a magnificent view of the pyramids with the cityscape stretching forever behind them.
I’m not competitive or anything…
After visiting the pyramids on horseback, I can’t imagine seeing them any other way. Nothing truly gives them scale like seeing them up close and then far away, covering the distance between with spirited gallops on a fiery Arabian stallion, dodging camels, carts, and tourists, manes full of wind as we gallop across the sand. From afar, the pyramids can be viewed as they were meant to be – stark, pristine monuments against the vast, empty sandscape. Up close, they reflect Cairo itself – crumbling, crowded, littered with trash, surrounded with busloads of tourists from around the world, stray dogs, skinny carthorses, bored camels, and hawkers trying to sell everything from souvenirs to home-brewed teas and concoctions in recycled plastic bottles.
Posing like a superstar in front of the pyramids
Our riding guide takes pride in the horses, who belong to his family, all Arabian stallions. The horses appear to be well-fed and well-loved, they know their job and do it well. They know exactly which stretches of sand are for galloping and which viewpoints are for posing for photos, which mine does with style and grace, ears pricked. Jittery and excited when he knows we’re about to take off, he settles immediately when we near the pyramids themselves and the crowds, nimbly navigating through throngs of people. He doesn’t even flinch when a bus honks at us, and doesn’t bat an eye when we are passed by a string of cantering camels. Nearly all the horses I see with riders, pulling carts, or tied up on the side of the road are male, all intact, no mares to be seen whatsoever. We see many who are so skinny it makes my heart ache, ridden with harsh bits or chains across the nose, showing scars that speak of an unspeakably hard life. The donkeys are in even worse shape. The camels seem to fare better, but perhaps they are just hardier.
After spending the morning on horseback, we return later to visit the pyramids on foot, but now instead of having the vantage point of being on horseback, we’re in the midst of the crowd. Languages from around the world drift by in snippets on the wind as I jostle for position to take the same picture of the Sphynx as hundreds, maybe thousands, of other people just today. The Sphynx doesn’t seem to mind, gazing regally out towards the city, which is never-ending to the east. Behind the pyramids to the west lies only desert.
Crawling through tiny tunnels into the belly of the pyramid
Inside Djoser Pyramid
Leaving the crowds behind, we visit the Red Pyramid and the Pyramid of Djoser, a 6-tiered step pyramid built in the 27th century B.C. by Pharaoh Djoser, who pioneered the tradition of building these monumental royal tombs. More than a dozen pyramids in varying stages of crumble and decay span the distance from here to the more famous Great Pyramids of Giza, built a century later. We climb a rickety staircase to a narrow tunnel down into the depths of the Djoser Pyramid, then up again into the central chamber. The still air inside is hot and stifling, but we have the luxury of an air-conditioned vehicle and cold water bottles upon our exit. Imagining the ancient workers who built these colossal structures with neither modern luxuries nor modern tools and technology is a testament to human strength and ingenuity, and the lengths rulers will go to in order to be preserved, both in memory and in body, in the case of the mummified monarchs of ancient Egypt. The tunnels and chambers are lined with carved hieroglyphs, narrating the lives and legends of the pharaohs and leaving them instructions for their passage into the next life, which begins at the nearby ancient necropolis of Saqqara.
The Egyptian Museum in Cairo the next afternoon provides a more detailed context for the monuments we visited, devoid of life and emptied of their ancient treasures. The museum brings ancient Egypt to life, full of imposing statues, elaborate sarcophagi, and glittering treasures.
Many of these riches weren’t found in Cairo or Giza, but rather in Luxor…my next stop.
Silhouette of the pyramids from the rooftop restaurant of the hotel
Tamlyn Whitebread is the owner and face of the Horse Safari Company in South Africa, operating horseback wildlife safaris on private game reserves in the greater Kruger area.
Maybe you and your partner are both avid riders or maybe your significant other only joins you on horseback reluctantly. Maybe your horse IS your significant other! Whichever way you fall, we have rides for you - from cozy couples trips to beginner-friendly rides to adventures where you can bring your own beloved horse.
What to Pack for your Icelandic Horseback Trek
You should be ready for all kinds of weather as the weather can change very quickly. The range can extend from warm and sunny summer days (most likely in July and August) to rain and wind up to gale and even snow at the end of the season.
Heavy-duty rain gear, water bottle, lunchbox, and riding helmets will be provided for you. Here is what you should bring with you:
Packing List for Iceland
Knee high riding boots - preferably rubber, because of the rivers we cross. See below for disinfection information.
Warm jacket or overcoat
Warm (wool or fleece) sweater
Layers - tops that can be worn together or separately, depending on weather
Warm socks
Gloves - used leather riding gloves are not allowed into Iceland, so they must be new or a washable material
Scarf and a cap or hat
Buff or headband for underneath your helmet
Long underwear (also protects against chafing)
For the ladies – sports bras
Riding breeches - 2-3 pairs (ideally one fleece-lined or warm)
House slippers to wear in the accommodation (Icelanders take off their shoes when entering a house)
Swim suit
Sunscreen
Chapstick with UV protection
Sunglasses
Band aids, moleskin, and/or second skin plasters for blisters or chaffing
Bug head net
Trail snacks
Ear plugs
Sleeping mask - there may be up to 21 hours of daylight, depending on the time of year.
How to Disinfect your Riding Gear to Travel to Iceland
Riding gear (riding boots, riding breeches, jackets, hats, etc.) needs to be washed (40°C/104°F) or dry cleaned. Used riding clothes and boots that cannot be placed in a washing machine or dry cleaned should be washed and disinfected as follows:
Rinse thoroughly with detergent
Dry
Spray with disinfectant or bleach solution
Store for at least 5 days prior to bringing the clothes into contact with horses in Iceland
Saddles, bridles and other used leather gear may not be brought into the country, as well as used riding gloves. Please understand that these precautions are necessary because there are no contagious animal diseases in Iceland. Horses are not vaccinated and are therefore susceptible to infectious agents from abroad.
The Icelandic Language
Icelandic is a Germanic language and is closely related to Norwegian and Faroese. Icelandic is more distantly related to German, Dutch, and English, with many cognate words - words which are derived from a common root and have similar meanings.
Most Icelandic speakers—about 330,000—live in Iceland. More than 8,000 Icelandic speakers live in Denmark. The language is also spoken by about 5,000 people in the United States and by more than 1,400 people in Canada, and a handful sprinkled in other countries. English is taught in Icelandic schools from a young age.
Pronounciation
The Icelandic alphabet has kept two old letters which no longer exist in the English alphabet: Þ, þ (þorn, modern English "thorn") and Ð, ð (eð, anglicised as "eth" or "edh"), representing the voiceless and voiced "th" sounds (as in English "thin" and "this"), respectively. Below is a guide to pronunciation.
Pronounciation Guide
A - “a” in father
E - “e” in bed
I - “i” in little
Y - “e” in piano
U - "ü" in German für or "u" in French tu
Æ - eye
ö - "ö" in German höher or "eu" in French neuf
Ð - “th” in weather (voiced th)
Þ - “th” in this (unvoiced th)
Words & Greetings
Já (y-ow) - Yes
Nei (ney) - No
Takk (tah-k) - Thank you
Takk fyrir - Thank you very much
þú ert velkominn/Gerðu svo vel - You’re welcome
Vinsamlegast/Takk - Please
Fyrirgefðu (fih-<r>-ih-<r>-gef-thu) - Excuse me
Hæ/ Halló (Hi/ Hah-low) - Hello
Góðan daginn (go-thah-n die-in) - Good morning
Bless - Goodbye
Gaman að kynnast þér - Nice to meet you
Ég heiti (ye-gh hey-tee) - My name is
Hvað heitir þú? - What is your name?
Vernig hefur þú það? - How are you?
Góður/Góð (male/fem) - Good
Vondur/Vond (male/fem) - Bad
Hvor er …? (Kva-<r> e<r> - Where is …?
Klósett (k-low-seht) - Bathroom
Strætisvagn - Bus
Umferðarmiðstöð - Bus station
Flugvöllur - Airport
Brottför - Departure
Koma - Arrival
Hótel - Hotel
Herbergi - Room
Bókun - Booking/Reservation
Miða - Ticket
Hvað kostar þetta (kve<r>-su mih-kith coh-stah-<r> theh-tah) - How much does this cost?
Takið þið við krítarkortum? - Do you accept cards?
vitunn (kv-ih-tuhn) - Receipt
Opið - Open
Lokað - Closed
Numbers
1 - Einn
2 - Tveir
3 - Þrír
4 - Fjórir
5 - Fimm
6 - Sex
7 - Sjö
8 - Atta
9 - Níu
10 - Tíu
0 - Núll
An orchestra of a thousand hoof beats rings out across the black sand. The arctic wind plays the violin, the distant crashing waves the bass. The melody reaches a crescendo each time the horses plunge through the frigid water, splashing and thundering, and then plays pianissimo when we re-emerge onto the sand, hooves pitter-pattering as if on tip-toe.
To our left, the backdrop curtain - emerald green growing up the steep sides of ancient volcanoes, darkening clouds building behind them. To our right, a vast expanse of open beach. The tide is out, leaving pools and rivulets of water dark as ink and mud like wet cement. The rest is sand, black from volcanic ash, churned by the hundred horses in front of us.
Stori-Kalfalækur Farm, our home for the week
We are on the home stretch, the last day of a 6-day horseback trek around Iceland’s Snæfellsnes Peninsula. 20 riders from all over the world come together here, staying on a quaint family farm where we begin as strangers and leave as friends.
From the farm we’ve ridden up into the mountains, through the lava fields, across estuaries, and we now return along the beach. There are 25 of us - 20 guests and 5 Icelandic guides and horsemen, and 90-100 horses. The horses who aren’t under saddle at any given time run in a loose herd with the guides at the front and our group of riders bringing up the rear, herding them along.
Each day we cover 15-20 miles, and each night the herd sleeps in a farmer’s field somewhere and we return to the farmhouse, the family home of Siggi and Olafe. We swap horses when we stop for lunch each day - sandwiches we pack each morning, eaten sitting on the ground, while the horses graze until it’s time to saddle up again.
The tack here takes some getting used to - not the saddles themselves, which are similar to Dressage saddles and more or less as comfortable. Each rider has a saddle for the week, which we move to each horse as we draw them. We ride without any kind of saddle pads, which seems like it should be problematic with the amount of mud and sand that inevitably gets caked on the saddles and girths. Yet none of the horses seem to show any discomfort, and none have sores or scars from ill-fitting tack. They ride with cruppers to prevent tack from slipping forward, and the rule of thumb is, if you can mount from the ground without moving your saddle, it’s tight enough.
Manes for days
Each horse has a snaffle bridle, which is used to catch it, and then a noseband which fits over. This is assigned to each rider with their saddle, and heaven forbid you lose your noseband. This is the number one rule for the week - keep track of your noseband! No one has yet discovered what the consequence is for failing to do so.
The horses are no more bothered by the tack as by the treacherous terrain - uneven ground of lava formations and round, grassy hummocks and hillocks. Even the fields that look flat are anything but. The horses just tölt right over it like it’s nothing, hooves clattering in unison as we rumble right along.
The tölt is unique to the Icelandic horse - a unique four-beat lateral gait that the breed is best known for. It is similar to a running walk, with the horse's hind legs moving under the body to carry more of the weight, allowing the front to rise and be free and fluid. The knees come up high to go over the uneven ground, which is how the breed developed this gait in the first place. The Icelandic horse has a gene mutation which synchronizes the left and right sides of the horse’s body, which allows gaited breeds to do what they do.
Some horses tölt easily and some would rather trot or pace, which is far less comfortable. A horse comfortably tölting along feels like driving on the rumble strips on the edge of the road, and is sure to bring a smile, maybe even a giggle.
All smiles and sunshine on Day 1
Smiles were as bright as the sunshine on our first day, as we shed layers along with preconceptions of what the ride might entail. The first ride is an ice-breaker, between guests and between rider and horse, as we learn what the Icelandic horse is all about. Some of our riders have ridden Icelandics before, here in Iceland or elsewhere, but that never makes the first ride here any less exciting.
As the landscape becomes more dramatic over the course of the week, so does the weather. Moody fog swirls and dark clouds hover ominously in the distance. Kitted out in borrowed rain gear, we look like orange traffic cones, and when we stop for lunch in the rain we huddle like penguins.
Matching traffic-cone-orange rain ponchos
Trailing the herd across the estuary in the rain feels like we are herding them right out to sea. Chest-deep water, despite the low tide, seeps into our boots and splashes every which way, and the fog has obscured the coastline completely. Our guides deftly navigate the sand bars to keep us where the horses’ hooves can at least touch the bottom - we are literally riding along the bottom of the ocean, and between the splashing and the rain, we might as well be actually riding under water. To afraid to take out phones and cameras, most of the day’s ride goes undocumented - each and every one of us is fully present in the moment. Chilly and wet though we may be, the experience of riding the horses into the sea is mesmerizing, leaving us in wonder and amazement.
Our stops and lunch break find most of us soaked and shivering, a little apprehensive about the miles we have still to go, but the hardship of the cold creates the kinds of travel bonds that will long outlast the trip. Riders share snacks, layers, and words of encouragement, huddled together against the wind.
The quintessential Icelandic cowboy/farmer/guide
Later, in dry layers (with wet clothing hanging from every possible surface of the farmhouse), we eat lamb stew and sing along with our guides in English, Icelandic, and German, voices united in joy at having survived to ride another day.
By the final day, the sun has reemerged, and the beach and bay we traveled across in the fog is now revealed to us. The water isn’t as deep - the rivers running into the estuary have receded, and subsequently so has the tide. Snæfellsjökull Glacier glistens atop the distant peaks, the sea glitters, and the soft sand sets the stage for the music of a thousand hooves, a melody to be remembered and replayed, perhaps repeated - though the tune is never quite the same twice, for each trek is exceptional and unique in its own way, enriched by the flavors of each rider, each group, and each and every incredible moment in time aboard these marvelous horses.
How to Survive and What to Expect on an Icelandic Horse Trek
What to Pack and How to Prepare
You’ve booked a trip to the Land of Fire and Ice. You’re beyond excited to cuddle cute, fuzzy horses and learn how to tölt. Here are a few packing pointers and recommendations and some general advice on what to expect when you arrive for your riding adventure.
Packing
Pack Layers
The weather in Iceland can vary wildly and change rapidly. Layers are key - layers that can be put together, interchanged, and added or swapped easily. Long underwear is important - silk long underwear is warm and easy to pack, and polar fleece is extra warm (maybe too warm).
Wool
Wool is very traditional in Iceland, and for good reason. Your guides will probably all be wearing Icelandic sweaters - not because they’re gimmicky, but because they’re warm! Wool socks will keep your feet warm (even if they get a little wet) and wool underwear can be great for preventing chaffing.
Rain Gear
You can buy that cute raincoat you saw on some influencer on the internet, and look cute while you’re wet and cold, or you can use the rain gear provided and look like an orange traffic cone, but you will be dry. If you’re bringing your own rain gear, test it beforehand. Wear it in a cold shower, then go outside and run through the sprinkler - because sometimes the rain doesn’t just pour down, it splashes up. Sometimes it even comes in side ways, so have someone spray you with a garden hose for good measure. If you’re still dry, your gear is good to go, but even so, if you use the gear provided, you don’t have to worry about packing your wet, muddy gear to bring back home.
Make sure the hood of your raincoat fits over your riding helmet, otherwise the rain trickles down your neck and gets underneath your layers!
Long rain jackets/dusters are not recommended - they can flap around in the wind and spook the horses.
I have a rain jacket I love from Outback Trading - cute AND waterproof.
Disinfected Riding Gear
Icelandic horses have no contagious diseases, and are thus very susceptible to diseases carried by horses in other places around the world. Any gear you have previously used on or around other horses needs to be thoroughly cleaned and disinfected before bringing it into the country - this includes helmets, boots, chaps, etc. Especially leather goods. Used tack and riding gloves are not allowed.
Riding Breeches
You don’t need a new set of riding pants for every day, but if you bring 2-3 pairs that are different weights, you will have different options for different weather.
Riding Boots
Depending on where you’re riding, you may or may not need waterproof boots. There are a ton of boots on the market that say they’re waterproof, but if they aren’t rubber or Gore-Tex or if they have any kind of zippers, they are not 100% waterproof. Sometimes your hosts will have boots you can borrow, but ask before you go. Otherwise, fully rubber boots are a great option - Ovation makes some great lined rubber riding boots. You can also get rubber covers for your regular riding boots if you’re just going to be going through mud and not actually riding through deep water. Consult your trip itinerary to be sure.
Riding Gloves
Warm and watertight gloves are important, especially for cold weather. You are not allowed to bring used riding gloves into the country, in order to protect the Icelandic horses from diseases and contamination. However, if caught in the rain, it is almost impossible to keep your hands completely dry, unless you’re wearing dish gloves, so bring an extra pair just in case.
Swimsuit
You will definitely want to take advantage of Iceland’s hot pots for a hot soak after a long day in the saddle, so bring a swim suit! You are ALWAYS expected to shower, completely naked, before entering any pool or hot pot, which makes sense if you think about it. It’s considered very rude and unhygienic not to.
Slippers
It is expected to take off your shoes when entering an Icelandic home, but this doesn’t mean the floors will be warm. House slippers are a great way to keep your feet warm, keep the floors clean, and show respect when indoors at the guesthouse.
Sleeping Mask
During the summer in Iceland, daylight lasts up to 21 hours per day, and even at midnight it’s more of a twilight than true darkness. The Icelanders soak up every minute of daylight they can, while they can, so rooms are often not equipped with curtains that fully block out the light. If the light will keep you awake, bring a sleeping mask. If you aren’t used to sleeping with one, start wearing it ahead of time at home so you will be used to it when you arrive, and can be well rested for your riding trip.
Ear Plugs
You might be rooming with others during your ride, and they might snore. Come prepared.
Bug Net
There’s nothing worse than riding into a swarm of bugs on horseback and getting them in your eyes, ears, mouth, or nose. The easiest solution to this problem is a bug net, which fits over your riding helmet and keeps the bugs off your face. Some regions of Iceland are worse for bugs than others, especially in the north. The net packs down super small and takes up next to no space in your suitcase.
Neck Buff
A neck buff is a great accessory, as it can be used to keep your ears warm, or your face, or your neck, or any combination, and fits nicely under your riding helmet without much bulk.
Seat Cover
You can expect long hours in the saddle, and a padded seat cover is a great way to ensure better comfort. Wool seat covers provide perhaps the best cushion, but if it’s raining, they get soggy. Gel seat covers are another option.
Laundry Line
If it rains, or you ride on the beach, it’s quite possible you’ll get wet while riding, even with rain gear. You might have limited counter space to hang things up to dry in your room, so a portable laundry line you can hang wet gear on can be super helpful. If you bring some detergent to wash out those socks that got soaked while riding before you hang them up, it will also help to not stink up your room.
Snacks
While the dinners are delicious, breakfast and lunch are pretty basic. Breakfasts consists of porridge (runny oatmeal), toast and some spreads and jams, ham, salami, cheese, and apples. These are also the ingredients from which you’ll make your lunch to take on the trail - sandwiches and an apple. If you’re lucky there might be pesto for the sammies. Bring your own snacks to munch on between meals - bars, trail mix, and fruit snacks are great - and packets of any kind of peanut, almond, or nut butter, mustard or mayo you might want on your sandwich to spice it up.
Chocolate is a great energy boost on the trail!
Water Bottle
You will most likely be provided with a water bottle, but you should bring one just in case. That way, with one on each side of your saddle bags, they will stay better balanced. Plus, staying hydrated will help keep your energy up and boost your immune system.
Moleskin and Monkey Butt
Blisters, whether on your feet or…elsewhere…can make a trip uncomfortable and unpleasant. Moleskin is great for blisters, and Monkey Butt powder or similar products are great for preventing chaffing.
What to Expect
The Icelandic Cowboy
The Icelandic demeanor is very stoic, and your guides may come across as very serious, even aloof, when you meet them. But make no mistake, they are enjoying themselves, it just isn’t written on their faces. But get them singing and you will find that beneath their Viking exteriors, they’re bards at heart.
You have to understand that most horseback guides in Iceland are farmers first (usually), horsemen second, and guides third. Their job is to get you from one place to the next, not to cater to your every need. You may be a guest here, but there is an expectation that to a certain degree, you will take care of yourself and your needs.
Icelandic is Impossible
Icelandic is supposedly one of the hardest languages on Earth to learn - between sounds that don’t exist in other languages and a grammatical structure that makes linguists cringe, it isn’t an easy language, but your hosts will LOVE IT if you make the effort to learn a few Useful Words and Phrases in Icelandic, even if you completely butcher them.
Choosing Your Saddle
You will have the same saddle for the whole trek, so choose wisely. Poke the seat to see how soft it is and look at the condition of the leather. Newer saddles tend to be less hardened by use, so look for saddles with bigger knee rolls and less wear on the stitching lines. Seat covers are a great way to make any saddle more comfortable as well (see above).
Leave your Pride (and privacy) at Home
Often on the trail, when the group stops for breaks, there are no trees, no rocks, and no kind of privacy whatsoever for going to the bathroom. Everyone does their best to look away, but occasionally mooning one another is inevitable. Think you can just hold it? Not on a tölting Icelandic horse you can’t. Think you can just avoid drinking water so you won’t have to go? Dehydration isn’t worth it. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go, and you’ll feel so much better once you do!
Leave No Trace
Speaking of going to the plein-air bathroom, if you require toilet paper, please pack it out with you. We come to these beautiful, pristine places because they are just that, pristine. If you leave your TP in the wilderness, imagine what it would look like if everyone did it. Pack a sandwich bag to pack out your TP, and keep some hand sanitizer in your saddle bags for washing up.
Bring Your Sense of Adventure…and Sense of Humor
A horseback trek in Iceland is no luxury vacation and it’s not for the faint of heart - you have to remember that it’s an adventure, after all, and that even when the going gets tough, you’ll be a better rider for it, with better stories to tell!
What to expect and how to prepare for your first foxhunting experience with your horse. Whether joining a live or a drag hunt, there are factors to consider such as tack and turnout, fitness and conditioning, and training which can be helpful before you find yourself in the hunt field.
Bringing your own horse on a trip is a unique and exciting way to travel, discover new places with your equine partner, and create new experiences for both horse and rider. Read through these Guidelines to understand what is expected of both horse and rider on a trip, and to ensure your horse meets the guest horse requirements.
There is so much to see and do in Iceland - why not add a few days of sightseeing to your riding holiday, and see sights you can’t visit on horseback? Experience the full magic of the Land of Fire and Ice.
The pitter-patter of 1,000 hoofbeats are muffled by the vast, vibrant landscape. From black sand beaches, you catch glimpses of distant glaciers, towering cliffs where birds swoop and dive, and glittering waterfalls running miles down mountain sides. Small, red-roofed farms dot the seam where the plain ends and the cliffs begin, rivulets gushing down the cliff sides like tears on many craggy cheeks. The landscape passes almost too fast to catch it all; the horses and the path in front of us absorb so much of our attention that each time we remember to look up and look around, we see a whole new landscape. It changes before our eyes as we seem to fly across it, a cloud of dust drifting in our wake into the cloudless blue sky.
There is no better way to see this rugged, ethereal terrain than from the saddle, mounted on a marvelous Icelandic horse whose surefootedness carries us across rivers, through lava fields, over mountains, up and down valleys, and along stretches of dark coast.
The Icelandic Horse
Though they are small, don’t let the Icelanders hear you call them ponies – they take great pride in their horses, who to them, are as large and as mighty as the best of them.
The circumstances of the Icelandic horse are as unique as the breed itself, which is the only breed of horse to inhabit the whole of Iceland. Since arriving with Norse settlers over 1,000 years ago, the Icelandic breed has been isolated on the island – no other horses may be imported, and Icelandic horses who leave may never return. The purity of the breed keeps these horses free of diseases and exceptionally healthy – the average lifespan of an Icelandic horse is 40 years! They are incredibly well-adapted to the harsh climate, treacherous footing, and high winds.
There are no colors the Icelandic horse doesn’t come in – throughout my trip, nearly every time I passed a field full of horses, there was at least one in a color I hadn’t seen yet. Known for their luscious manes and tails, their locks blowing in the wind often hold many colors at once.
Riding Icelandic Horses
Icelandic horses are short in stature, gentle in nature, nimble, hardy, and just a dream to ride. They are the only breed of horse to have five gaits – they can walk, trot, and canter, but the gait we ride the most is the tölt, a four-beat lateral gait, exceptionally smooth and easy to ride, at which the horse can reach speeds of up to 20 miles per hour (32 kilometers per hour). This is how the Icelandic horse covers so much ground – they move along comfortably in this gait, not slowing down to go up or down hills, over rocks, or through uneven terrain. Finally, the skeið, or flying pace, is a two-beat lateral gait that can reach up to 30 miles per hour (48 kilometers per hour) and truly feels like flying.
Each day we changed horses at least once, giving all the riders the opportunity to try out various horses. The guide would hand me a horse and tell me his name - something I completely couldn’t pronounce. The first day, I called my horse Steve, but the next day, I got another horse whose name I couldn’t pronounce either. I called them all Steve - Rasta Steve (one of my favorites) had one huge dreadlock in his tail, Sumo Steve was very rotund but full of fire, Mocha Steve was a dark grullo/bay, with gray streaks in his black mane. We all liked some horses better than others, but none ever really gave us any trouble. None ever spooked, bucked, or bolted – the worst stunt they would pull was to trot instead of tölt, making for a less comfortable but still very tranquil ride.
Special saddles are designed for Icelandic horses. Similar to dressage saddles, they place the rider in a comfortable seat and allow for greater range of motion in the horses’ shoulders’ by sitting quite far back. Every horse rode in a simple snaffle with a noseband over the top – we got a different bridle with each horse but were instructed to keep our highly-prized nosebands with our saddles, something that baffled and amused us throughout the week.
Trekking with a Loose Herd
Over the course of 6 days, we moved around 50-60 horses over 100 miles. Between a dozen riders, a few at the front and the rest at the back, we steered the herd across rivers and lakes, fields and farms, up and down mountains and valleys, and right through the hearts of several small towns.
I spent the duration riding at the front. It was our job not to let any of the horses pass the mounted riders, and every day the same horses would try. Three horses in particular, all black, led by one of our guide Hreinn’s personal horses, a black gelding with a flowing mane, would always find their way to the front and attempt to pass the leaders. We picked up speed, sometimes moving as fast as a flying pace, to stay ahead and keep the horses back until they settled back into the herd. All the horses followed willingly, never wishing to leave the herd, except on one occasion. We were stopping for lunch alongside a river and most riders had already dismounted, when a small band of horses decided to turn around and head for home, despite the fast that we were already two days riding from the farm. Hlynur, the son of our head guide, rode off after them, single-handedly turning the herd around and bringing every single one back.
Some stops were fenced, although I use the word ‘fence’ lightly. A thin string was loosely hung between thin posts, maybe two and a half feet off the ground. We would herd the whole herd into the makeshift paddock, packed like sardines, and never once would any of them give the fence any trouble. This was a testament to the docile nature of these horses.
Land of the Midnight Sun
Leaving the horses in a new place each night, the van would meet us there to return to the guesthouse, where we enjoyed a soak in the hot tub before home-cooked dinners each evening. Mornings consisted of tea and coffee, plain oatmeal and toast for breakfast, and packing our sandwiches into saddle bags for the day’s ride. It was late summer, the sun rising around 7am and setting around 9pm, very similar to home. However, in June and July, the sunlight lasts almost 24 hours in Iceland, which is nearly on the Arctic circle. Known as the Land of the Midnight Sun, in the middle of summer the sun barely dips below the horizon for a few hours at night, but it remains light out all night long.
Although we covered 20-30 miles per day (30-45 kilometers), traveling at tölt speed we only rode 3-5 hours, with several breaks along the way to change horses, gobble snacks, and take in the scenery. The weather was perfect, cloudless blue skies reflected in the alpine lakes surrounding us, with the sun on our faces.
Except for the flies. That, we were not prepared for. The first day we didn’t experience them at all. The second day, we crossed the first river and then they began, at first just a nuisance, and then became a full-blown challenge. Some riders (better prepared than we were, clearly) had face nets over their helmets to protect their faces. I rode with a cloth buff pulled up over my mouth and nose and sunglasses, which helped immensely but didn’t fully prevent them from flying into my eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. One rider used a mesh laundry bag over her head, a highly effective improvised solution. At the end of each day I would blow my nose to find dozens of flies, and I swear I had one in my ear that didn’t come all the way out until after I had returned home. The flies didn’t seem to bother the horses or our Icelandic guides whatsoever, much to our amazement. But, it beat riding at the back of the line where riders had to deal with the flies and all the dust kicked up by the whole herd as we traversed arid sections of desert and dirt trails.
Until Next Time
There is something truly special about the kinds of friendships you make on a trip like this. You share wonder and amazement at the desolate, dreamy landscape, commiserate over sore backsides and flies in your eyes, and bond over stories and laughs at the dinner table. You never know who you might meet on a trip like this - our group consisted of myself and a friend, a mother and two grown daughters from Sweden, one Brit, and several other Americans. The staff were all Icelanders, except the cook, who was German. A few of the riders had been to Iceland before, and all left wanting to come back again someday.
Learn more about our Iceland Riding Trips and join us in the Land of the Midnight Sun!
