Bali: Day 7&8 (or, Thanks for the Lift)

When I was a kid, I went on a trail ride with my mom and was thrown from the horse onto a thorny shrub. I decided then and there that I didn’t like riding things and I’ve always been one to hold a bit of a grudge.

Fast forward a few years to high school, and one of my best friends – Caroline – was obsessed with horses. On a couple of occasions I would join her at the stables and didn’t mind handing out the carrots and apples or taking pictures of her doing her thing, but I still wasn’t interested in hopping on.

Then one day she finally wore me down and I agreed to go on a trail ride. “Everything will be ok!” she promised.

We met with the Horse Guy, explained the situation and he hooked me up with Buttercup, promising I wouldn’t be able to convince her to go much faster than a leisurely stroll even if I really, really tried. Buttercup and I were going to get along.

Now Caroline, she wanted a horse with a bit more spice. Being the experienced rider she was, she eagerly accepted the one the guy said was a bit “feisty”.

The rest of the details are a bit foggy, on account of the 15 or so years since this happened – did she decide to go bare back to show off? Was Gervaise, her French exchange student/our friend there? Was she maybe bareback? I can’t remember clearly.  But I know this for sure:

At some point in the ride, Buttercup and I were happily, lethargically, making our way across the trail, in solidarity and with silent mutual understanding that we would get through this together, when all of a sudden, Caroline and her Crack horse came shooting past us and then disappeared over one of the meandering hills.

“You’re crazy!” I laughed, potentially a little jealous because it probably looked like fun.

Until Crack came back, gunning it. Without Caroline.

“Noooooooooooooo!”

She was surely dead. Her friggin’ mental horse had killed her and fled the scene, like a hit and run, only this would have been a buck and run I guess. At the very least she was injured and lonely and scared, out there in the wilderness. I had visions of vast fields packed tight with thriving, thorny, bushes.

This was a real problem because not only was she my best friend, but she was also my ride to school every day.

“Buttercup! Let’s go! We have to save Caroline!”

I probably didn’t actually talk to the horse, but I have memories of kicking that beast and flapping those reigns like there was no tomorrow. Which of course there wasn’t, because Buttercup was quite happy living in the today. Or maybe even the yesterday. We went nowhere.

“Buttercup! Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!”

But there was no hero in Buttercup. She was exactly who she had promised to be and so we waited; me rather helplessly and in quite a tizzy because I didn’t even really know how to get off Buttercup to find my friend on my own anyway, and her, oblivious to the part she was playing in shaving a few days (weeks?) off my life as a result of the devastating effects acute stress has on the body. She may have even persisted slowly along the trail, motivated by the promise of the snack that she would always get if she did this very thing.

After what was probably only a couple of minutes, (a few terrifying, horrible, I’m-going-to-have-to-walk-to-school-now, horses-are-the-devil minutes), Caroline appeared over the hill (or one of the trail guides went and got her). She was alive and in good spirits, though I wouldn’t be surprised if to this day her leg still showed signs of the giant purple, yellow and black welt that developed; she went to battle and lost.

She *may* have spent quite a lot of time having to calm me down afterwards.

The point was: fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice, shame on me. It was confirmed then and there that I wouldn’t be riding anything, anymore.

This is all relevant because Days 7 & 8 in Bali forced me to re-examine this life choice.

Nisha and I splurged and treated ourselves to two nights at the Elephant Safari Lodge, which provides 5 star accommodation for guests and is also home to about 30 rescued Sumatran elephants. Nisha had never been up close to an elephant before, and I thought it sounded like fun too, so it was an easy choice to book in for a couple of nights.

The hotel was amazing. The room really comfortable and the bathroom enormous. They made elephant towel origami and gave us fruit platters! Dinner was al fresco and duck was one of the buffet options!  We could hear the elephants trumpeting through the night!

Only problem? Our package included an elephant back ride through the park AND an elephant chauffer to dinner. (No shit you guys, the elephants literally swing by your room so you can hop on and they will take you to dinner - they don’t pay, walk you home after or promise to call the next day though).

I downplayed my concerns.

Until it was about time for the first elephant to show up at our door and which point I tried to extract myself from the situation – mentally - and just get on the damn thing.

I told my fear to “stuff it”. And survived. Somehow.

The next day, 15 yr old Ryan picked me up to go for our little safari walk. It didn’t talk long to recognize that he was a little strong willed and always hungry: we were kindred spirits.

At one point though, where there was an unfortunate combination of a slight downward slope and the promise of food ahead that put an extra bit of pep in Ryan’s step (Buttercup would have been in awe of his exuberance).

“Breathe!” Nisha yelled over her shoulder back at me as my face contorted and started turning purple from the fear and the death grip that I had on that stupid saddle/seat thing. Just breathe.

If I look terrified in all the photos it’s because I was. Ryan literally shits more than the equivalent of one of me every day. He’s a force to be reckoned with, the big lug.

So that’s my story. I did it. I rode an elephant. Won’t be racing back to do it again, but it’s done. And there’s probably a lesson in there about limitless capacity for second (third, forth…) chances, doing things that scare you sometimes (even if just to be reminded that you’re alive) and trusting things bigger than yourself. 

But lets worry about those later.