Many, if not most, people have a near-crippling fear of horses. I prefer to think of it as a “healthy respect” for these majestic beasts. I also like to consider myself a competent equestrienne, even though I haven’t ridden consistently since I fell out of love with my pony at the ripe old age of 11. So, naturally, when I was invited to go on a horse safari, I jumped at the chance.

I can’t complain about the lodge. It had that classic old-world colonial feel, furnished with all the trimmings you’d expect of a luxury tented camp: the canvas chalets (for that is what those “tents” truly are), the zebra-hide carpets, and a bar fridge filled with gin. As one of my fellow camp-goers described herself, this “self-made snob” felt very much at home. But I was taken out of my comfort zone when it was time to go for our first ride...