I remember as a 40-year-old, travelling on my first airplane to Cairo in Egypt. As part of my trip, I booked onto a desert horse ride with a local riding school. They didn’t speak much English, but I managed to book my lesson, get on the horse and ride out into the desert with my expert Egyptian instructor beside me. I was nervous as I hadn’t ever ridden a horse before, but how hard can it be? I mistakenly thought. In my eagerness to communicate with my instructor, I asked: 

“Have you been riding for a long time?” and I mimicked using the reins. 

He looked back at me with a puzzled face. 

“Do you ride a lot?” I asked again. 

“Gallop?” He said, as he copied my use of the reins.

“Yes!” I said, pleased I had managed to convert my message. “You gallop.”

“Ah ok. We gallop,” he cried, and slapped the rear of my horse with his whip. Suddenly, my horse went galloping through the desert at top speed, my backside thudding up and down on the saddle, as I gripped onto the horse’s neck for all my worth. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I was only glad when it stopped and I hadn’t fallen off and killed myself. 

“Galloping good?” He cried. 

“Yes, galloping good,” I replied weakly. 

“You like?”

“Yes, I like.”

“Ok,” he said again and whipped my horse’s rear end again. 

“Oh sh…..” I screamed again, as my horse went even faster through the desert. I gripped on for dear life and wished I had a fatter bum with more padding. My instructor was manically laughing beside me, happy he had given his English pupil the good ride he had asked for. 

I was thrilled when it stopped and the only thing I had was a sore backside. 

“My friend, gallop good!” He laughed. 

“Yes, I gallop good. Thank you,” I said lamely as I clutched my stomach to stop myself throwing up. My final insult was that I was expected to give my new friend an extra large tip for giving me such a good gallop. It took me a long while before I was able to sit on my sore backside, and I have never galloped on a horse since.