NO ONE-HIT WONDER
I thought Iʼd seen all there was to see in Vic Falls. Mosi-oa-Tunya from a helicopter; a moonbow thatʼs visible only on a few special nights each month; and the big gaping hole in the wall outside our friend Lindaroseʼs apartment, put there by an elephant obsessed with stealing mangoes from her garden.
But then Matisse bit Georgia OʼKeeffe on the backside and I was sure I was about to get dragged into an equine brawl. Apparently horses hold grudges; perhaps it was some temperamental artist thing.
The bite didnʼt add up to much, though; the real excitement was instead delayed for the moment Matisse caught a whiff of the hay back at the stables – or perhaps it was a mare he fancied more than Georgia – and he charged off in the direction of home.
Our riding guides were slightly stricken by Matisseʼs bad behaviour but I was in my element, relishing my cowboy moment as we galloped across uneven ground, even hurdling small dongas.
Georgia, meanwhile, kept her cool. Steadfast and sturdy, she was a no-nonsense gal whoʼd barely blinked when her rider – the day drinker from Harare – quite nearly climbed on her back to front.
Alison Baker, whose stables weʼd descended on at the crack of dawn, was more sheriff than horse whisperer; after decades spent riding and training them, she knew how to command from the saddle.
