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"Wolno!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Wolnoooooo." My yells seem to be echoing straight off the Tatra Mountains. Behind me, all I hear is a voice in broken English yelling, "Stop!! You must stop. Stop your horse!" and the faint echo of laughter. I crouch down low on my Polish mountain horse, hugging his thick neck tight between my arms, my chin banging against his mane. Even as it whizzes by in my peripheral vision, the scenery is beautiful.
I certainly had no idea Poland was so scenic. Previously, all that came to mind when I thought of Poland was, well, concrete. But Zakopane, a small town in the south, is anything but drab.
My friend Rheana and I had been waiting for some kind of exciting adventure for the whole trip, and as soon as we saw the brochure for a horseback ride through the mountains, we were sold.
We determine, upon the tour organizer's assurances, that yes, she can consider us advanced riders. We have, after all, rode horses before. Once or twice. We hop in her car and she drives us out to the farm. Standing before us are three of the largest horses I have ever seen in my life. My head falls back full tilt, and my mouth drops open.
Rheana and I stare at each other with the same look on our faces: horror mixed with amusement and fear.
We quickly meet our riding instructor, Irina, who speaks very limited English.
My limited knowledge of Polish words is quickly coming back to haunt me. Smiling is not helping. That's the thing about travelling whirlwind through Europe, you hear so many languages that it is often hard to keep them straight beyond "hello, goodbye and please."
She stares and gestures for us to get on our horses. One of the farm workers helps, creating a booster with his hands.
"Wolno," Irina is saying. "It mean slow. All you need."
"Wolno," we repeat dutifully.
Now on our horses, we follow a path down into the woods. We ride over rocky slopes, splash through the river and meander past fields of yellow flowers. It is amazing. It is beautiful. It is leisurely.
At the end of the path, Irina turns to me and says, "Faster?"
Sensing danger, I vigorously nod my head no. My nod is ignored, as Irina suddenly yells: "Kick your horse!" and proceeds to slap my horse on the rear. Immediately, my horse takes off. Clinging to his back, I try the safe word: "Wolno!"
Nothing. I think my accent is off.
Up the road and around the corner, he finally slows down. I peel myself back up into a sitting position. Irina catches up to me, her brow furrows, her face reddens and a flurry of Polish words ensues.
I smile sheepishly at her and shrug my shoulders.
"That," Rheana says, coming up from behind, "was hysterical."
We start to laugh and look over at Irina. She stares stonily at us for a while, when suddenly a giggle slips out. Soon, all three of us are sitting on top of our giant horses, laughing together, understanding each other perfectly.
Special to The Globe and Mail