On Day 5 of his Indian safari, a thinner, tanner Ben Theyre enjoys a stop at a remote home with a government- provided water well.

Vanessa and I safely returned from our Indian safari in mid-November 2008. We got back to Canandaigua, New York, in good health and spirit, glad that we made the trip. Overall, the riding was fantastic, the cultural experience an eye opener, and the Marwari horse won our hearts.

Here’s how our trail ride unfolded.

On October 30, after a 14-hour direct flight from New York, we wearily arrived in New Delhi. With our helmets and half chaps in our packs, we were anxious to ride. However, our eight-day safari didn’t begin until November 4. We spent two days sightseeing and learning about the history of India. We also appreciated the time to absorb the distinctively different culture and food.

On November 1, we flew into Udaipur and soon found ourselves at a remote accommodation in the Tiger Mountains, appropriately named Silence. There, we were introduced to our fellow riders by our hosts, Ute and her husband, Viru.

An Initial Concern
Besides Vanessa and me, there was a 50-something married couple from Germany, Renate and Detlef; a man and a woman from Italy, Sandro and Godele, and two 60-something women from England: Margaret — who was only traveling with the safari by Jeep — and her cousin by marriage, Rae. There was also a 25-year-old Indian man from London, Paresh, who conveniently spoke both Hindi and English.

It was an interesting group of horsemen, to say the least.

As we started talking, it became quickly apparent that Paresh had never ridden a horse before. A general concern rose among the riders for his welfare during the journey. He was a likable fellow, though, and willing to learn, so Vanessa and Rae agreed to take him under their collective wing.

The situation was perplexing. Why would this man who was unfamiliar with riding want to join a multiday horse safari in India? And why did our hosts, knowing his riding skills, encourage him to join the safari?

Over the evening campfire, we learned that Paresh was asking some of the same life questions as the rest of us. Going on this safari was his way of forgetting about life for a while. The financial motives of our hosts became evident as the days passed.

Horse Problems
On November 3, we piled our gear in three vehicles and left the peaceful ambiance of Silence. We drove 2½ hours through several villages in a marble-mining region and arrived at our base camp in Kherda in the late afternoon.

As we expected, our home on the trail was a bivouac of tents that would be moved each day to our next location. Our waiting mounts, all mares, were ground-tied at the head and foot. Most of them were Marwaris or Marwari crosses.

Vanessa and I checked out the horses, their tack, and their shoeing. The tack was old and worn, and the shoeing on several of the horses was marginal. We mentioned these observations to Ute. She reassured us that there was "no problem" and that the horses would be sound. It didn’t calm our concerns.

Ute introduced the horses to the group for selection. At Vanessa’s suggestion, I chose a quiet black Marwari mare named Sunder. She was 14.2 hands high, had white markings, and was obviously on her first set of shoes. Vanessa chose Poonam, a Marwari pinto wearing a hackamore. From looking at her feet, she’d seen many shoe resets. Godele and Sandro, friends of Ute, had the nicest horses on the string.

Just before sunset, the group mounted up and took a one-hour test ride. The initial trek was challenging. For the most part, the horses didn’t get along. Renate’s horse was a persistent kicker, and her husband’s mount was three-legged lame. Rae’s horse was a buckskin pinto that behaved like one of those dancing horses you see on YouTube. The Italians seemed to be above it all. They rode off by themselves, out of sight, but within earshot.

Our novice rider, Paresh, was assigned Naughty, the saddest, most pitiful horse in the group. When we saw this animal, we all shook our heads. She was thin, had proud flesh (granulated tissue) on her left hind pastern, was poorly shod, and was galled (swollen) at the withers. Despite the horse’s condition and inclination to be a runaway, Paresh, with help from Vanessa and Rae, was able to control and direct the horse. Not bad for his first ride. Vanessa told him he was a natural.

Why would a horse in this condition be sent on an eight-day safari through mountains and desert? Vanessa thought that our hosts, knowing the animal’s condition, might’ve assigned Naughty to Paresh, thinking that he’d quickly drop out of the safari. (Princess Trails has a no-refund policy.) Paresh’s tenacity would prove them wrong.

Left to right: Margaret from England (standing); Renate from Germany; Godele and Sandro from Italy; two guides; Margarets cousin, Rae; Paresh from England; Ben Theyres wife, Vanessa; Ben Theyre; and Renates husband, Detlef.

The Group Revolts
The first full day on the safari was exhilarating. Along the way, we came across brightly dressed residents walking along the road or riding motorcycles. We saw camels, goatherds, shepherds, and water buffalo. Residents — particularly the children — emerged from their homes and schoolhouses, cheering and waving as we passed. Although dirt poor, these villagers seemed like truly happy people.

What we saw on the trail was overshadowed by our horses’ behaviors. They were as contentious and challenging as they were during the short ride we took the day before. It was frustrating.

Our hosts didn’t ride with us. We were led by Jessu, a 21-year-old hired hand who spoke only Hindi; Paresh served as the translator. Jessu could easily see the problems. He rearranged the order of the string several times to no avail. The horses’ behaviors became a day-long distraction.

When we arrived in camp, the group was very upset. Dinner wasn’t prepared, but it was the furthest thing from our minds. Facing seven more days on horseback dealing with Detlef’s lame horse, Renate’s kicking mare, Rae’s dancing delinquent, and Naughty’s general condition were more than we could bear as horsemen.

Viru and Ute weren’t there to take the complaint. Leaving Jessu in charge, they’d gone back to Udaipur to take Godele, who’d fallen ill, to the hospital.

At an impromptu gathering in front of Rae’s tent, we realized that we weren’t going to complete the trip together on our current mounts. We also resolved to complete this safari to Pushkar as a team. Detlef, Renate, Rae, and Paresh all needed better horses. Action by our hosts was required.

As dusk came on us and the moon rose in the clear sky, Paresh approached Jessu on our behalf. Although we didn’t understand the words, the conversation’s tone was intense. When it ended, Jessu called Viru on his cell phone and apparently told him the problem. No solution was offered. "Nothing could be done," he said.

Through Paresh’s translation, I insisted to Jessu that he call back and I talk with Viru directly. He did. I reminded our host that we were the customers, told him in no uncertain terms that we were dismayed by the quality and condition of some of the mounts, and questioned the ability of the horses in question to complete the journey. I insisted on new horses for those who were having issues.

Viru was obstinate at first and blamed the problems on rider ability. That argument didn’t wash, I insisted. He must’ve known we were serious.

Although we spent another day on the trail with our initial string, the next evening, two new horses did arrive at the camp to replace the lame ones. The Germans and the Brits were pleased. They thanked me for sticking up for the group, being assertive with our hosts, and making their adventure more enjoyable. Margaret told the group that we were typical of Americans, who all care for their fellow man.

A Happy Ending
Our adventure to Pushkar became a joy. We never could’ve anticipated the twists and turns of the culture we encountered. In a small mountain village, an intoxicated man approached Renate and her horse with his umbrella. Yelling, he suddenly opened it. It spooked Renate’s mare and, as you can imagine, disrupted the group.

The 6th day, we came upon a large gathering of men in a field. Paresh, as our cultural interpreter, pointed out that they were preparing for a Hindu funeral pyre and that we needed to respect the sensitivity of the occasion. We quietly moved past.

We captured these and many other unbelievable sights at horse-eye level with a Flip Video and a digital camera on the trail from Kherda to the Pushkar Fair. I also carried a global positioning system unit to track our journey on Google Earth. We plan to assemble the images and create a DVD of our adventure for others to enjoy. (To obtain a copy, see below.)

Our horse safari was exciting, fulfilling, and frustrating all at the same time. Vanessa and I made some wonderful friends. We learned to accept the many cultural differences between India and the West. I returned home a wiser person, thankful and proud to be an American horseman.

Would we do it again? Yes, but we’d use more scrutiny in selecting an outfitter.