Gut feeling

Zoë lies awake in the night. In the morning, the first thing she does is grab the maps from the tourist office. She needs to check something. Part of our route overlaps with trails marked on those maps. The legend shows whether a path is meant for hiking or horse riding. Half of our route, however, doesn’t appear on the map at all. Yesterday we hiked up a ridiculously steep trail through the forest — a path we’re supposed to take with the horses. Only at the very end, above the tree line, did it flatten out a little. That’s where we finally got that sense of open steppe we’d been dreaming of. But most of the route is deep forest, steep, and rough. We start to doubt whether it’s even possible on horseback — not just for us, but also for the horses, carrying our gear. And maybe most of all, whether we’d even enjoy it. Our fears begin to take over, and deep down something says don’t do it. It doesn’t feel right. Is that because of our lack of preparation, because it’s unknown, or simply because our gut is trying to tell us something? Taking a leap into the unknown is always scary — we’ve done it so many times over the years. The fear always feels bigger before we start than it really is once we’re in it.

We try to make a decision. One moment, we feed each other’s fears. The next, we flip it and talk about the adventure, the possibility. But we stay stuck in indecision — and we know it’s time to use our usual trick. It always works. We each get fifteen minutes to decide on our own. After that, we share our choices with each other. Most of the time we come to the same conclusion; if not, we explain why we feel the way we do until we understand each other and find common ground. This time, it’s immediately clear. We both choose not to do it. Even if that means letting go of our dream. We don’t know if we’ll find a better place — or suitable horses — somewhere else in Georgia. With a bit of regret, especially toward the people who helped us arrange everything, we tell them we won’t take the horses. With the language barrier, it’s hard to explain why — and they probably just find it disappointing that they’ll lose a share of the money. They had claimed 500 lari for making one phone call — quite a sum, around €180, nearly a month’s wage for many Georgians.