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Neigh-ver Again
EkiClub的点评
点评：If you’ve ever wanted to experience what it would feel like to survive a low-budget horse-based disaster film while actively fighting for your life, your belongings, and the structural integrity of your nose, then PLEASE book the sunset horse riding tour with Aqua Sports Tunisia immediately.
This wasn’t an excursion.
This was a cry for help with saddles.
We booked what was advertised as a peaceful sunset horse ride along the Tunisian coastline. In my head I imagined elegance. Serenity. Maybe a little gallop through the waves while looking mysterious and moisturised.
Instead I left looking like I’d gone twelve rounds with a kangaroo.
Things began with five of us being folded into a taxi roughly the size of an air fryer. Every warning light possible was illuminated on the dashboard. The car looked less like transportation and more like a hostage negotiation between God and mechanics. At one point the engine made a noise so concerning we all looked at each other in silence like Victorian children accepting fate.
After a five-minute drive that spiritually aged me by six years, we arrived at the stables.
Immediately the taxi driver got out and attempted to hold my friend’s hand in what I can only describe as the least successful romantic subplot ever witnessed.
Sir.
Read the room.
We were about to mount livestock.
The stables themselves looked like a deleted scene from Mad Max: Pony Club Edition.
There were flies EVERYWHERE. Not normal flies. These were industrial-strength flies. Flies with ambition. Flies that looked like they paid council tax. Tiny kittens were sprinting around underneath the horses’ hooves like they had absolutely no concern for surviving into adulthood. Meanwhile some of the horses looked so skinny I wanted to slip them my hotel bread rolls in private.
We were then shoved into a room and told to grab helmets. None fit. One sat on my head like a decorative fruit bowl. Another girl’s helmet rotated every time she blinked. Two people on the ride were wearing sliders. SLIDERS. Apparently if your horse launched you into the sea they just expected you to slap the water away with Nike foam sandals.
Then came the safety briefing.
Actually sorry.
That’s generous.
There was no safety briefing.
A man vaguely pointed at a horse and essentially said:
“Off you pop then.”
One instructor was somehow responsible for six adults and a child. My friend was told to ride out of the stables with absolutely no indication where to go despite the fact the exit opened directly onto a MAIN ROAD. Thankfully the taxi driver shouted “RIGHT!” across the road like a man guiding aircraft onto a runway.
So there we were.
Seven tourists.
On horses.
Trotting down an active road.
With cars flying past us.
One girl was gripping the reins so tightly she looked like she was trying to manually steer the horse through grief.
Honestly if one horse had sneezed we’d all have become speed bumps.
Eventually we reached the beach.
Now when someone says “sunset horse ride on the beach,” you imagine romance.
Golden sand.
Sparkling water.
Maybe soft music in the distance.
This beach looked like the sea had recently suffered a mental breakdown.
There was rubbish everywhere. The horses hated the water with every fibre of their being and kept looking at it like it had personally insulted their families. The atmosphere was less “luxury sunset experience” and more “community service with saddles.”
Then we reached the section where the tide had come in.
The horses reluctantly walked through the sea looking deeply offended by the entire situation.
Now THIS is where my evening transformed into an NHS funding appeal.
My horse decided she absolutely did not want to go through one rocky water section and instead climbed onto a rock. At this point I was holding my phone taking a cute little picture of my friend because I was still naive enough to think this evening would end without facial trauma.
Suddenly, the instructor, who had the energy of a man who’d lost several fistfights to gravity…grabbed my horse’s reins and yanked aggressively toward the sea without warning.
My horse attempted to step down.
One hoof slipped into a crevice.
And I was instantly launched forward like a catapult in battle.
Instead of stopping, the instructor PULLED HARDER.
The horse then leapt off the rock into the sea with the force and commitment of someone escaping tax fraud allegations.
My phone flew into the air in slow motion like the ending scene of Titanic.
Then the horse’s head came flying upwards directly into my face at full force.
Instantly I was dizzy, disoriented, crying, and genuinely convinced my nose had detached itself spiritually from the rest of my body.
I managed to say I’d dropped my phone before telling my friend I was going to faint and needed to get off.
So there I was:
Collapsed on a Tunisian beach.
Crying.
Covered in seawater.
Bleeding internally.
Trying not to throw up.
And somehow still holding my sanity together for the young child on the excursion with us.
At this point the instructor, a man missing approximately four front teeth and all sense of urgency, crouched directly into my face repeatedly asking “ARE YOU OKAY?”
Sir my face has just been rearranged by livestock.
Then came the most medically confusing moment of my entire existence.
This man walked dramatically into the sea, scooped up a handful of seawater, marched back over and tried to what I can only describe as baptise me.
I had a broken nose and this man responded like I was a fish fillet needing marination.
I genuinely looked up afterwards expecting to hear church bells.
At this point I asked if the horse was okay. She was.
I somehow got back on and rode back trying not to cry in front of the small child while my nose throbbed with the rhythm of a nightclub bassline.
Back at the stables we dismounted and the taxi driver IMMEDIATELY reappeared trying once again to hold my friend’s hand like this had all been an incredibly traumatic first date.
Then we were shoved back into the mechanical coffin on wheels and returned to the hotel.
By the time I got back my nose was swollen, painful, and crusted internally with blood. I can now officially say I went on a “peaceful sunset horse ride” and returned looking like I’d attempted to fight a centaur outside Wetherspoons.
Overall this excursion included enough psychological damage to qualify as character development.
This wasn’t an excursion.
This was a cry for help with saddles.
We booked what was advertised as a peaceful sunset horse ride along the Tunisian coastline. In my head I imagined elegance. Serenity. Maybe a little gallop through the waves while looking mysterious and moisturised.
Instead I left looking like I’d gone twelve rounds with a kangaroo.
Things began with five of us being folded into a taxi roughly the size of an air fryer. Every warning light possible was illuminated on the dashboard. The car looked less like transportation and more like a hostage negotiation between God and mechanics. At one point the engine made a noise so concerning we all looked at each other in silence like Victorian children accepting fate.
After a five-minute drive that spiritually aged me by six years, we arrived at the stables.
Immediately the taxi driver got out and attempted to hold my friend’s hand in what I can only describe as the least successful romantic subplot ever witnessed.
Sir.
Read the room.
We were about to mount livestock.
The stables themselves looked like a deleted scene from Mad Max: Pony Club Edition.
There were flies EVERYWHERE. Not normal flies. These were industrial-strength flies. Flies with ambition. Flies that looked like they paid council tax. Tiny kittens were sprinting around underneath the horses’ hooves like they had absolutely no concern for surviving into adulthood. Meanwhile some of the horses looked so skinny I wanted to slip them my hotel bread rolls in private.
We were then shoved into a room and told to grab helmets. None fit. One sat on my head like a decorative fruit bowl. Another girl’s helmet rotated every time she blinked. Two people on the ride were wearing sliders. SLIDERS. Apparently if your horse launched you into the sea they just expected you to slap the water away with Nike foam sandals.
Then came the safety briefing.
Actually sorry.
That’s generous.
There was no safety briefing.
A man vaguely pointed at a horse and essentially said:
“Off you pop then.”
One instructor was somehow responsible for six adults and a child. My friend was told to ride out of the stables with absolutely no indication where to go despite the fact the exit opened directly onto a MAIN ROAD. Thankfully the taxi driver shouted “RIGHT!” across the road like a man guiding aircraft onto a runway.
So there we were.
Seven tourists.
On horses.
Trotting down an active road.
With cars flying past us.
One girl was gripping the reins so tightly she looked like she was trying to manually steer the horse through grief.
Honestly if one horse had sneezed we’d all have become speed bumps.
Eventually we reached the beach.
Now when someone says “sunset horse ride on the beach,” you imagine romance.
Golden sand.
Sparkling water.
Maybe soft music in the distance.
This beach looked like the sea had recently suffered a mental breakdown.
There was rubbish everywhere. The horses hated the water with every fibre of their being and kept looking at it like it had personally insulted their families. The atmosphere was less “luxury sunset experience” and more “community service with saddles.”
Then we reached the section where the tide had come in.
The horses reluctantly walked through the sea looking deeply offended by the entire situation.
Now THIS is where my evening transformed into an NHS funding appeal.
My horse decided she absolutely did not want to go through one rocky water section and instead climbed onto a rock. At this point I was holding my phone taking a cute little picture of my friend because I was still naive enough to think this evening would end without facial trauma.
Suddenly, the instructor, who had the energy of a man who’d lost several fistfights to gravity…grabbed my horse’s reins and yanked aggressively toward the sea without warning.
My horse attempted to step down.
One hoof slipped into a crevice.
And I was instantly launched forward like a catapult in battle.
Instead of stopping, the instructor PULLED HARDER.
The horse then leapt off the rock into the sea with the force and commitment of someone escaping tax fraud allegations.
My phone flew into the air in slow motion like the ending scene of Titanic.
Then the horse’s head came flying upwards directly into my face at full force.
Instantly I was dizzy, disoriented, crying, and genuinely convinced my nose had detached itself spiritually from the rest of my body.
I managed to say I’d dropped my phone before telling my friend I was going to faint and needed to get off.
So there I was:
Collapsed on a Tunisian beach.
Crying.
Covered in seawater.
Bleeding internally.
Trying not to throw up.
And somehow still holding my sanity together for the young child on the excursion with us.
At this point the instructor, a man missing approximately four front teeth and all sense of urgency, crouched directly into my face repeatedly asking “ARE YOU OKAY?”
Sir my face has just been rearranged by livestock.
Then came the most medically confusing moment of my entire existence.
This man walked dramatically into the sea, scooped up a handful of seawater, marched back over and tried to what I can only describe as baptise me.
I had a broken nose and this man responded like I was a fish fillet needing marination.
I genuinely looked up afterwards expecting to hear church bells.
At this point I asked if the horse was okay. She was.
I somehow got back on and rode back trying not to cry in front of the small child while my nose throbbed with the rhythm of a nightclub bassline.
Back at the stables we dismounted and the taxi driver IMMEDIATELY reappeared trying once again to hold my friend’s hand like this had all been an incredibly traumatic first date.
Then we were shoved back into the mechanical coffin on wheels and returned to the hotel.
By the time I got back my nose was swollen, painful, and crusted internally with blood. I can now officially say I went on a “peaceful sunset horse ride” and returned looking like I’d attempted to fight a centaur outside Wetherspoons.
Overall this excursion included enough psychological damage to qualify as character development.
翻译：如果你曾经想过体验一下在一部低成本的马匹灾难片中挣扎求生，同时还要拼命保住性命、财物和鼻子，那么请立即预订突尼斯水上运动公司的日落骑马之旅。
这可不是什么旅行。
这简直就是一场马鞍求救。
我们预订了广告上宣传的沿着突尼斯海岸线的宁静日落骑马之旅。我脑海中浮现的是优雅、宁静，或许还能在海浪中策马疾驰，看起来神秘又水润。
结果，我离开的时候看起来像是跟袋鼠打了十二个回合。
旅程从我们五个人被塞进一辆差不多跟空气炸锅一样大的出租车开始。仪表盘上所有能亮的警示灯都亮了。这辆车与其说是交通工具，不如说是上帝和修车工之间的一场人质谈判。有一次，引擎发出了一声令人担忧的巨响，我们四个人面面相觑，像维多利亚时代的孩子一样默默地接受命运的安排。
五分钟的车程，感觉自己瞬间老了六岁，我们终于到了马厩。
出租车司机一下车就想牵我朋友的手，这简直是我见过最失败的浪漫桥段。
先生。
注意你的言行举止。
我们马上就要骑牲畜了。
马厩本身看起来就像是《疯狂的麦克斯：马术俱乐部版》的删减片段。
到处都是苍蝇。不是普通的苍蝇。是那种工业级的苍蝇。野心勃勃的苍蝇。看起来像是交了市政税的苍蝇。小猫在马蹄下乱窜，好像完全不在乎自己能不能活到成年。与此同时，有些马瘦得皮包骨，我真想偷偷把酒店的面包卷塞给它们吃。
然后我们被推进一个房间，被告知去拿头盔。没有一个合适的。一个头盔戴在我头上，像个装饰用的水果碗。另一个女孩的头盔每次眨眼都会转动。骑乘的队伍里有两个人穿着拖鞋。拖鞋！显然，如果马把你甩进海里，他们就指望你穿着耐克泡沫凉鞋把水拍掉。
然后是安全讲解。
真是抱歉。
这都算客气了。
根本没有安全讲解。
一个男人含糊地指着一匹马，基本上就是说：
“那就出发吧。”
一个教练居然要负责六个大人和一个小孩。我的朋友被告知要骑马离开马厩，却完全没有指示方向，尽管出口直接通向一条主干道。谢天谢地，出租车司机像引导飞机降落跑道一样，在马路对面大喊“右！”。
于是，我们就那样了。
七个游客。
骑着马。
沿着一条繁忙的公路小跑。
汽车从我们身边呼啸而过。
一个女孩紧紧抓着缰绳，看起来像是在用手操控着一匹马，试图让它摆脱悲伤。
说真的，要是哪匹马打个喷嚏，我们所有人都会变成减速带。
最终我们到达了海滩。
现在，当有人说“在海滩骑马欣赏日落”时，你会想到浪漫的场景：
金色的沙滩，
波光粼粼的海水，
远处或许还传来轻柔的音乐。
但这片海滩看起来就像大海刚刚经历了一场精神崩溃。
到处都是垃圾。马儿们恨透了海水，它们不停地瞪着海水，仿佛海水侮辱了它们的家人。与其说是“奢华的日落体验”，不如说是“带着马鞍的社区服务”。
然后我们来到了涨潮的地方。
马儿们不情愿地走过海水，看起来对眼前的景象感到非常不满。
而就在这时，我的夜晚变成了为英国国民医疗服务体系（NHS）募捐。
我的马儿突然决定不去那片乱石滩，而是爬上了一块岩石。当时我正拿着手机给我的“朋友”拍张可爱的照片，因为我天真地以为今晚不会再发生什么意外了。
突然，那个教练——他精力旺盛得像个跟地心引力打过无数架的家伙——一把抓住缰绳，毫无预兆地猛地把马拽向大海。
我的马儿试图跳下来。
一只蹄子陷进了岩石缝里。
我瞬间像战场上的弹射器一样被抛了出去。
教练非但没有停下，反而更加用力地拽了起来。
马儿随即从岩石上跃入大海，那力道和决心就像一个逃税犯一样。
我的手机像《泰坦尼克号》的结尾一样慢动作地飞向空中。
然后，马头猛地朝我脸上砸了过来。
我瞬间感到头晕目眩，神志不清，泪流满面，真切地感受到我的鼻子仿佛灵魂出窍般地与身体分离了。
我勉强挤出一句“手机掉了”，然后告诉朋友我快要晕倒了，得赶紧下车。
于是，我就那样倒在了：
突尼斯的海滩上。
哭泣着。
浑身是海水。
内出血。
努力忍住不吐。
我竟然还能勉强保持理智，为了和我们一起出游的小孩。
这时，那位教练——一个缺了大概四颗门牙、一副急躁模样的男人——蹲下来，凑到我面前，反复问：“你没事吧？”
先生，我的脸被牲畜弄得面目全非了。
接下来是我人生中最令人费解的时刻。
这个人戏剧性地走到海里，捧起一把海水，大步走回来，试图给我做我只能称之为“洗礼”的事情。
我的鼻子骨折了，而这个人却像对待一块需要腌制的鱼片一样对待我。
事后，我真的抬头望去，以为会听到教堂的钟声。
这时，我问马怎么样了。它没事。
我勉强重新骑上马，往回走，努力不让孩子看到我的鼻子疼得像夜店的低音炮一样。
回到马厩后，我们下了马，出租车司机立刻又出现了，试图再次牵着我朋友的手，好像刚才那次约会简直糟透了似的。
然后我们又被塞回了那辆机械棺材里，送回了酒店。
等我回到酒店时，我的鼻子又肿又痛，里面还结了痂。现在我可以正式宣布，我原本是去体验了一次“宁静的日落骑马之旅”，结果回来的时候看起来像是在Wetherspoons酒吧外面跟半人马搏斗过一样。
总而言之，这次旅行给我造成的心理创伤足以算得上是一次性格成长了。
这可不是什么旅行。
这简直就是一场马鞍求救。
我们预订了广告上宣传的沿着突尼斯海岸线的宁静日落骑马之旅。我脑海中浮现的是优雅、宁静，或许还能在海浪中策马疾驰，看起来神秘又水润。
结果，我离开的时候看起来像是跟袋鼠打了十二个回合。
旅程从我们五个人被塞进一辆差不多跟空气炸锅一样大的出租车开始。仪表盘上所有能亮的警示灯都亮了。这辆车与其说是交通工具，不如说是上帝和修车工之间的一场人质谈判。有一次，引擎发出了一声令人担忧的巨响，我们四个人面面相觑，像维多利亚时代的孩子一样默默地接受命运的安排。
五分钟的车程，感觉自己瞬间老了六岁，我们终于到了马厩。
出租车司机一下车就想牵我朋友的手，这简直是我见过最失败的浪漫桥段。
先生。
注意你的言行举止。
我们马上就要骑牲畜了。
马厩本身看起来就像是《疯狂的麦克斯：马术俱乐部版》的删减片段。
到处都是苍蝇。不是普通的苍蝇。是那种工业级的苍蝇。野心勃勃的苍蝇。看起来像是交了市政税的苍蝇。小猫在马蹄下乱窜，好像完全不在乎自己能不能活到成年。与此同时，有些马瘦得皮包骨，我真想偷偷把酒店的面包卷塞给它们吃。
然后我们被推进一个房间，被告知去拿头盔。没有一个合适的。一个头盔戴在我头上，像个装饰用的水果碗。另一个女孩的头盔每次眨眼都会转动。骑乘的队伍里有两个人穿着拖鞋。拖鞋！显然，如果马把你甩进海里，他们就指望你穿着耐克泡沫凉鞋把水拍掉。
然后是安全讲解。
真是抱歉。
这都算客气了。
根本没有安全讲解。
一个男人含糊地指着一匹马，基本上就是说：
“那就出发吧。”
一个教练居然要负责六个大人和一个小孩。我的朋友被告知要骑马离开马厩，却完全没有指示方向，尽管出口直接通向一条主干道。谢天谢地，出租车司机像引导飞机降落跑道一样，在马路对面大喊“右！”。
于是，我们就那样了。
七个游客。
骑着马。
沿着一条繁忙的公路小跑。
汽车从我们身边呼啸而过。
一个女孩紧紧抓着缰绳，看起来像是在用手操控着一匹马，试图让它摆脱悲伤。
说真的，要是哪匹马打个喷嚏，我们所有人都会变成减速带。
最终我们到达了海滩。
现在，当有人说“在海滩骑马欣赏日落”时，你会想到浪漫的场景：
金色的沙滩，
波光粼粼的海水，
远处或许还传来轻柔的音乐。
但这片海滩看起来就像大海刚刚经历了一场精神崩溃。
到处都是垃圾。马儿们恨透了海水，它们不停地瞪着海水，仿佛海水侮辱了它们的家人。与其说是“奢华的日落体验”，不如说是“带着马鞍的社区服务”。
然后我们来到了涨潮的地方。
马儿们不情愿地走过海水，看起来对眼前的景象感到非常不满。
而就在这时，我的夜晚变成了为英国国民医疗服务体系（NHS）募捐。
我的马儿突然决定不去那片乱石滩，而是爬上了一块岩石。当时我正拿着手机给我的“朋友”拍张可爱的照片，因为我天真地以为今晚不会再发生什么意外了。
突然，那个教练——他精力旺盛得像个跟地心引力打过无数架的家伙——一把抓住缰绳，毫无预兆地猛地把马拽向大海。
我的马儿试图跳下来。
一只蹄子陷进了岩石缝里。
我瞬间像战场上的弹射器一样被抛了出去。
教练非但没有停下，反而更加用力地拽了起来。
马儿随即从岩石上跃入大海，那力道和决心就像一个逃税犯一样。
我的手机像《泰坦尼克号》的结尾一样慢动作地飞向空中。
然后，马头猛地朝我脸上砸了过来。
我瞬间感到头晕目眩，神志不清，泪流满面，真切地感受到我的鼻子仿佛灵魂出窍般地与身体分离了。
我勉强挤出一句“手机掉了”，然后告诉朋友我快要晕倒了，得赶紧下车。
于是，我就那样倒在了：
突尼斯的海滩上。
哭泣着。
浑身是海水。
内出血。
努力忍住不吐。
我竟然还能勉强保持理智，为了和我们一起出游的小孩。
这时，那位教练——一个缺了大概四颗门牙、一副急躁模样的男人——蹲下来，凑到我面前，反复问：“你没事吧？”
先生，我的脸被牲畜弄得面目全非了。
接下来是我人生中最令人费解的时刻。
这个人戏剧性地走到海里，捧起一把海水，大步走回来，试图给我做我只能称之为“洗礼”的事情。
我的鼻子骨折了，而这个人却像对待一块需要腌制的鱼片一样对待我。
事后，我真的抬头望去，以为会听到教堂的钟声。
这时，我问马怎么样了。它没事。
我勉强重新骑上马，往回走，努力不让孩子看到我的鼻子疼得像夜店的低音炮一样。
回到马厩后，我们下了马，出租车司机立刻又出现了，试图再次牵着我朋友的手，好像刚才那次约会简直糟透了似的。
然后我们又被塞回了那辆机械棺材里，送回了酒店。
等我回到酒店时，我的鼻子又肿又痛，里面还结了痂。现在我可以正式宣布，我原本是去体验了一次“宁静的日落骑马之旅”，结果回来的时候看起来像是在Wetherspoons酒吧外面跟半人马搏斗过一样。
总而言之，这次旅行给我造成的心理创伤足以算得上是一次性格成长了。
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