The Feel Good Way

It’s pitch black when we leave. I can’t see a thing—just hear the rush of water (is that a river?) and the steady rhythm of horse hooves. Honestly, I have no clue how the horse knows where to go. Does he have night vision? Whatever the case, I trust him more than my own eyes at this point.

We’re about an hour before sunrise and freezing. Not “Oh it’s a little chilly” cold, but “Am I in the Arctic?” cold. I’m already wearing four layers, but the gaucho looks at me, shakes his head, and hands me an extra coat and a poncho. He knows things. I gratefully hide my gloved hands under the poncho and drape it over my legs and brace myself. It’s so cold.

Little by little, things start appearing—trees, a fence, snowy mountain peaks. I’m not sure if my eyes are adjusting to the darkness or if it’s actually getting lighter. I look behind me and see the sky starting to glow over the valley. But we’re not going that way. We’re heading straight for the mountains.

As we climb higher, the landscape becomes dramatic. Grand. Jaw-dropping. Snow against black rock, shadows shifting, light changing every second like the mountains are showing off.

There’s no path. We’re just heading into raw, wild nature. The terrain is rocky and uneven. My horse steps slowly and carefully, clearly not thrilled about the rocks. The gaucho calls him lazy, but I think he’s just thoughtful. Sensitive, even. He seems to get me. I don’t want to rush either, and he knows it.

I fall into that beautiful kind of silence that only happens when you’re completely in awe. Just me, my horse, my thoughts—and these outrageous mountains. The boys in front of me are chatting away, but I’m happy I am too far off to participate in the conversation. I don’t want to break the spell. I look around, probably grinning like a fool. I want to bottle this feeling.

A couple of dogs join us—running circles, vanishing into the rocks, reappearing out of nowhere. They’re completely in their element. Watching them play is pure joy. This is their home, their playground, and they seem as happy as I feel. 

Eventually, we reach a wide open plain. From here, you can see all across the Uco Valley. Behind it, the Andes stretch up dramatically. My husband is taken by the valley view. Me? I can’t stop looking at the mountains. Opposites attract, I guess.

We stop for breakfast. Coffee, warm hands, and a chance to let it all soak in. This place is wild and untouched, the kind of beauty that’s almost too much to process. Normally, I’m not the biggest horseback riding fan—but here, like this? I’m absolutely into it.

The way back feels like a whole new adventure. The mountains keep shifting, like they’re showing us their other angles—just in case we missed something the first time. The descent is no joke either. Rocky, steep, and a little bit “Are we really doing this?” But the gaucho just smiles and says, “Don’t worry, the horses are like mountain goats.”

Honestly, I’m happy to let mine take the lead. I just sit tight and try not to overthink what we are doing. We cross rivers (yes, actual rivers), squeeze through fences, and before I know it—we’re back where we started. Same place, now visible in the light, but I feel different. Like something inside me expanded a little, just from being out there. It’s over but I am still thrilled.

When I first read about one of my activated Human Design channels—channel 5-15, the Channel of Rhythm—it said I’m deeply connected to nature. I remember thinking, Really? Me? It didn’t exactly ring a bell. But then again, it’s an unconscious channel, so you’re not supposed to recognize it right away.

Today, though, it clicked. Out here, surrounded by vast, wild mountains, with not a building or paved road in sight, I get it. In Belgium, we don’t really have nature like this. Nothing feels untouched, raw, or so jaw-droppingly grand that it makes you go silent. But this? This was something else.

And I don’t even need this kind of wildness all the time. Just a day like this every now and then, and I feel recharged for weeks, months, maybe years. Nature might not be my everyday rhythm—but it’s definitely part of my deeper beat.

Again, Human Design is right. 

PS this image is taken by me @kattiborre