I never learn.

‘‘Have you ridden before?” they ask me.

‘‘Yes,” I say with nonchalant bravado, even though I haven’t ridden horses regularly since I was a boy in Africa in the 1970s. They take me at my word and give me a horse called Diablo, or Tornado, or Genghis.

It is usually within an hour of setting out that my mount gets the measure of me and the trouble begins: a wayward detour through thorn bushes; or a drenching canter through ocean surf; or an abrupt halt that sends me unceremoniously over the horse’s head.

But the bruises to pride and flesh heal, and whenever the opportunity arises I embrace the perils and pitfalls of horse trekking. Why? Because some of the greatest experiences I have ever had on my travels have been on horseback.

One of the most magical was in Chile. In Santiago I had heard rumors of a utopia nestled in the foothills of the Andes 38 miles southeast of the capital. I arranged transport, and within an hour of departing my downtown hotel I was standing in a corral with Soco Astorga, saddling up two horses.

Cascada de las Animas lives up to its utopian billing. Owned by Soco’s family since 1840, it is a fabulous 10,000-acre property embracing the precipitous banks of the Rio Maipo. The family’s amusingly quirky homes — which resemble hobbit dwellings — were scattered within woodland on one side of the river. On the other were the comfortable tourist cabanas where I would be staying overnight.

‘‘Okay, let’s go,” said Soco. I watched her swing herself up onto her steed in one easy, graceful movement.

‘‘It’s been a while,” I admitted as I placed a steadying palm on the horse’s chestnut flank and lifted my right foot into the stirrup.

‘‘No kidding,” said Soco, chuckling. “You might want to use the other foot, unless you want to sit on the saddle backwards.”

Trying to preserve my dignity, I swapped feet and then hauled myself awkwardly onto the horse. The operation took a couple of minutes, by which time I was breathless and nursing a painful thigh strain.

Soco allowed me to regain my composure and then, with an almost imperceptible flick of her heels, prompted her horse to walk. Remembering my childhood lessons, I slackened the reigns, gently prodded the horse with my boots, and off we went.

To the accompaniment of scuffing hooves we ascended a steep, narrow, mountain trail. I put my trust in the horse and occasionally braved glimpses down at the glacial Maipo far below. The roofs of the cabanas glinted among the riverside pines.

At the top of the climb, we reached a Shangri-la. The rocky mountainside flattened out into a lush plateau planted with alfalfa and fruit orchards. Sprinklers shimmered in the morning light, fed by water from mountain streams. Around us the Andes rose to snow-capped summits, and the cloudless sky was of the deepest blue.

I inhaled the pristine air and allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of horsemanship by the animal’s languid gait.

‘‘Gallop?” asked Soco, and set off. My horse followed. I didn’t. Caught off guard by the sudden acceleration, I keeled backwards and fell to earth. Only my confidence was hurt. I remounted and we resumed at a more sedate canter.

By the end of the day, I was feeling at home in the saddle and vowed that I would return in the future to join one of Soco’s epic 14-day horseback expeditions across the Andes into Argentina. It remains high on my list of travel ambitions.

One equine ambition has been ticked off in the meantime, however. After a lifetime of safaris in minibuses, 4x4s, and occasionally on foot, I wanted to experience African national parks by horse. My childhood riding experiences had been confined to the Kenyan coast, where dogs and cattle were the only animals to see. But in Malawi’s Nyika National Park, a spectacular plateau of endlessly rolling hills and low scudding clouds, horses afford the opportunity to get exceptionally close to the wildlife.

With a small group of riders and a local guide, I rode right into the middle of herds of zebra and roan antelope. They barely noticed us. We sat quietly in their midst, listening to the rasp of teeth on grass, the swish of tails, and the occasional contented grunt.

Months later I was back on an African horse, this time in Botswana’s Okavango Delta, the vast wetland at the heart of the Kalahari Desert. During the seasonal floods, much of the land here is sodden, yet on four hooves you can reach islands of dry land inaccessible by vehicle.

There are greater concentrations of wildlife here than at Nyika, with greater hazards. The company, Okavango Horse Safaris, advises that all riders should have sufficient ability to “gallop out of danger.” In this raw wilderness, danger could lurk around any corner or in any clump of bushes.

Minutes into my initial ride, we skirted heart-thumpingly close to a herd of elephants browsing within a patch of woodland. For once I wanted my horse to know that I was inexperienced — I was looking to him for reassurance. And I got it. While the elephants stripped the trees of bark and branches, the horse twitched his ears against bothersome flies and remained completely calm. Several times we saw lion tracks, but again I placed my faith in equine intuition. According to the guide, the horses are adept at picking up the slightest scent of a big cat, providing a natural early warning system.

With adventures in the Andes, Africa and several other rugged locales under my belt, an afternoon ride on the idyllic Hawaiian island of Kauai ought to have been child’s play.

‘‘Do you ride?”

‘‘Yes,” I said with unqualified confidence. None of the other prospective riders admitted to experience, so I was given the horse with a malevolent glint in his eye. We set off down to a beautiful beach, where my mount instantly got the wind in his tail, broke away from the group, and carried me into the pounding surf.

Thus soaked to the skin, I managed to steer him back to the others and we followed a trail through vibrant tropical vegetation — some of which was prickly. The pricklier it was, the greater delight my horse took in brushing me through it. And finally, on return to the stables, he pulled up sharply and dumped me on my backside.

Cut, bruised, wet and plastered in dirt, I hobbled to my rental car and drove back to my beachside resort. From within the air-conditioned interior of the vehicle, the scenery outside appeared remote.

When our forebears traded horses for automobiles as their principle mode of transport, they gained convenience and comfort but lost connection with the world around them. The odd mishap is a small price to pay. You haven’t truly seen the world until you’ve seen it from the back of a horse.

INFO TO GO

A wide range of guided horse treks are offered by the U.K.-based specialist company Equine Adventures (tel 44 1962 737647, http://www.equineadventures.co.uk), including itineraries in the United States, Africa, Asia and South America. Trips are graded according to the required level of riding experience. In Chile, Cascada de las Animas (tel 562 861 1303, http://www.cascada.net) offers a choice of trips, from a one-day ride costing $100 to a 14-day crossing of the Andes from $2550; prices include transfers from Santiago. Okavango Horse Safaris (tel 267 686 1671, http://www.okavangohorse.com) is the leading operator of horse safaris in Botswana, offering 5-, 7- or 10-night itineraries from $700 per person per night, excluding flights. On Kauai, most rides with CJM Country Stables (tel 808 742 6096, http://www.cjmstables.com) are incident free! A two-hour excursion costs $98 plus tax.