What the Horses Leave With Us

Pegasus Horse Holiday, Lake Saimaa · August 2026

What stays with us after a journey?

Sometimes it is not the place we expected. Not even the experience we travelled for.

Sometimes it is a feeling.

This August, I hosted two women at Blueberry Villa on Lake Saimaa for a slow travel horse holiday with Pegasus Reiterreisen. They arrived from different countries, different generations and with very different histories with horses.

Esther, 85, came from Switzerland. She has ridden all over the world. Long trail rides in South America, South Africa, Canada and beyond. Days spent in the saddle, travelling through landscapes on horseback. She still has two horses of her own and continues to ride, travel and go out into the world on her own.

Cathi, 28, a psychology student from Germany, arrived on her first solo trip. Her first horse holiday. She had not ridden for two years.

One has a lifetime of horse journeys behind her.

The other may have just begun.

For a few days, their paths met here in Finnish Lakeland.

The horses are part of the journey

This is a horse holiday, but it is not only about riding.

That distinction matters to me.

The horses become our companions in experiencing the landscape. We walk to them together. We spend time around them. We begin in the arena when needed and gradually move onto the trails.

Then we ride.

Through Finnish forest and wilderness. Along quiet paths and through a pear orchard, where we could reach from horseback to pick ripe pears from the trees and eat them together with the horses.

There is time.

Time to notice the swans.

Time to hear the birds.

Time to see what is growing beside the trail.

Time to talk, and time not to.

At Blueberry Villa, the same rhythm continues.

Fire and water

One of the things that struck both women was the immersion in nature.

At the lakeside sauna, fire and water became very real.

We lit the wood-burning sauna stove with firewood from our own forest. We watched the flames through the small window of the stove and listened to the wood crackling.

Outside was Lake Saimaa.

Fire inside. Water outside.

Heat on the skin. The smell of burning wood. Steam rising from the sauna stones. And the birch whisks. The cool lake waiting only a few steps away. Bare feet. Wind. Silence.

This is sensory awareness in its simplest form. We do not have to intellectualise it. The body notices before the mind needs to understand.

The fire became part of our food as well. I smoked salmon for us, and there was joy not only in eating it but in watching and waiting as it slowly cooked. Like so much of what we ate during these days, the pleasure began before the food reached the table.

During Pilates on the terrace, we watched birds flying above us and clouds slowly moving across the sky.

Sitting on the pier, the reeds swayed along the lakeshore.

We took the boat across the waters of Lake Saimaa to visit Stone Age rock paintings, marks left by people who lived beside these waters thousands of years before us.

And we ate from the landscape around us.

Nettle and herbs. Chanterelles. Tomatoes from the garden. Blueberries, raspberries, lingonberries and blackcurrants. Barley, rye bread, vegetables, fresh, simple food.

Esther told me she eats everything. Fresh food, movement, curiosity, some sun and no need for vitamins.

At 85, you listen.

How do you stay young?

I found myself observing Esther.

Her excitement about everything was infectious.

At 85, after travelling and riding around the world, she was still curious.

Still interested.

Still willing to go somewhere new on her own.

Still taking care of two horses.

Still choosing movement, either you go to the gym or have a horse.

Still very much in the present.

When we talked about how she stays young, there was no complicated formula. There was curiosity, movement, fresh food and continuing to participate in life rather than watching it pass.

Perhaps most importantly, there was an openness to what came next.

I watched her experience Lake Saimaa with the enthusiasm of someone seeing the world for the first time.

And yet she has seen so much of it.

Having something of your own

Our conversations naturally travelled beyond horses.

We talked about relationships and the importance of having something that is your own, even when you share your life with someone.

A partner does not necessarily need to love the same things you do. Perhaps what matters more is understanding what makes the other person feel alive, and giving each other the space to follow it.

For one person, that might be horses. For another, something completely different.

You can agree on the terms of your life together so that both have time for what they love. Time to travel, ride, create, explore or simply be somewhere on their own.

There is something important in this.

We don't have to get all our happiness from each other. We can have our own passions, experiences and sources of joy and then bring that happiness back into the life we share.

Perhaps having something of your own doesn't take you away from each other.

Perhaps it is also one of the ways we remain happy together.

And perhaps that is another form of empowerment: knowing what brings you alive and allowing yourself to follow it.

The first journey

With Cathi, I witnessed something different.

This was her first solo trip and her first horse holiday. Simply deciding to come required trust.

She had not ridden for two years. We started in the arena, allowing her to reconnect with the horse and with herself before heading onto longer trails.

Then something began to change.

One image has stayed with me.

Cathi with the horses on the pasture.

The happiness on her face was completely open. Nothing needed to be added to that moment.

She had done it.

She had travelled alone. She had returned to horses. She had moved from the arena into the forest and onto the trails. She had trusted herself enough to begin.

What stayed with her was empowerment.

She also spoke about two things she wanted to take home with her: the importance of pausing and the importance of remaining grateful for what she already has.

The German word Achtsamkeit came into our conversations.

Mindfulness. Awareness. Paying attention.

Noticing your life while you are actually living it.

What stayed with them

At the end of a transformative journey, after reflecting along the way, I often return to a simple question:

What struck you? And what will stay with you?

The answers are rarely a list of sights.

What stayed from these days was hospitality.

A special energy.

A feeling of being newborn.

Empowerment.

Gratitude.

Achtsamkeit.

The horses were there throughout, but so were the forest, lake, sauna, food, walking, conversations, silence and companionship.

They all became part of the same experience.

Esther told me I was the best host she had ever had. Coming from a woman who has travelled so extensively around the world, her words touched me deeply.

But what mattered even more was seeing what happened while we were here together.

What stayed with me

As a host and coach, I don't stand outside these journeys.

They affect me too.

What stayed with me was Cathi's open happiness when she was with the horses on the pasture.

And Esther's excitement for everything.

Her love of life.

Two women, 57 years apart in age.

One taking her first solo journey.

One still taking solo journeys at 85.

Perhaps they were not so different after all.

Both were willing to go.

Both were curious about what might happen.

Both allowed themselves to be present. And are now my friends.

And both reminded me that there is no particular age at which we are supposed to stop discovering ourselves or to stop making room for what makes us feel alive.

How this slow travel horse holiday works

The idea behind my slow travel horse retreats is not to fill every hour.

It is the opposite.

We use horses, nature and the Finnish way of living close to the elements to create space.

We ride, but we also walk.

We eat, but we notice where the food comes from.

We sauna, swim and sit beside the lake.

We watch the fire, cook with it and feel the cold water against our skin.

We explore the Finnish forest and the ancient landscape of Lake Saimaa, including travelling by boat to the Stone Age rock paintings.

We pause.

We use sensory awareness and reflective conversations to notice what is happening within us as we travel.

There is no single outcome we are trying to reach. What emerges is different for everyone.

For one person, it may be rediscovering a passion that has always been there.

For another, it may be discovering the confidence to travel alone.

It may be gratitude for the life waiting at home.

It may be understanding that you need more space for something you love.

Or it may simply be remembering what it feels like to be fully present.

And slowly, the journey becomes about more than where we have been.

It becomes about what we will carry home.

Esther plans to return.

Cathi plans to continue exploring the world through other horse holidays.

The horses will stay with her.

And these days at Lake Saimaa will stay with all three of us.

That, to me, is what transformative travel can do.

You leave the place. But something of the journey continues travelling with you.

Follow your nature.

You can book your Slow Travel Horse Holiday for the 2026 autumn and 2027 summer now via Pegasus. More here.

— Mirka Kristiina Bruun
The Finnish Happiness Coach
Founder, The Journey Studio

Finnish Happiness Camp: What Can Happen in Two Days?

Not much. And everything.

We continue to protect ourselves from others, from a world that meets each of us differently, and from ourselves, the thoughts and old stories we carry. We cross our arms without even noticing.

When I welcome people to the 2-Day Finnish Happiness Camp, I begin with simple questions.

Where are you now? How do you feel?

As we leave the city behind and make our way to Blueberry Villa on its island, we cross bridges where Lake Saimaa stretches out on both sides of the road. The conversation slowly settles into what each of us has brought along in our invisible backpack.

Arriving Without Expectations

When we arrive, I invite you to pause.

This is your time. Your time only. Time you have deserved and chosen for yourself.

You do not have to do anything. You may simply sit on your chosen corner of the terrace or the pier and listen to the birds.

After local refreshments; spruce tip refreshments, fresh strawberries, rye crisps with goat cheese, we wander into the garden and forest, following whatever feels most alive that day. Perhaps it is foraging, walking quietly beneath the pines, reflecting together, or taking to the water.

Lake Saimaa usually has the strongest pull.

We row to nearby rock paintings, created more than 5,000 years ago, where our ancestors travelled these waters as their highway and settled beneath the ancient Castle Rock. The lake has always connected people, and somehow it still does.

The Quiet Magic of a Nordic Summer

There is something magical about Nordic summers.

The white nights. The soft evening light. Collecting wildflowers for midsummer crowns.

The gentle act of gathering flowers and weaving them together becomes a quiet reflection on our own lives; choosing what still calls us forward and leaving behind what no longer belongs.

Nobody knows you here.

There may be a public version of you somewhere else, but that is only one part of who you are. Here, you are free to set every role aside.

You need no titles, no expectations, no hats.

Only your new crown.

The Sauna, the Lake and the Senses

We slowly light the fire in the 18th-century wood-burning lakeside sauna and prepare fresh birch whisks, gently blessing ourselves as generations before us have done.

The warmth of the sauna followed by a swim in Lake Saimaa becomes one of the most natural ways to experience the Finnish summer, with every sense awake. The heat, the cool water, the scent of birch, the silence, the smooth stones beneath your feet.

Become aware of your senses.

Perhaps somewhere along the way you notice yourself crossing a threshold.

Simple Food, Deep Nourishment

Dinner is built around the season.

Fresh salads, local cheeses, rye bread, new potatoes, salmon smoked or baked with chanterelle sauce gathered from our own grounds, and blueberry pie with a rye crust served with vanilla sauce.

Simple, pure tastes.

The kind that remind us how little we actually need.

Just Be

As the evening sun turns red and melts into the lake, colouring the water with the sky itself, there is nothing left to do.

Only be.

Not do.

We often speak about being human beings, not human doings.

And I quietly ask:

Who are you when you are no longer defined by doing?

Taking Something Home

The next morning begins slowly, entirely at your own pace.

Perhaps you swim before breakfast. Perhaps you pick blueberries in the garden, sit on the terrace, or spend a quiet moment with the horses grazing in the neighbouring field before riding through the forest.

Brunch is filled with local favourites: homemade lepuskas, rye bread, Karelian pies, nettle and feta omelette, homemade juices, berries, yoghurt, muesli, tea and coffee.

Before we say goodbye, I hand you a small card or one of my little signature notebooks.

I invite you to write.

What are you taking with you?

What did you realise during this pause? During this sensory awareness?

You tell me what you want to carry into everyday life, and together we reflect on how that new understanding can become part of the way you live, long after you leave Blueberry Villa.

Leaving With Open Arms

At the pier, there is one final goodbye to the lake.

Some people throw a small stone into the water. Others choose one to take home, a quiet reminder of this place, together with the note or drawing they created.

They spread their arms wide and simply twirl in the wind.

I trust your inner nature.

Like the willow that bends with the wind without breaking. Like plants that somehow find their way through concrete toward the light.

This weekend's Finnish Happiness Camp was beautiful.

The arms that arrived crossed tightly over the chest left wide open.

Sometimes, happiness doesn't arrive because we find something new.

Sometimes, it arrives because, for two quiet days, we finally remember who we were before we began protecting ourselves.

I remain here for you. You can book Your Happiness Camp here.