The Toll Horse

On a bend with a stone wall and a long view, traffic control was being performed by a brown horse with a halter and a business model. It stood in the lane, unhurried, and when we slowed it came to the window with the confidence of an official whose authority has never once been questioned.

I had half a flatbread. The horse knew this before I did. Negotiations were short, the toll was paid into a warm insistent muzzle, and Yan provided commentary from the driver's seat in the tone of a woman who has paid this horse before and holds no grudge. The photograph shows the exact moment of settlement: me laughing into the window frame, the collector collecting.

Somewhere behind this checkpoint is presumably an owner, a pasture, a fence with opinions weaker than the horse's. I respect the arrangement completely. Best toll booth in Eurasia, and the only one that breathes on your hands.