Sunday

Packing for a riding vacation is always a challenge. You have to prepare for all kinds of weather and temperatures, especially during a changeable period of the year like this one.

 It all got into the bag eventually, however.

I was going on a ride around Andalusia, in south-central Spain, operated by Maria-Elena Dendaluce, the same person who had guided us so beautifully through northern Spain two years before (link to that blog here). The trip actually began with some sightseeing in Sevilla. My plane touched down a few hours before the planned meeting of our group, so I took a taxi to the train station (the eventual meeting place), checked my bag at the left luggage and went into the center city. I had seen the Alcazar before but had forgotten what a wonderful mix of Moorish, Gothic and Renaissance architecture it is. For once, succeeding generations had left some of the original structures, so the palace is really a series of palaces, around and atop one another. A quick stroll through the gardens






 and then to the neighboring cathedral, where I discovered the line was too long for my time frame. The answer: Starbucks.

We met up with Maria-Elena, Alfonso (who would provide the horses) and five of our number and were driven to the hotel/stables Alfonso runs, the Corbera.

Our rooms were one-story hacienda-style.




Because we were slightly late we mounted for our introductory ride almost immediately – just as we were being told the horses had been tied up, saddled, for the previous four hours.

They were a little restless. But beautifully trained. My horse, Capricho, an Andalusian-Arab mix, was sensitive and obedient, if a little frustrated that we didn’t immediately gallop off into the surrounding olive orchards. As we walked them around the inner paddock, the second contingent arrived from the airport, including my friend Joe, who had been on the northern ride.

We were 10 riders all told. I’d learn later there were three French (plus me, of course): a couple from Brittany and a man from Paris, one Swiss man from Geneva, a woman from Sweden, two women from Haiti, of all places, and two Americans, a freelance journalist named Catherine as well as Joe.

We would ride on the land around the farm Tuesday, we were told, and Wednesday drive about 45 minutes, meet up with the horses and make our way through the Donana national park  (link here). We'd end  up on the southern Atlantic coast with a beach gallop on the our last day.  The lines aren't complete on this map but the places are underlined.

With Alfonso and Maria-Elena in the lead, we rode along sandy paths through the orchards and fields, the house’s five Labradors and two Jack Russells racing along with us. We just walked and trotted for about two hours, enough to get to know the horses and take the edge off a little. As soon as we dismounted Maria-Elena invited us around the corner to a little bar/den at the stable, where gin & tonics and other refreshments awaited us. Followed by a delicious dinner, at the correct Spanish hour of 9:30 p.m., of local fishes. 

Monday

As promised, the rain was pounding before we got up. Most of us had decent gear, though several lamented having left one or another item at home because ‘it doesn’t rain in Andalusia.’ We’ll skip the jokes about rain in Spain. No plains in this part of the country anyway.

The horses weren’t all that used to rain either. As Alfonso put it, `It doesn’t rain much here so we don’t go out, we just wait until tomorrow.’ That didn’t stop him from getting on his white horse and leading the other 11 of us (including Maria Elena) out for our expedition. We had always planned on returning to the same place tonight, so it was easy to cut the itinerary a little short. As Maria Elena put it, `We’ll ride until lunch and see how we feel.’

Long before lunch, we felt wet. The rain was not terribly hard, but it was quite windy. We rode through pretty much the same kind of territory as the day before– olive and orange orchards and fields of baby almond plants, protected by white paper cones. Maria Elena said one of the great things about living in Spain was that you could have seasonal fruit all year round. They’d already harvested the oranges, for instance, and peaches were just around the corner – in early April! The same dogs came with us, undeterred by weather of course.

We cantered the horses for the first time and I found that Capricho has a lovely ground-eating stride, not real smooth but lots of pep. He's pictured here later in the ride.

No one had any real misbehavior problems – contrary to past group rides I’ve taken, everyone on this one knows what they’re doing – so we were able to stay in a line.

After a few damp hours it was time for aperitivo. This is a meal that is almost as big as lunch and occurs at about the same time as (normal) lunch but is just a precursor to the real thing. We tethered the damp horses to a rope line and squished off.

`I don’t just have buckets of water in my boots,’ said Philippe. `I have fishes.’  Sheltered by what are called parasol pines, for obvious reasons, we managed to down more of the lovely Iberian ham, which I had also scarfed down for breakfast, as well as sherry and red wine. Joe and I took a photo to send to our friends Sue and Nancy, who had been on the northern trip with us. The weather will look familiar to them.

Then a half-hour more of riding, in some of the worst rain yet, and it was time to get wet in our bathtubs rather than on our horses. Once dry, we sat down to what we thought was a copious and delicious lunch of salad with the same tuna-like fish as last night and some incredibly fresh local shrimp, boiled and treated with salt. What a rookie mistake: next they brought out a chickpea stew kind of thing, redolent with tomatoes and olive oil. And when we thought it was finally over, a huge plate of meats, including blood sausage and beef roast. I will say that most of us, including me, managed to get on the outside of a little of that too, while chugging down the local vino tinto. I begged Maria Elena to ask them to make dinner – at 9:30pm -- very light.

I guess pork in mushroom sauce is light to some people. But in any case, even after a quiet late afternoon of siesta, reading and email,  it went down well. And we enjoyed drying off in front of the fire and getting to know each other.






And walking back to my room after dinner – it was almost midnight – I looked up and saw that the clear sky was filled with stars.

Tuesday

A different world awaited us in the morning, filled with sunshine. After breakfast, we hopped into several vehicles to meet up with the horses – they had left already – south of here. The trip included crossing a river on a tinny little ferry that buzzed back and forth; it fit all three vehicles and a fourth with no problem.




We met the horses at the Hacienda de Torquemada, which is partly owned by Alfonso and puts on weddings and the like in its beautiful chapel and garden. Maria Elena said the hacienda style – white walls, tile roofs, enclosed courtyard entry, long low house with a garden behind – that is so popular in Mexico and the American Southwest actually came from Andalusia. We took a group shot here too.

We headed off on the horses through the beginning of the park, this part of it occupied by lots of commercial olive estates and, in other sections, sunflower fields and wheat fields. The land was flatter than back around Sevilla and, with just a few traces of cumulus clouds, it almost felt like Big Sky country. We had lots of nice trots and canters. I am in love with my horse. He is extremely well trained, almost like a dressage horse, and is really obedient. Even when he wants to go faster than I do, he listens and obeys. Alfonso had told me at dinner the night before that he was part German warmblood and part Spanish-Arab-Andalusian. Hard to see how you could go wrong there. He’s also really pretty.


After a couple of hours it was, of course, time for aperitivo. We are talking 1:30pm. We went right through an olive orchard and turned into another hacienda – the farm, it turned out, that Maria-Elena had just bought her horse from. The owner was hugely into carriage driving and he and the young man who does his competitions showed us the beautiful matched pairs of white horses and the gleaming-clean carriages they pull. The harnesses looked like they had been cleaned with a toothbrush. They were going to drive in a festival in Sevilla on Sunday that some of us, not me because of my earlyish flight, said they would attend.

I hadn’t planned on having any alcohol, but we had an arrival crisis that pretty much undid everyone. We had ridden all the horses into a pen where halters were tied to the fence at intervals, waiting for us. We indeed put the halters on them, when all of a sudden Maria Elena’s horse went nuts and pulled back hard against the upper rail of the fence – so hard he pulled the rail off. So there he was and the unhappy horse who’d been next to him, tied up to this dangling fence rail that was maybe 15 feet long, thrashing around in the pen. Meanwhile, some of the other horses, including mine, slipped their ties and started dashing around as well. It could have ended really badly, but some of the guys managed to catch Maria Elena’s horse and get him untied from the rail. Then we caught the others – not hard, since they were in a pen – and tied them all up again, more securely. Maria Elena’s miscreant – this was his first time on the trail – went into a stall in the barn and we headed for the bottle of local sherry and some healthy snacks.

Then it was off and into the forest for the most beautiful part of the trip so far. It was like a French forest: Wild but maintained. Long loamy galloping paths under the parasol pine trees (We were riding through a national park, 120,000 hectares around, through most of the trip.). We rode through some bushes that smelled strongly like rosemary and crossed some small streams, including one into which Marie’s horse decided to take a nice wet roll.

Then we turned around a corner and there was the lunch table, beautifully set up by Jose Maria, Alfonso’s trusty assistant, with a white table cloth,  two vases of flowers and 12 white chair covers. In the middle of a broad field with purple and red wildflowers, in the shelter of a parasol pine.


He does this with an incredible support vehicle/trailer arrangement that nourishes people and horses alike.The camping trailer has shelves for everything and some kind of heating element that folds out, pulled by Alfonso’s 4 by 4. You can also wash your hands and get your hay here.

We tied the horses to a tether line, which got exciting again when Patrick’s horse somehow got his saddle caught in the line and started jumping around. Eventually they got the saddle off and all was well.

So we ate a lovely tomato and fish salad as the birds sang, sipping our red or white wine, then some kind of stewed meat with yummy French fries. Then three desserts: fresh pineapple, little iced cakes and then black chocolate. All this served by Jose Maria, who alternated between catching crazy horses and, with a an apron tied around his middle, clearing plates and serving courses.

Alfonso left us early, saying he had to get to Sevilla for his daughter’s christening. `My wife has called me, like, 200 times,’ he said. We left Jose Maria and his son, Alberto, to clean up and, under the leadership of Maria Elena, rolled out for the one-hour ride to the hotel. More trots and canters and her horse, which had run away a few times during canters in the morning, behaved much better.

The hotel was a luxurious establishment with a swimming pool and gardens, and very functional wifi.

Wednesday

In the morning we cantered through the through the forest, sheltered by the tall parasol pines. Philippe went ahead and took a video





And then it was time for aperitivo. Jose Maria had set the table up  in a field of wildflowers, including one at each place. It had been a long hot morning and a beer went down well.

The sun was the hottest it’s been, without a cloud in the sky. I was quite warm, especially with my safety vest on. Our riding equipment ranges from full helmet and safety vest (me) to helmet and safety stirrups (Joe) to helmets (most people) to hats (some of the French people and Maria-Elena) to nothing (Alfonso). He did wear a hat when we rode in the rain.

Our next stop was in a broad field filled with wildflowers of all colors – two types of red, poppies and something like that looked like a small salvia; one white, one blue (cornflowers?) and a yellow flower that was both beautiful and ubiquitous. When I asked Maria Elena what it was she said it was a weed that spread so quickly it was despised by farmers and didn’t have a name. Anyway, many photos were taken in this field. 

And Philippe took another video, one of many he's taken for Maria Elena’s web site.

Lunch featured the white tablecloth and vases of wildflowers, with asparagus and shrimp for appetizer and  tuna with onions for the main course. The only question was whether to drink white all the way through or switch to red for the tuna.

The highlight of the afternoon riding: We cantered across a wide grassy field (most of our canters have been on narrower paths, so single file) and were able to get the horses spread out across the field almost in a line. No runaways, no crises. A little later, Joe’s horse almost went down and rolled in a little stream we were crossing, but he prevented that with alacrity.

Overnight was in El Rocio, a town famed for being all about horses. None of the streets is paved and the bars and restaurants have wooden hitches in front of them -- and even a bar to put your drink on!

There was a training ring in front of our hotel and some of the houses have apartments in front, stables in back. 

The horses graze on common land, we saw a whole herd of mares and foals near the marsh. 

Actually, El Rocio is famous for a pilgrimage where 1 million people come and carry the statue of the Virgin around in the streets at Pentecost, but since that’s not my story I’ll let you look it up.

  

We were also very happy to see that the horses got to spend the night in a pasture rather than in stalls. This was at a local hacienda owned by a rich Mexican who hardly ever came. Why should he? Who wants to see his beautiful house, a gorgeous adjoining stable, acres of green pastures, many high-class horses and a pond with swans?

Dinner at a local restaurant: beef soup and grilled merlu, whatever that is in English. (`A white fish,’ which is what the waiters in Paris ALWAYS say when we ask them about a fish on the menu).

Thursday

If yesterday was a flower day, today was a wildlife day. But first,  I started with a little jog around the village (different muscles from riding) and stuck my head into the big church that houses the Virgin. Lots of cleaning going on for the big festival, lots of gold and gilt on the altar in typical Spanish style.

 

The horses were tied up and waiting when we arrived at the hacienda (I never thought I would write a sentence like that) and we headed back toward the park. On the way, another canter across the wide field. I was a little off to the side and could look over and see eight or so of my fellow riders together, horses moving in rhythm as they streamed across the field. 


Then we entered the most protected portion of the park, where you needed a permit to go in.

This was driven home when a park ranger came out of nowhere and chewed out Alfonso for leaving the trail (we had just been taking a sort cut between trails). This rather pissed him off since, as he put it, horses don’t do any damage to the forest and the ranger was driving around in a big, noisy 4X4.

Things took a turn for the better when, not too far in the distance, we saw a mama boar and her babies (boarlets? boarbies?) scuttling away. And down the road we got a good look at a red deer and, later, a fawn.



Not to mention another lovely canter.

After aperitivo we returned to town and – I am not making this up – cantered in a line of all 12 of us through the city streets. Remember that this horse town has nothing but wide, sandy roads. The line was pretty ragged and we had to veer a little when cars pulled out of side streets but it was still fun.





We then rode to the cathedral and were met by Jose Maria and Alberto, who held our horses while we went ins and contemplated the Virgin statue. It must take a lot of people to carry her, the statue and its pedestal looked really heavy.Then back on the horses, this time so Philippe could video us cantering back and forth around the cathedral.



Not to mention a few still photos. 

Next stop: A bar on the north end of town, one of those that featured bar rails for the horses. And a glass of homemade organic sparkling sherry. Not all the horses were willing to belly up to the bar for it, as opposed to a local guy who showed up on his Arabian, so the waiter brought it to some of the riders.

Then inside for shrimp and prawns as appetizer and fried squid and fish for the main course. The horses were tied to trees out front. When we got back on they appeared to know exactly where they were going and walked happily to the hacienda, the same one, where they would overnight again.

Six of us, determined to ward off a siesta, had signed up for a wildlife-watching trip, and barely had time to shower before it was time to hop into the guide’s vehicle and go back into the park. We saw – very clearly through his telescope – a herd of about 11 red deer, as well as wild storks in their treetop nests and soaring black kites and red kites. No lynx, though we looked hard and the guide took us where rabbits, their prey, were likely to be found.

Dinner at the same restaurant and then we went into a basement reception room for some flamenco. I and the others had expected a cheesy dancer flapping her skirts but what we got was an amazing guitarist and a female singer with a deep, passionate voice. I couldn’t understand the words, of course, but they must have been expressing great love and sorrow, see the video link here. Some of the songs were more uplifting and we found ourselves dancing to the music. It was a late night, but worth it. 

Friday

We left El Rocio via a horse bridge over the highway on the other side of town and headed back into the park. The climate was starting to get drier as we moved south and the brush was getting a little scrubby.

I had gotten some kind of sunburn on my eyeball the previous day so was practicing riding with one eye shut and shielding my eye from the sun. It wasn't very fun.

It was at about that time – lunch – that some of us hit the wall. Maybe it was because it came after only about 50 minutes of riding after aperitivo (at which another park ranger showed up and checked Alfonso’s permit to eat in the park. Maria Elena said they had once tried to insist an aperitivo had to be eaten standing up; if you sat down it was lunch) . Maybe it was all these days of steady consuming. Anyway, some had to stop after the lovely tomato and squid salad, missing the ratatouille with fried egg on top. Others, including me, made it through that but gave up before the seafood stew. Still, the table was as lovely as ever. I took a little nap on the grass, using my inflated safety vest as a cushion and my helmet to block the light, and my eye felt much better.

Then we got to enjoy another confrontation with the park authorities. A pair of rangers dropped by and told Alfonso he should stay on the path because there were a lot of lynxes around. Bear in mind we had looked for lynxes the day before with a professional lynx finder, to no avail. And Maria Elena said she’d seen only one in 20 years of riding through the park. I could tell the guy had told Alfonso to stay on the path because as soon as we left he led us off the path.

Which was nice because we came across a little log that some of us jumped.

We put the horses up in a deserted village in the middle of nowhere. Maria Elena said the government had settled poor people there in the 1950s and just a few years later built a highway nearby and moved them back out. The horses, after a little grazing in a portable pen, were tied up in a kind of old stone warehouse and a local guy and his son watched them and the saddles overnight.

Our hotel was the five-star Parador, one of a chain of state-owned (why?) hotels. It was on the beach, actually, far above it, with a beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean (yes, the Atlantic. I had to really study the map to understand why we weren’t on the Mediterranean.) It also took a while to understand why incredibly loud music was emanating from the swimming pool, where some kind of party seemed to be going on.

So after a delicious dinner of bean soup and local fish, we went to the pool and learned we were attending the Mr. World Andalusia contest. Except  Maria Elena and Alfonso were highly amused to discover that it actually was the Mr. Andalusia West contest (link from local press here). Anyway, some very proud young man won.

Saturday

As we hopped into the vehicles to go to the horses this morning, Marie noticed that Maria Elena had a nearly flat tire. She is always alert to this, she said later, because if her car gets a flat tire in a bad neighborhood in Haiti she could have a big problem. Anyway, Maria Elena was able to get the nail removed and the leak patched at a local garage quickly – for 10 euros.

The horses clearly knew it was the last day. Much more energetic and enthusiastic. Except for Maria Elena’s horse, who refused to be tacked or mounted without great effort. Because he'd never been on one of these rides before, Maria Elena reasoned that he probably thought he’d be doing this for the rest of his life, walking in a line with a bunch of horses he didn’t know. The others understood that pastures and grass and freedom were in store in the coming week (they would go out again the following week) but I guess they didn’t tell the new horse. Other than that he was very sweet.

It was considerably drier and scrubbier and the sun shone hard. I had solved my eye problem, though, by deploying my (Air France) sleep mask as a kind of pirate patch. It worked very well.

The aperitivo was at a raised area where we could look out across the park. We were already feeling nostalgic.

And then we rode a full two hours before the last lunch, meaning that we actually had a chance to feel a few little hunger pans. I managed to down three courses and desserts, with two kinds of wine of course, and didn’t even feel overly stuffed. Several other riders said the same and agreed it was worrying.

We took a narrow cut through the cliffs and reached the beach in 15 minutes or so. It was high tide and there were quite a few bathers (some of them in the nude. `They’re the ones who didn’t win Mr. World Andalusia West,’ said Maria Elena) and fishers, but we still got in two canters under the towering red sandstone cliffs. The horses were great, very controllable even though they were really excited.

Some were even willing to get their feet wet, scampering in and out as the waves came in.












Philippe, as always, took a fantastic video.

Then Alfonso turned into a parking lot and up a hill and boom! There was the horse van waiting for us. The horses were loaded and gone within 30 minutes, headed back to Alfonso’s. I felt like I had when my kids went to college (well, a little).

At dinner we exchanged emails and contacts and, equally important, promised to share photos. And many, many thanks, to Marie Lievre, Philippe Tirel and Angele Khawly for their wonderful pictures and Philippe especially, for the videos.