RIDE ANDALUSIA ADVENTURE
Day 1
Native Griffin Vultures circle over the forests of Cork Oak as our horses pick their way through the trees high in the mountains of Andalusia. Far in the distance behind us we can clearly see the two Pillars of Hercules; Jebel Mousa in Morocco and the rock of Gibraltar, guarding the strait that Greeks thought marked the end of the world. For the smugglers who rode this route to bring contraband into Franco's Spain as recently as the 1970s though, this was their source.
Yes. Lance is off on another horse riding adventure, a little shorter than before and a little closer to home but an adventure nonetheless. So be prepared for some poetic ramblings and flights of fancy on a daily basis for the next week.
Day 2
As soon as the Andalusian autumn rains start to fill the bone-dry river beds the farmers here let the pigs back into the forests where they spend the winter gorging on cork oak acorns and sweet chestnuts until in early summer when there is no more water for them they are enticed to strategically placed feeding stations. Its this free range life and special diet which gives their pork a wonderful unique flavour and texture more like beef. Fabulous eaten cold with wine and soup as a glorious picnic, four hours into our six-hour ride. More steep, narrow trails up and down these mountains mixed with exciting canters when the going allowed.
Day 3
Frederic stood in the early October sun and looked out over his vines to the valley beyond. In the distance, he could see the rains coming up from the coast. All summer he had looked for this rain and now it was too late. He clicked his tongue and spat in the dust. The grapes were ready for picking now and all this rain would do is make that more difficult. No rain meant the grapes were small and yield down. It was going to be another difficult year but now he had a new baby and so Carmen wasn't able to share so much of the work. His parents would come again of course to help with the harvest but they were both quite old now and it Frederic knew it would be a slow business. Now he heard the hooves on the road behind the villa; several horses walking quickly clip clop clip clop toward him. Time to stop thinking and start performing. He smoothed back his hair, tucked in his shirt and prepared his best welcome smile. If the crazy English Señora and her guests enjoyed his bodega tour she would bring more throughout the year which would certainly help balance the books. "Buenos Dias" he beamed to the riders, arms flung wide. "Welcome".
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Day 4
"Come on Castellano, come on boy". Impossibly steep, impossibly narrow, impossibly wet. Karen already made it on Bandalero.
"Come on Castellano, come on boy". Heals down, balancing on stirrups, out of the saddle to help. We mustn't stop we'd never make it from a standing start.
"Come on Castellano, come on boy" free hand holding is mane so forward, so vertical my mouth almost touching his ear. Back foot slips over on its pastern he groans and gets his footing once more.
"Come on Castellano, come on boy" winding and overgrown and narrower still. Surely it can't be much higher? Crotch resting on the pummel. Wish I'd lost more weight. Glutes are really firing now Lucy!
"We've made it Castellano, you've done it boy" Stroking and hugging his neck. "Yay" from Melinda,
"Well done" from Karen. A smile creases Emily's mouth. I'm washed by waves of relief.
This certainly is a rugged landscape and in places challenging on a horse but there really is no other way to see it.
Day 5
"Hey Melinda" boomed Peter, the 6'2" Kiwi striding into the dining room in his 'new for the trip' breeches, boots and half chaps. "YOU could have cooked a better Paella than that last night". Totally oblivious that in one short sentence he had both offended our hosts and patronised the Californian. "I HAVE, Peter". She said, uncharacteristically sotto vocé. "Many times, but I really enjoyed it and we are their guests". The mild rebuke went unnoticed. "I was disappointed. They really needed more saffron and sweet smoked paprika" not considering for a minute that the Andalusian women who had demonstrated the art of paella making to us might know what was and wasn't authentic. Sighing and rolling her eyes for the hundredth time this trip, his wife Pippa spotted her moment and was in "So, how did you two first meet? Melinda and I shared a look and held hands. "You tell her darling" she said, smiling warmly and looking lovingly into my eyes. She rested her head on my shoulder as I began my totally fictitious tale of our non, and never, existent relationship over the last nine years; the wives and husbands, our many children together, the sex, the infidelities. As the details became more lurid and outrageous, Melinda held me closer and sighed at the right points. This is the third riding trip Melinda and I have found ourselves on together. we are pretty comfortable and often play little games on couples we meet who deserve it. Peter was now feeling really uncomfortable, but they were both captivated and for the first time in the entire trip we couldn't hear his drone.
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Day 6
To read this you need to know the song "sailing" by Christopher Cross"
We're on our way to paradise, my brothers, friends and me.
And if the wind is right our boat will getaway to Spain across the sea.
We're 1000 miles from Senegal, far from family.
Pray for me.
We paid the truck man all we had, crushed in with the other men.
And if the wind is right we'll find our way - we won't see him again.
Oh we're going to need a miracle to paddle across this sea.
Pray for me.
Chorus:
Praying we get away to where we always wanted to be.
This leaky overloaded boat so tiny
On this rough and rocky sea.
Fast ferry, wash splashes over me
Now we're praying.
Calls in to the Coastguard; sends a helicopter and the navy.
Oh lord save me.
Chorus:
Well this whole trip was insanity, it's ended now for me.
They'll take us back and lock us up for an eternity.
We're hoping for a miracle, my brothers, friends and me.
Pray for me.
Chorus.
(Apologies to Christopher Cross)
So today we took the ferry to Tangier from Tarifa. 35 minutes by fastcat, considerably longer by rubber dinghy! We very nearly ran down a little yellow boat sinking under the weight of eight North Africans making a desperate attempt to paddle across this busy waterway in hope of a better life in Spain. This is not an uncommon sight and the Spanish authorities often stop boats like this. Sadly, it is even more common to find bodies washed up on the beach.