Not all it’s cracked up to be

Yesterday when I caught the bus up to the riding stables, I bumped into a man.

“Ee-s is very good horses,” he said. A good sign. He looked like a decent, knowledgeable person. Perhaps not someone skilled in the art of horsemanship, but a nice person, nonetheless.

Today I got the bus back to the stables for a 12 noon ride, and met “Bob,” the owner. He did not want payment until after the ride; nor did he want my name, any form of ID, or require me to sign a release of some sort. I grabbed a hat, mounted Doc, originally a white horse, I think, and joined the rest of the group heading out for the ride, the majority of whom were locals.

We set off at a walk and quickly moved into a trot. A late arrival, a young man in his early twenties, caught up to us not long after. His mount wore only one shoe and that was loose. No one, including Bob, seemed to notice. We hit a stoney pathway and the ride switched to a canter, and then slowed down when we hit a road junction.

Parked across the street sat a yellow Catarpillar digger, next to the pathway we needed to continue along. One of the horses, with a young girl riding, began to spook and would not proceed. She tried to cajole the animal by kicking and sawing at the reins, and occasionally using her whip, but it would not move and started to shy away from the machine. No matter what the girl tried, the horse was adamant it was moving nowhere, except in the opposite direction.

Bob dismounted from his horse and grabbed the reins of the nervous animal. He then proceeded to kick it in the stomach and hit it over the head with his hand. I looked away and felt sick. I wanted to end the ride. Eventually, the frightened horse was forced to walk past the yellow contraption and the ride continued. A little further along, the same horse spooked again, this time at a car, and the girl once again had difficulty controlling him. She dismounted and asked Bob to take over (I think, from what I understood). She took his horse instead.

Since Bob held a crop in his hand and wasn’t currently doing anything with it, once he’d got his seat and put his feet in the stirrups, he decided to hit the horse around its head and neck a couple of times.

From this point, I saw the old buildings and scenery we went passed did not take much notice, or care. With tears in my eyes, I found it difficult to concentrate on what the young 13 year old girl riding alongside me tried to say, wanting to practice her limited knowledge of English.

“What music you like?” she said. “Kelly Clarkson and Ee-laree Duff is good.”

Yes, great. Can we end this now, please? My limited knowledge of Catalan, the main language in Andorra, or Spanish, or French, or anything for that matter, meant I was unable to get on my soapbox and cause a scene. It was awful.

As soon as we got back to the stables, I dismounted, paid my money and left. The day was ruined. All I’d wanted to do was spend a relaxing hour riding, something I have loved since childhood. It had been the complete opposite to my experience at the Epona Equestrian Center in Carmona, Spain, last week.

If anyone’s interested in seeing how a place should be run, or would like to go on a riding vacation, definitely check out their facilities.

I know I generally write upbeat little ditties, but I want to get this off my chest.

“Bob,” by the way, is not his real name, but out of what little respect I have, I have chosen not to use his real one, or mention the name of the stables. And “Bob,” if you happen to read this posting, please get over yourself.

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