A Week in my Life: Tuesday - I get Paid to Ride Horses on the Beach!

Tuesday begins the same way as Monday, only I get to sleep in for an extra 15 minutes as we have less to do this morning. We only tack up 10 horses today, and Rachel stays home with her 4 year old daughter Charlie so Vinnie can come out with us on his bike to take pictures of the guests. By the time we’re finished tacking up today, I’m officially awake and notice that Mitch, one of the forest...

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A Week in my Life: Monday - The Reason Sunday doesn't bother me

Today my alarm started buzzing at 7:30 AM. Under any other circumstances, this is the part of the day where I would scream and hide dreading the day ahead of me and incapable of doing anything productive. But it’s a Monday, and that means we have a lot to do today to get ready for the ride as all of the saddles have to be put back together. I roll out of bed at 8 still wearing the t-shirt I wore to the bar last night and not...

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A Week in my Life: Sunday - My "Monday" in the office

Sundays for me are both the beginning and the end of my work week. This morning, at 8, I said goodbye to 8 amazing guests who I had a fantastic week riding with last week. We hugged, made promises to keep in touch via facebook and waved furiously as Andrew drove the van out of the driveway and off to the airport in Malaga. As soon as the car was out of site, Rhiannon and I exchanged the look of "here we go again" and...

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A Week in my Life

Alright guys. Whether you wanted it or not, I'm going to be bothering you with my writing again. And to kick-start off that effort, I'm going to spend a week talking about what I do on a day-to-day basis out in el campo for Los Alamos in San Ambrosio, Spain. So for the next SEVEN days I will be dissecting every aspect of my life for your pleasure (as well as mine, nostalgically). I will try and remember to link to each other day...

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Mundial 2010 - Spain wins the World Cup

The World Cup is kind of like, this event that as an American, we try REALLY hard to care about, but then we generally end up sucking and so we cease to watch any matches after our defeat and then have some ginormous party for the final where the game is on a big screen in some side-room while the main party is held in another room filled with sounds of the Boss or something equally as patriotic drinking Red, White and Blue Jell-O shots and American flag tattoos on our faces. Yes, sadly, to most of us, the World Cup is just some sporting event we’re usually not involved in for very long and therefore is just another excuse to get drunk with our friends.

For me, this year, was different. First off, I’m living with an English family. To say that the English live and breathe fútbol… ok so ya…

[Begin Rant]

While we’re at it, I will be referring to this game as fútbol. I refuse to call it football (although sometimes I do around here to appease my family and not begin another heated debate about how retarded we are to be the only people in the world to call it soccer) because football to me, is, and will always be played with a real, leather, oblong, brown football and that is the only sport I will ever… EVER refer to as actual football. However, since this post is being written in Spain, and mainly revolves around my interactions with Spanish fútbol, I will make everyone happy by just referring to it as that.

[End Rant]

Back to the Brits. They like their footy. When it’s not on television, the sidebar on Sky with the sports news is up, or Jack’s playing Football Manager (proper noun, it’s an exception to my fútbol rule) on the laptop, or Andrew’s reading up news on the internet. It surrounds me. We had a countdown to the beginning of the World Cup and the fam even bought England shirts when they were in Gibraltar the week before the first game and all wore MATCHING England shirts during the first game.  So naturally, in addition to cheering for the good 'ol US of A, I decided to not cheer for England, but to cheer instead for the country where I am currently residing.

And that happened to be a very advantageous choice as – in case you’ve been hiding in a rock, or living anywhere in America where it would not surprise me if this didn’t make the 5 o’clock news – Spain won the 2010 World Cup. And I was here. In Spain! Ya, ok I know that’s not as exciting as being at the game itself, which if you’re interested in reading anything about, I’d highly recommend the blog of a friend of mine, Colin, who was every US game leading up to the World Cup Final and then at the Final itself, cheering on the brave Spaniards. However, this was a close second.

The games leading up to the final were always watched at Miguel’s. For the first few rounds, Vinny, Jose and I would meet about 20 minutes before kickoff and would take our places at the bar cheering loudly, drinking copious amounts of beer and generally not saying much of anything to eachother. The final, however was a completely different story.

Miguel brought down his flat screen from his house and perched it on a sherry keg (how Spanish) outside the bar. We then proceeded to pile every chair, barstool, table and human outside onto the patio, drawing the wind screens down over the sides and top to keep us shaded. We all dressed up in Red and Yellow for the final. Lots of kids came with faces painted and tattoos. There were flags, boas, bright yellow plastic earrings and even a pair of bright red corduroy pants on a man who likely has had them stuffed in a drawer since 1975.

by ArticularnosWe screamed, cheered, grimaced and hugged through every saque de  esquina, puerta, mano o falta that happened throughout the game and (literal) fireworks were lit when we scored the first (and only) goal in extra time. The television sound was turned off, the music blared full blast and the parking lot ablaze with bright red and yellow fireworks (there’s no way we got a permit from the guardabosques to use those). And when the game was over, the entire bar erupted. Everyone was hugging one another, there was champagne being squirted all over, there were shots handed out to everyone who didn’t get champagne, grown men were crying and children were screaming. There were 50 year old men dancing on cars and 5 year old boys stripping their shirts off and swinging them over their heads. There was a parade down the main Yellow Brick Road in town with excessive honking, flag flying and just the right amount of screaming.

by ArticularnosIt was incredible. At one point after the game, the crowd was chanting “Soy Español, Español, Español” – I am Spanish – and I was clapping along and not yelling anything, thinking to myself, well, I’m not Spanish. A man next to me who is a patriarch in the community, would be the closest thing to a Mayor I would say this little campo town has (and the same one who was wearing the Red pants) tapped me on the shoulder and asked “Por qué tú no cantas?” – Why are you not singing? – “Porque no soy Española” – Because I’m not Spanish – “Esta noche, eres Española. Ven conmigo. Canta!” – Tonight, you are Spanish. Come with me. Sing! – he shouted as he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the congo line. And I felt it.

Esta noche, soy Española.

The Ferias of Andalucia: Los Naveros

I’ve grown up around fairs. In fact, I’ve spent a lot of time at some of the most country fairs that exist in the little backcountry towns of Oklahoma. Nothing could have ever prepared me for this kind of fair. From April to November every year, each small town in southern Spain takes its turn hosting a fair, or feria in Spanish. Most ferias are typical American type fairs with a procession of dinky fair rides, chocked full of calorie fair food and carnies.  Only, there are small differences, and at some feria’s, these differences are much more evident than at others. My first feria experience was in Los Naveros, a small town about 18 miles away from San Ambrosio.

I knew we were riding to the feria, but I really had no idea what to expect.  I had seen the townsmen riding to other ferias in prior weeks and I knew it involved a lot of booze and many hours in the saddle.

We started the procession. Rachel, Vinny, Jose and I left our barn about 8:30 AM and headed towards Los Naveros, knowing we were about to partake in about a 4 hour journey. As we passed by Paco’s house, Paco (and his son, Paco) both came out to join us on two of their stallions. As we passed by Braulio’s house, Braulio joined us on his purebred Spanish mare. As we rode past house after house, man after purebred Spanish man would come bounding down his driveway on his purebred Spanish steed.  And after about a half an hour riding through San Ambrosio, we had acquired about 40 horses and their riders. Rachel and I were the only women, but we were told it was ok because we weren’t Spanish. Even though we picked up another 200 or so horses on the way to Navarro, we remained the only women in the procession.

We rode for hours through the countryside. I learned quickly that my Spanish was going to have to improve if I were to survive this day at all. About 11 AM, we pulled up to a field where there were 3 or 4 tractor trailers waiting for us with all of the women in the back. They had cooked us breakfast: tortillas, chorizo, manchego, bread and (naturally) sherry; lots of sherry. From here, the tractors led us – our own personal moving bar & grill. Fully stocked with gin & tonic, beer, sherry, summer wine and anything else you could fancy to drink. And drink we did.

We arrived at a gate at about 12:30 which was unlocked and opened by a man in a golf cart. He ushered the 100 or so horses in the gate and closed it behind it to lock us in as he rushed ahead about a mile to open the corresponding gate on the other side of the field. Suddenly, I realized why we were locked in, as I glanced to my right and spotted a herd of about 100 fighting bulls about 100 meters away. “Put on my jacket,” Paco demanded, “you’re wearing red and the bulls are trained to run to it.” Are you serious? They could see me from that far away? “Well, you’re more than welcome to chance it, if you’d like.” No thanks, I’ll take the jacket. About 20 minutes later, as the bulls slowly began walking towards us, I asked Antonio what we should do if the bulls start running towards us. “You run as fast as you can towards that gate, let the men take care of it,” he casually responded. Great plan.

So I can’t really relay to you the amount of panic that ensued, when a couple of minutes later I hear thundering hooves coming from behind me and a man screaming. I turned around to see a man on a beautiful stallion barreling full speed from about a quarter of a mile away. He was screaming in Spanish but I had no idea what.  He was coming right for me, but I had nowhere to move – and I have a feeling if I had moved, he would have moved with me. Because this stud was after one thing and one thing only: my mare. The next thing I know, the horse runs right into me and all I see is hooves as he attempts to mount my horse while I am still on her. Naturally (good girl) she kicks out at him and he runs off to his next victim, which happened to be anything and everything in front of him: four or five other horses, one of the tractor trailers and eventually the ground  as his poor rider gets tossed to all ends of the world. All the while, the bulls are standing about 50 yards away just watching, wondering whether to charge or not, and all of us are praying that they stay put; which fortunately, as we picked up the pieces of horse, rider and tack, they did.

Next on our agenda was our parade. A procession of our now just over 100 horses trotting through the streets of town after town while families poured out of their houses to take pictures, throw confetti and cheer us on. And then we were there. We came upon a field with several flagged areas set up, a couple rides and many tents. We all dismounted, grabbed a beer and a bite to eat out of the trailer and stood around with our ponies for the next 3 or 4 hours drinking, chatting and watching the amazing caliber of horses that seemed to emerge out of the sticks of Southern Spain. We saw display after display of horses trained to lay down with their riders on board, horses walking on their back legs, horses doing cabrioles in any empty space and tons of horse related feria activities which included ribbon races, dancing, obedience and then traditional doma vaquera. It was incredible. Here we started to see a couple other women riding, but only on the back of the horse, sitting sideways in flamenco dresses while their significant others rode up front.

Here we sat and got pretty much trashed. By about 5 PM when it was time to start back to home, I thought I was going to have to sleep the whole way back. I’d kicked back at least a 12 pack and a half bottle of sherry. And there was no end in sight as even when the trailer’s booze supply ran out, the men mysteriously produced hip flasks and saddle flasks full of cool dry sherry – full with accompanying glasses and everything. When I politely declined a pour from Antonio explaining that I didn’t have a glass, he shook his head and produced a spare out of his saddle bag, “Don’t worry,” he said, “I always carry an extra.” Of course you do.

So we stumbled (or rather, our horses did) slowly back to the house. At this point, I thought my knees might dislocate. I was no longer drunk, but hungover. It was dark (we didn’t get home until almost midnight) and we were trusting that our horses could see in the pale moonlight. Vinny and I were cursing profusely at our heads, stomachs and aching bodies as we slid off back at the yard, threw our saddles in the van, and then poured ourselves into bed.

But all pain was forgotten the next morning as we recounted the best day in any of our lives and plans were already being made to do the ride again the following year, with a bit more preparation.  And as I retell the story week after week for the new guests that come in, I still can’t believe the day actually happened. And I count down the days to submit myself to such misery again next year.

The Best Job in the World

A little over a year ago, I was soliciting the help of most of you to help me win a contest that I’m sure I was not alone in entering: The Best Job in the World. It was a contest to be employed by the department of tourism in Queensland Australia as a sort of “mascot” if you will, for tourism in the area.  Needless to say, I was devastated when through a sequence of events, my application was not considered for the position. Though I listened to my mothers advice, “it wasn’t meant to be, something else will come along!” I didn’t really want to hear it.

But now, I realize that although the job on Hamilton Island would have been amazing, it is not the last opportunity I will have to work a dream job and is rather, just one of many jobs I’m sure I will hold over the next 20 years. 

I have found the best job in the world – for me. I work at a riding holiday called Los Alamos where every day I wake up, do what I love, spend time with amazing people and fall asleep knowing that life doesn’t get much better than this.  If you need to catch up on what a riding holiday is, read my post from last week. If you’re caught up, let me give you a glimpse of my typical workday.

8:00 AM – Alarm goes off, time to get up

8:10 AM – stumble out of my bedroom door and into the Red VW van already running and ready for me to drive up to the horses

8:15 AM – arrive at horses and tack them up with Jose and Rachel for the days ride. Sometimes Mitch or Jesus (the two forest guards or guardabosques) will stop by on their stallions for a chat or to help out with the horses.

9:15 AM – back to the Jacaranda (the name of our house) for breakfast. Tea, orange juice, muesli and a banana for me. Sometimes a Sprite or a Coke as well if I’m especially in need of caffeine.

10:00 AM – back up to the horses to meet the guests for the day’s ride, mount my steed and head out for the day’s ride. I usually ride backup, at the very back of our little procession watching for problems and communicating with the lead if we need to stop for any reason – it’s a relatively uneventful position to be in and I generally pass the time chatting with guests or studying up my Spanish on my iPhone.

1:00 PM – we arrive at lunch somewhere in the forest or on the beach. I sit the guests down, order drinks and food and then help wait the table. While I’m not doing that, I am chatting with Jose and the bar owners, eating my meal and having a couple glasses of Tinto de Verano.

2:00 PM – back on the horses to head home

3:00 PM – arrive at the field, untack the horses, hose them down and wipe down the bridles.

3:30 PM – as fast as possible, change from my riding clothes into a swimsuit and run straight to the pool to jump in. Spend the afternoon laying out, reading a book, drinking a beer.

5:30 PM – Siesta.

8:00 PM – set the dinner table and eat dinner w/ the guests.

9:15 PM – finish dinner up, walk to Miguel’s for a couple after work brews.

11:30 PM – in bed, ready for another day.

I eat dinner w/ the guests three days a week, that’s it. The rest of the days, I am finished with work at 3:30 and spend the afternoons at the beach, down at the bar, shopping in Barbate or if I had a considerably rough evening at Miguel’s the night before, a REALLY long siesta.

I have Wednesday’s off. That means sleeping in, laying out all day, doing basically nothing.

Thursday’s, when the guests are in Jerez, I feed the horses in the morning, ride out for an hour or two  if I feel like it, help Rhiannon clean rooms if she needs it (which she generally does not) and feed the horses again in the afternoon.  Same on Sunday when one group of guests leaves and the other returns. I have so much free time, it’s ridiculous. I read the entire twilight series in 10 days. I’ve seen more movies in the past 3 months than I have in 3 years. I study Spanish, I go to the beach, I sew clothes, I’m redesigning the Los Alamos website. I have so much time to think about what I ACTUALLY want to do that I’m getting spoiled on always doing what I want to, when I want to.

But I don’t care. Because now I know that this is possible, so I refuse to ever work a job where I am not happy 95% of the time ever again.

Riding Holidays for Dummies

This post may seem like an endorsement and that is because it is just that. I am not getting “paid” by Los Alamos to write said post, but since I do live/work here, I have a feeling I will get some extra dessert or maybe first choice on horses next week. I would write this regardless.

Riding Holiday (ˈrī•dēng 'häl•i•dā)
-noun
a freaking amazing place where you go on vacation for a set period of time, ride horses everyday, drink a lot, eat a lot and do other fun vacation stuff.

Ok, so maybe that didn’t come RIGHT out of the dictionary. The point is, if you had asked me 5 years ago what a riding holiday was, I would have laughed and asked if it was some codeword for a honeymoon or something equally as juvenile.  But now that I have been enlightened to the glory that is the riding holiday, I am compelled to share this information with anyone and everyone who will listen.

You will be especially interested in this post if you ride horses, and not like “oh, one time I sat on a pony at the Jonesboro County Fair and it was AWESOME” kind of riding. For those of you finding yourselves short on equestrian talent, maybe this is inspiration to get out there and take some lessons – and then come visit me :)

So I’m going to speak generally about riding holidays here, but really I’m mostly talking about my riding holiday, which is Los Alamos Equestrian Holidays in San Ambrosio, Spain.

The general premise of a riding holiday is that you pay for, say, a week of all-inclusive vacation.  What you get with this payment is all the normal all-inclusive benefits (think unlimited food and booze) but with an equestrian twist. Here is the typical schedule for one of our normal Sunday to Sunday holidays.

Sunday

Pick up at the airport, lunch on the patio at Los Alamos, intro to horses, afternoon by the pool

Monday

4 hour ride in the morning around the amazingly gorgeous pine forest around our house including a stop at the Torre de Meca an old Moorish lookout tower and the Trafalger Mirador a lookout from the top of a cliff out over Cabo de Trafalger and the Los Caños lighthouse. Tie the horses outside of Venta Los Majales del Sol in the forest for lunch, a bar who only cooks food for us, usually Spanish style tortillas and fresh asparagus, tomato and tuna salad accompanied by a big jug of Tinto de Verano or “Summer Wine,” a Sangria type wine cocktail. Naturally capped off with an authentic and amazing Spanish coffee.  Dinner tonight, as with every night, is back at Los Alamos, either on the patio or inside the large common room and includes three courses of delicious Spanish and English dishes. As well as unlimited booze. Is anyone surprised I’ve gained 15 pounds since moving here?

Tuesday

4 hour ride in the morning down to the beaches in Los Caños de Mecca with long canters in the sand dunes, a couple canters on the beach and if the tide is right, an impossibly long full out gallop along the Playa de Zahora. Tie up the horses at a bank of trees near one of the dunes and lunch is at Las Dunas, an adorable hippie bar/restaurant on the beach serving up the best Olives in the world and simple but delicious sandwiches. Maybe today, we try a Rebojito, which is sherry’s response to the Tinto de Verano, a white wine sherry (fino) spritzer. And duh… coffee.

Wednesday

My day off, how am I supposed to know what they do? Ok, just kidding. Another 4 hour ride in the morning around the forest, past the old San Ambrosio hermitage, the view of the windmills (both old and new), past the largest dovecote in the world and a stop at Venta Canuto’s (Miguel’s) bar for lunch. The ride (like it does everyday) arrives back in San Ambrosio around 2:30 and the rest of the afternoon is yours to lay out by the pool, go to the beach, walk to the Dove Cote bar for a gin & tonic or take a siesta with the rest of Spain.

Thursday

A day off for the horses. Andrew takes the whole lot to Jerez de la Frontera for a day trip. After a traditional Spanish breakfast you head to the carriage driving museum, to the stables to look at the carriage driving horses at the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art and then take in a show at the Royal School of their stallions doing Doma Vaquera, Doma Classica both in hand and ridden as well as a carriage driving show. It’s absolutely amazing. After the show, you head to a local sherry man for some sherry tasting.

Friday

Another beach ride, similar to Tuesday but giving us a little leg room if the tides are better on one day or the other. Whichever day is better, the ride extends past the wildflower field out to El Palmar beach and we spend a solid 2 hours in the sand before lunch back at Las Dunas again.  Dinner tonight is special, as Rachel and I take the group back to Los Majales where one of Antonio’s cousins (who happens to be a professional flamenco singer) puts on a show with Antonio’s sister, Conchi, Rachel, myself and any other flamenco dancing passersby dance after a huge feast of fried chili peppers, chicken paella and an amazing assortment of local chorizo and ham.

Saturday

Last day of riding. We take a bit of a shorter ride this day to a look out of the Porto de Barbate and then walk a half a mile up an old Roman Road up the coast of Barbate from the beach up to another Moorish lookout tower and one of the most spectacular views of Morocco (less than 8 miles away from us at this point) you can get from this area.  Lunch today is a Venta Luis in San Ambrosio and includes a feast of Calamari, Grilled Vegetables, Garlic Chicken, Russian Salad and Garlic Pork. After this we do a quick ride back home possibly including a stop at the Corkscrew, if the group is up for it, an intense downhill gallop on one of the many firebreaks in the area. This is not for the faint of heart.

This ain’t your grandmamma’s trailride. This is fast paced long distance riding. I’ve ridden horses competitively my whole life and when I first came out here, it took me a couple of days before I was truly adjusted. Each day has at least 5 or 6 long and difficult canters or gallops including the Corkscrew (mentioned above), the Rollercoaster – a similar downhill firebreak canter, as well as many full out firebreak gallops and wiggly forest canters. People riding here have to be in complete control at all times and are encouraged to pave their own way rather than follow nose to but with the horse in front of them.

In addition, the horses we have are amazing. Yes we have some quieter horses for people who need a bit more confidence; but not many. Most of our horses are lively, spirited and absolutely love to run. Several of the horses are classically trained dressage horses coming to us from Antonio, our best friend horse whisperer and amazing dressage trainer in Vejer. We have a 4 year old filly Andalucian/Cob cross who is one of our most popular rides, a dozen or so full bred Andalucian horses with papers, and 3 horses who are bred out of the Spanish National Champion Doma Vaquera stud. 

I’m not really sure why we don’t embrace this more in American culture, but the holiday I’m on here is not that unique. These places exist all over the world, and Brits are taking advantage of them every day. If you are a rider, or know someone who is, I highly encourage you to take a look at some of these and try them out. Some cool sites to check out are:

In the Saddle
Riding Holidays
Far and Ride
Equitour
Equitours
Los Alamos