OneWayTicket

Day 52: Riding waves, riding horses

The last time I clambered onto a horse was nearly 28 years ago in the Kashmir valley. So, I was a little more than tentative when I tried to mount Houdini -- a calm, easygoing horse kept aside precisely for beginners like me -- on a ranch inside a Costa Rican rain forest (www.horsebackridingincostarica.com).

The first time I tried boosting myself atop Houdini, I failed miserably and embarrasingly. Nadia the fearless, otherwise called the wife -- who rode horses through childhood -- watched in affectionate and suppressed amusement, the ranch owner looked amused, our guide for the day spoke only Spanish and clearly sees similar strange foreigners who cannot ride horses. The ranch owner offered strenuous horse tours, as they do across Costa Rica. One tour lasts for three days, going deep into the interior, camping in the open and beyond the pale of civilization. "The experience of a lifetime," says his brochure. For years, the horse has been the primary vehicle for travel in the forests and across the plains of Latin America, and the romance of the horseman is strong.

I saw little romance in this. All I could think of was -- how did I get into this situation?

I was here because I was curious, and Nadia, the new woman in my life, was very keen. Only three days ago, she had taken quite a battering participating in the activity I like, riding large waves. The waves outside our guest house have strong undercurrents and can really loom over you. All you need to do is to cross the point where they break, and you are in this exciting no-wave zone where you rise and fall with the crests.

Nadia never got to the no-wave zone. She was knocked down twice and was rolled over underwater, emerging ashen and irked. Her ribs took a battering, and that´s why her stomach hurt, not from canopying as she assumed in a previous post (we know this because a similar thing happened with a gay couple we made friends with -- the more active guy dragged his partner into the surf, the latter similarily had the wind knocked out of him and his ribs battered). The least I could do was try to be as brave as her.

I was finally atop Houdini, so named, said the ranch owner, because he leads other horses into all kinds of "magical situations and places". Hmmm. In the three hours I was master of Houdini -- or was it the other way around -- he meekly followed the other two horses. The only time he showed initiative was when he grabbed at any snack he could, munching on leaves and yanking entire branches. He did this frequently, with Nadia urging me to keep a tight, strong grip on his reins. "You show the horse who´s boss," the ranch owner had said, "Or he will take charge." Hmmm.

Off we went, the silent guide and the lively Nadia atop Venus, an amiable if snorty mare. Houdini and I brought up the back, struggling silently with each other -- he wanted to eat, I wanted him to keep going. My control over him was weak initially because all I was trying to do, frankly, was stay in the saddle and not get knocked down by the branches that crossed our path and the underbrush that tried to scratch our thighs. 

So, that´s why we had been asked to wear pants. Bring riding boots, wear long pants, and apply sun block, the brochure said. Given than I wear only Bata rubber chappals every day -- to the beach, to walk to town, at the candelit dinners at our guest house -- my battered keds would have to do. My long-forgotten jeans were pressed into service, and as for sun block, that´s really meant for all the Americans who are the biggest customers of Costa Rica´s attractions. After all, I lie in the sun every day, browning to a crisp.

As the ride progressed on a really hot day, it opened my eyes to parts of the country I would normally not have seen. We rode through the rain forest, our guide pointing our sloths, snakes atop trees, howler monkeys and strange, paint-splashed woodpeckers. Suddenly, we would burst out of the rain forest and on to a beach, each more glorious and isolated than the next. I could only think of jumping down and racing to the water, but I had no choice but to sweat in my jeans and anxiously watch Houdini. The only racing to the water and jumping in the surf was done by the two ranch dogs that accompanied us all through. They chased the waves, each other and the crabs, jumping into the surf and rainwater creeks whenever it got too hot.

Forest. Beach. Forest. Beach. In and out we wove, our procession occassionally startling beach bums lying around in the sand. Sometimes, a pink or blue beach house (many available for cheap weekly or monthly rentals) popped up, sometimes an isolated hotel or guest house. After two hours of this, everyone was getting tired of the slow pace. "¿Un poco mas?" A little more? Meaning, a little faster? asked our guide, breaking his silence.

Nadia the fearless decided to show me how to trot. Slow but bumpy goes the trot. You need to rise and fall with the horse´s rythmns. I tried following her lead but only got my bum battered. Then, she got her horse into a canter. Faster, but smoother. After holding back the rising panic and holding on for dear life, I found it easier to stay in the saddle. Excited by our change of pace, our guide -- the machete he used to slash away branches tucked under his thigh -- galloped wildly past us. This excited both the dogs who took off after him, one nipping at his horse´s legs playfully, the other grabbing its tail. Serves him right, trying to show off. After chasing them off, our guide´s equanimity returned, but he didn´t seem so bored any more.

The way back was as exciting, and we often trotted and cantered. I could now really focus on the world around me as I gained confidence. As we walked into the ranch, the owner was waiting. "Hey!" he said to me as I sat up and held Houdini´s reins firmly while cantering in, "You look like you´ve been doing this all your life." Nadia was not amused. "That´s because we´ve mostly been walking," she said with chagrin.

The horse ride clearly brought back memories for the wife. "I´m going to take you to the amateur riders club in Bombay when we return," she said firmly.  

Hmm. Let´s see. 

PS: I´m sorry I have no photos of the glorious scenes we encountered today. I took many photos, and later realized there was no card in the camera.

PPS: Ouch. My thighs ache and my bum hurts. Horse riding is too much pain. I´m going back to the waves tomorrow.