It is in a plane that I write this, a shuddering roar of power streaking up towards the light of the southern sun bouncing off storm clouds before they close in and obliterate the view of the fading flat landscape that has been home to me and the woman I love for the past few years. The ascent is steeper than any that have ever barrelled me skyward, presumably to evade the gathering storm which has been forecast. Within minutes we are cruising past the full puffs of the gathering clouds’ upper limits, welcomed aloft by a beckoning blue sky. Ahead the sun is as blindingly light as the storm may have been blindingly dark, had we failed to escape its advancing clutches. The plane is bound for Spain but this time I am alone. The destination is the sun coast of Andalusia and below me somewhere ahead and already hurtling through the Spanish countryside is a horse I love accompanied by a mutual equine friend. The next step, it has begun, so decisively fast that it could be unsettling. Yet with the sense of purpose that informs it and the southern destination embodied in it, it feels more like a stride … a purposeful one … into the sun.
Utter madness
On the face it, certainly, it is utter madness. It must be. Andalusia, that hard-baked region braised ochre and brick-red by the relentless sun and now slaked dry by the unforgiving claws of austerity, can this be the promised land?
True, it is a part of the world which has long fascinated me. When first considering emigration from the Netherlands in the early nineties, Spain was an initial option until Vicki and I decided that it was far too close to the Netherlands to qualify as a serious alternative. Then we paid our first visit to the land formerly known as El Andaluz to attend the World Equestrian Games in Jerez in 1992 along with Vicki’s twin sister, Agathe, who just so happened to know a really nice fellow in Malaga whom we really had to visit. And so we met Ron, and so they fell in love, and so Vicki and I are now on our way to join them, a mere six weeks after deciding to do so. I am going ahead to be there when the horses arrive. Vicki is to join me two days later. Little do we know that the horses will only arrive when she does.
The city of Malaga on a typical sunny day.
In the land of flamenco – the music, the dance, the fire of passion and the outrageously stereotyped couture through which it expresses itself, amongst other things – Vicki and I are resolved to relocate our mares and commence a new way of life, which will also ultimately take us much further south to the country which is still home to our geldings. It is our intention to divide our time between Europe and Australia, spending six months of the year with our horses in each. Utter madness indeed, we concur, but wow it gives us a sense of purpose. We feel so alive.
Oh, Pip
Anaïs emerges from the brightly illuminated belly of the massive truck that has conveyed her thousands of kilometres (just how many thousands we are still to discover) across Europe. She halts, looks around, sees me and approaches. The handler passes the lead to me. And then she is with me, this towering mare. Her eye is bright but soft. If she is tired, she is not about to show me. Instead, we connect and move easily together across the gravel road to make way for…
Anaïs coming off the truck after her four-day trip from Holland.
Pip. Oh, Pip, what have I done to you? It is immediately clear that my mare is stressed. Her head arches from side to side as she wildly glances around. I thrust Anaïs’ lead into the hands of one of the women from the livery yard and rush to Pip, seizing the rope held out to me. My mare has left the planet. All that remains is a wild-eyed creature barging to and fro. Pip has taken refuge within, as she does whenever the demands of the moment overpower her. How can I bring her back, re-establish contact, reassure her that all is well?
I lead Pip away from the truck, encourage her to lower her head to the shrubs and grass fading green in the darkening dusk. Breathe in the evening air, my love. It is warm and soft to the touch. Here, feel my soul, still and calm in the quiet of the valley that surrounds us. For a brief moment the horse before me relaxes. Then there is a noise. She jerks her head up just in time to see the doors of the huge mechanical beast clang closed after surrendering their precious load. I lead her a little further away down the path towards the facility that will be her new home, stop, and encourage her to lower her head to the vegetation again. Bit by bit, she yields to my gentle coaxing. Slowly she rejoins her body in the moment and then we are together again.
Equinatural, part of our mares’ new home in Andalusia
Now we can move past the herd to the mares’ initiation quarters, two separate facilities alongside each other, each consisting of a large yard with a walk-in shelter. With the blessing and encouragement of Karyn, the yard manager, we have decided to keep the girls separate but next to each other initially. Both need time to settle down in the absence of any minor contest for resources. It is while the mares are munching on their hay in the fading twilight that we hear from the drivers just where they have been during the past four days. They have criss-crossed the Iberian peninsula, spending their first night in Girona in the north-east of Spain before crossing to Salamanca in the west for their next stop. The day after took them to Villa-Nova in Portugal and now some 4000 kilometres later they are eventually here with us in Andalusia.
No, this can’t be true
But it is. Hot, balmy and stifling, the stuff of the subtropics, and this in early May. This is not what we had been led to expect in a land where the earth burns dry but then only at the height of summer. An aberration, family and friends assure us. Bizarre. And yet it is what it is and our horses are not happy with it. Flies are out in force and amongst them, what look to be suspiciously like horse flies. They even behave the same, puncturing the mares’ skin, especially Pip’s thin coat, driving her crazy. No, this can’t be true and yet it is.
Pip and Anaïs all rugged up and masked to protect them against the horse flies
Karyn assures me that it is only temporary. Summer will be too hot for the horse flies. Until then, Pip will wear a fly rug and mask. They bring relief and she begins to settle down. Mid-week the heat and humidity dissipate as a cool front sweeps through. Vicki and I spend a good deal of time grooming the horse and just being with them. Large tufts of hair are still coming away from Pip’s coat when I pass the comb through it. Within a few days though the amount has diminished drastically.
Together again, the mares are now doing well a few days later. In addition to their two yards, they now also have access to an oval track that surrounds them and other isolation yards which serve as home to horses whose owners do not want them in the herd temporarily for one reason or another. Parts of the track are always in the shade cast by towering eucalypt trees, which are so reminiscent of Australia in the bright light of day, that Vicki and I marvel at the resemblance.
Pip leading the way while the mares explore their new home
Today Pip surprises us. We take the mares for a walk outside the facility. The track takes us up and along four lengthy terraces, each separated from the other by a steep path. Pip, who has just turned 18 and who has spent her entire life on the soft, flat land of the Netherlands and latterly Belgium, takes the lead, following Vicki and myself along the terraces and up and down the paths with Anaïs trailing behind her. Another time she simply decides to wander off on her own and Anaïs follows. Yet, whereas Pip is smart enough to lower her haunches as she descends, Anaïs remains heavily on the forequarters and is forced to move quickly and even jump in order to stay upright.
Now to find a home
Vicki and I are very fortunate to be able to stay in Agathe and Ron’s finca in the hills above Malaga, while we get ourselves organised. What with the move, work and the horses, we have had our hands full. Our first week has been a whirlwind. Our furniture has gone into storage in the Netherlands, while those of our belongings destined for Spain will be arriving this afternoon. The horses are settling in and we have a break between assignments. It is now time to find a home for ourselves.
The views from Agathe and Ron’s finca in the Montes de Malaga are special.
The distances here in the south of Spain are also rather reminiscent of Australia. It takes us up to an hour or more to travel to Equinatural, where our horses are stationed. Consequently, we find ourselves spending two to three hours in our rental car every day. It is now time to find a home, one which is closer to our mares, and a car of our own as there is simply no public transport system available to address our needs and car hire is a costly option. This is our challenge for the week ahead, that and helping our horses find their feet, as it were, until they are ready to join the herd.
Horses and Humans on Facebook
May I remind you that we now have a Horses and Humans group on Facebook. If you would like to leave a comment, you can do so on this blog or on the the Horses and Humans Facebook group page. All new posts will feature on that page along with additional content posted by any of our members. Please feel free to join us at:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/horsesandhumans/
There is also a Horses and Humans publications page, which contains information concerning the publications released under the Horses and Humans imprint. Some of those publications will be free of charge. You will find it here:
https://www.facebook.com/horsesandhumans
I also have a Facebook page through which you may contact me. You will find it at:
https://www.facebook.com/andrewglynsmail
Equine Touch
Our Equine Touch business is calleed Humans for Horses, you can find our website at:
http://www.humansforhorses.com/
and our Facebook page at:
https://www.facebook.com/Humans.for.Horses
