Disclaimer – I
tried to take a vacation. I tried to leave my raccoon-esque fatigue look behind
me in Munich and run away to Colombia. This is the story of what happens when I
try to take a vacation.
Out of respect
for the newlyweds, I have taken some distance from their enchanting wedding before diving into the story of how I ride a horse. It is a charming story of
sweeping Colombian panoramas drenched in hues of chlorophyll and topaz and a
cotton candy sunset.
But first – two introductions.
First, the
Cabalgata (read: cavalcade to Southwestern Americans and awesomeness to anyone
unfamiliar to it). A slow meandering ride on horseback throughout villages – in
our case through the Cali valley – filled with music, celebration and enough Aguardiente
to kill a horse.
Second, Freckles
– my trusty steed and fairytale white horse flecked with brown spots and of a
stature that negates both the bit about trusty and the bit about fairytales. Up
I went on to Freckles with a bit more experience than most of the group, but
far less than I would need.
Off we went in a
group of 60 people, most on horseback, some wisely wedged into a wagon
illuminated by club quality disco lights and speakers shouting out Latin hits
ahead to the next village, alerting them of the shenanigans of which they would
soon bear witness.
From the outset
we had a few horses that were listening intensely when the group of
inexperienced riders was called to the front to mount. Itching to take
advantage of inexperience, a group of eight horses set off for an impromptu
Kentucky Derby whisking away frightened faces and dotting the field with newly
acquired hats that a local boy promptly collected with a business model brewing
in his head. One rider down.
The horses
returned, the hats were reacquired and the group set off for a definitional
Cabalgata. For the next hour, the fresh air was welcomed with open arms from
the depth of our lungs. The winds slid down the mountains and through our hair
with such innocence and abandon that it seemingly scooped out reality and the
burdens a continent away. A sudden flurry of excitement and we lost another
rider…but this one upped the ante and was tossed aside onto the contrasting
reality of asphalt.
The sun began to
set and we added more music, permanent smiles so effortless a beauty pageant contest
would kill for, more Aguardiente and more photos of this epic adventure to
complement the candid selfie I took with a donkey. Clouds dissipated in the sky
slowly, but left behind enough strands to grab hold of the bubble gum pink of
the fleeting sun. It would have been breathtaking if we were not on the move,
but alas, Freckles charged ahead and I needed to breathe. One place Freckles
steered clear of however, was the kicking horse.
There is one in
every group – in this group the one horse that
just had to stand out and make his mark, did so with a coy sidekick that
would rupture any ankle that came in his path. Someone must have
woken up on the wrong side of the stable that morning or had a stick in his
horseshoe, because he was on a role. Any horse nearby and wham!, he would have
a go at them. Comically (or less so for our Beloved Belgian after yet another
selfie to add to his Instagram collection and a lucid conversation) kicking horse simply kicked and our poor Belgian sprung back to his feet after bouncing his head on the ground and lucid was no longer applicable. A hospital
trip would be required and we had lost another good man - a direct victim of the kicking horse.
Assuming I had
survived the worst of it and with my injured friends safely and gently tucked
into the party wagons, I confidently took a mental timeout and handed over
control to Freckles. We had made a good pair for four hours, I was on holiday
and everyone was having a blast – what could go wrong now?
It is poor
foreshadowing, but it was also poor decision making – so why call it something
it is not.
I have a general
propensity for pretending / thinking / convincing others I am the offspring of
Otto Lilienthal or Evel Knievel with a serious shortcoming on execution. This
night was no exception and Freckles knew it.
The little guy –
remember not some formidable steed, more like an oversized pony – decided he
wanted to run and I decided to let him, but just for 100 meters. We had covered
more than that previously in the night – for safety sake and companionship, we
asked the local Cali friend to join in our jaunt. The world's general
propensity to remind me that I am good at planning, but should execute my life
from within an air filled resilient bubble, kicked in and the jaunt was a full
sprint gallop and the next thing I felt was the shift of the saddle.
Fine, I will come clean – I am
basically an expert horse rider – hell I even took a lesson once in Hyde Park AND
I watched at least three Equestrian events during the last Summer Olympics. A
controlled exit from this situation was clearly required. I needed to finesse
my way off the horse before the saddle was on his hip…Freckles was less than
impressed by my decision, lack of skill at such a maneuver and lack of grace, so he seemingly hit the eject button on my behalf.
Another rider down.
The experience
was amazing – without sarcasm it was epic – even when you take a look at the
scorecard – Freckles 1; Andrea 0.
Damages tally:
- An evening that became
a blur & suspected concussion
- Lost mobile
phone into the darkness holding precious enough photos to remind me that a
photo is powerful, but doesn’t replace an emotion or experience
- A blocked mobile
phone due to attempts to communicate injuries as I had failed to alert O2 that
I was traveling beyond the German border
- Hole in my hat
rendering it useless even to the aforementioned young local entrepreneur
- Designer espadrilles
detached at one heel
- Sleeve that decided
to part ways with the rest of my shirt
- Enough scrapes
and bruises to serve as a pain compass for the subsequent parade of doctor's
appointments
- Aguardiente-a-plenty
to survive the wedding ceremony
- Last minute Business
Class upgrade for a 9 hour overnight flight that included eight hours of five
minute massage cycles from the deluxe seat selection and one hour of sleep
- And bleeding
ears….wait….what…
So those cost me…
- A round of x-rays
and a CT scan to eventually diagnose perforated ear drums from the impact to my
head
- An MRI to uncover a handful of
hemotomas down the length of my back and my liver decided to get involved too
It is difficult
to defend myself when people tell me I should probably forego the notion of
holiday and just sit safely in my office and work. I am 0 for 2 on vacations
this year – I never did get around to writing about the exploding juice bottle.
But man, it was pretty spectacular and did I mention the selfie with a donkey!?
