Losing my virginity to a Spanish stallion

When I first arrived in Spain, I was surprised to learn that since my last visit here back in 2008, Rachel and Andrew had conjured up a new type of riding holiday geered towards those who were more serious about improving their riding ability. Coming to the rescue is Antonio Corrales, friend, co-worker and… Oh ya! World Renowned classical and cowboy dressage horse trainer/whisperer extraordinaire (woah – spell check just let me know I had absolutely NO idea how to spell extraordinaire). Antonio was schooled at the Royal School of Equestrian Art in Jerez and has trained horses that have competed literally up to the Olympic level. Unlike many horse enthusiasts in the area, Antonio makes his living off of riding and training horses and a fine living, he does make.

One of these such “Train and Ride” weeks came up quickly once I moved here and I was immediately thrown headfirst into the world of classical dressage. My riding background consists 90% of show jumping with a small amount of clinic dressage and leisure cross-country thrown in there. For those of you non-riders, this would be like if someone saw you playing football well and then assumed since you know what a “ball” is and know how to “handle” it (he… hehe) that you automatically are just as good at basketball or rugby. Not the case, my friends, not the case. But being that I was an employee, especially, I was expected to, more or less, instantly know everything about the dressage he was teaching. And not only that, but to understand it in Spanish and in English (as Antonio speaks absolutely no English – or as he puts it, “I do know English; I know how to say, ‘No’” which for those of you who are not retarded, is the same in Spanish and English).

To say the learning curve was steep would be a gross understatement, but rather than whine about it, I took this as an opportunity to not only drastically improve my Spanish skills, but my dressage as well. On a Train and Ride holiday, the guests are given hour long lessons on Monday, Wednesday and Friday with afternoon hacks back at Los Alamos and whole day hacks on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. It’s a full week of riding and quite an intense holiday. However, the experience you gain is invaluable as you learn everything from basic circles, shoulder in and half-pass to traverse, Spanish walk, piaff and cantering turn on the haunches.

On top of learning how to do cool shit, the horses you get to ride are really where the amazing part of Antonio’s yard come into play. My first experience with such a horse came within my first couple of weeks working here. Rachel had introduced me to Antonio, but that was the extent. He had never seen me ride, never watched me hack out. We went to his yard one afternoon with our riding clothes in the car “just in case.” Upon showing up at the barn, Antonio proclaimed that we were going out for a hack, to get changed and he’d get the horses ready. As he walked out of the barn with the most stunning horse I had ever seen in my life, I assumed it was for him. I had never seen an animal so beautiful. He was a charcoal grey, large fleabitten blaze about 15.2. He was a stallion with the large crested neck that only comes with the amount of testosterone flowing through the blood of a horse with his balls intact.

Dormilon.Antonio motioned me over and I did the comical look over my shoulder to see if anyone was behind me. There’s no way he’s calling to me. But he was. “This is your horse, Dormilon. He is only three so you will need to ride him carefully.” Um. What? So you don’t want to see me ride first to, oh, I don’t know, SEE IF I CAN RIDE? Apparently, Rachel’s word was enough. She said I could ride anything, so Antonio had brought me, well, anything. I took Dormilon into the arena and played around a bit. The horse did anything and everything I asked him. I could lightly shift my weight to the right and he would immediately turn. When trotting, shifting my weight a tiny bit to the back resulted in an instant hault. It was incredible. I had never ridden something so well trained, and I have ridden some incredible horses.

Antonio never second guessed me, never doubted my ability. He corrected me once and other than that let me get on my own way. He told me at the end of the ride I could ride anything he owned. “My horses are your horses,” he said. And horses, he has plenty. The main barn itself, houses only stallions, of which there are about 20. He has two other barns separate which each hold another 20 or so. He has a few geldings and mares which are mostly horses that have been sent to him to be trained.  Most of his horses though, his babies, are stallions. Expensive, hot-blooded, gorgeous stallions.

Expensive, hot-blooded, gorgeous stallions that are now at my disposal. Sorry mom, it doesn’t look like I’ll be coming home for a while.

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

Finding "campera" to be less of an insult everyday

Welcome to the campo. The Spanish countryside. The veins and capillaries in the extremities of this large county that keep everything working, that keep us aware of why this country is so great. Welcome to San Ambrosio: my home. My tiny 400 or so person town somewhere in the forest between Barbate and Vejer de la Frontera. Never heard of those “cities” either? How about half way between Cadiz and Tarifa? Hmm… those cities not striking a bell either? Look at a map. Find the southernmost tip of Spain, the part that almost touches Morocco. Now move your finger up the coast to the left an hour’s worth of driving. That’s me.

I live 20 minutes drive from the nearest grocery store, 20 minutes drive from the nearest bank, an hour drive from the nearest “department store”, an hour and a half drive to the nearest airport, 2 and a half hours drive to the nearest train station. If this isn’t remote, I don’t know what is. But despite my distance from most of the amenities I would have previously considered important, I have everything I need and rarely find the need to go to any of the aforementioned places. Why do you need a bank when you don’t use money? Why do you need a grocery store when you grow your food yourself? Why do you need a department store when sew your own clothes? Why do you need and airport or train station when you have absolutely no intention of leaving?

You can get to San Ambrosio from the three nearest “towns”: Los Caños de Meca, Vejer de la Frontera and Barbate. But no matter which direction you come from, you will have to drive on an unpaved road at some point. Once you’re in town, there are two main “streets.” One, Zarzadilla, has most of the resident homes, the vacation homes, the full time residents and the farms. The other, what I refer to as the Yellow Brick Road, because it is just that… a yellow brick road… boasts the towns two fine dining establishments, amply named Luis and Miguel’s. These are also the town’s two pubs. Luis food is amazing and seasonal. If he kills a boar in the forest, we get boar for a couple weeks, if he finds some exotic fish at the market; we get exotic fish for a week or so. He always has chicken, pork, the most amazing Russian Salad and the best French fries I’ve probably ever had in my life. Miguel’s menu is a bit simpler, but just as impressive. His chicken ka-bob’s rival the best of them and he cooks a dogfish that makes me water at the mouth. 

Miguel's as seen from my back porch.Miguel’s is less than 50 yards from my backdoor. One day, while I was laying out by the pool, I heard someone shouting my name – it was Miguel. He was standing on the back porch of the bar and was wondering why I wasn’t watching the US world cup football game, which I had completely forgot about. “Hurry up and come over here,” he said “and I’ll turn on the game for you.” Because of proximity (and my now amazing friendship with the owner) I find myself at Miguel’s almost every night. He closes the bar when me and my other friends leave, not a minute earlier, not a minute later – sometimes that’s 11 PM, sometimes it’s 4:30 AM. It’s just friends hanging out at someone’s house for all I’m concerned. 

Every morning, I am woken up by the roosters next door. They’re a bit overzealous and tent to crow from about 6 AM until about 9 AM, just to make sure. I call it a built in snooze button. But they’re persistent at least, seeming to gawk around until everyone in town is awake. All of my neighbors have their own chickens, pigs, turkeys, ducks and cows. Every morning, Paco, one of my neighbors, walks his cows from his garden out to grazing land down the street right by my window.  And everyone has horses. The men here parade their horses around like fancy cars, and these horses are fancy. We’re talking purebred Andalucian stallions that Braulio and Paco ride to Miguel’s, Luis or Antonio’s (another bar deeper in the forest). We’re talking stallions that rival the talent of Lippizaner stallions and who can dance on command, half-pass across an open field and rear up on command. 

This place is like a throwback in time. The other day, the water out at the horses seemed to be turned off, so I walked over to Paco’s to ask him what was going on and if his water was off as well. He said he was watering his garden and must be taking up all the pressure. He apologized and sent me off with three grocery bags full of fresh produce – a peace offering. I marched back to my house with heads of fresh romaine lettuce, eggplant, zucchini, potatoes and fresh tomatoes. Today while I was trying to take my daily siesta at about 3 PM, I hear a man on a loudspeaker. It’s the chicken guy – who comes to bring the chickens. “Get your chickens ladies, I’ve got brown ones, white ones, old ones, young ones, ones that can be next month’s dinner, ones that can be tonight’s dinner.” He drives around town and all the women in town march down to the truck and get their live chickens which then get each get placed in their own little chicken coop either for eggs, dinner or for making more chickens. I saw a woman trade him a goat one time for two chickens.

Yesterday, I went to the beach with one of my friends Vicky, and she can’t drive, so we hitched a ride in a tractor down to the water. Her boyfriend Antonio was going to drive us, but he wanted to take a nap instead, so he yelled out his window at a tractor driving past and asked the man behind the wheel (who happened to be his cousin, because everyone here is related somehow) if he would take us down to the beach. “Of Course!” he said “hop on in.” Uh… ok!

That’s the kind of place I live in right now. A town where people still ride horses to the bars and tie them up outside while they’re in having their drinks. A town where when I stop hearing the turkey gobbling over at Miguel’s, I know to run over there quick to claim some of the white meat before it’s all gone. A town where the mounted forest guard comes to help me feed the horses on Thursday morning’s because he knows I’m going it by myself – without me having to ask.

This is how life should be.