I have been lucky enough not to have too many adverse adventures, so I knew I was do for at least one mishap. Returning to the stable wasn’t overwhelming or anything, just busy, but by Monday I really wanted to get to Germany to try a hunter prospect, and Ian had a farm he wanted to visit in the same area, so that night we made a plan to head that direction. Tuesday morning rolled in, Ian was overcome with the stomach flu, Jack, down from Ireland to shop for horses, was also trying to get to Germany, but with a different game plan, so I snuck out quickly and early and started the three hour drive into horse country. It had been over a month since my last visit, the landscape had changed tremendously, with rivers overflowing their banks, and the ground muddy and brown, not terribly attractive, to say the least. It was raining, again, causing it to be a dreary drive. I had one pit-stop, chose a little pizza snack for lunch, which tasted delicious at the time, but eventually turned against me, and by the time I arrived at the pretty little stable in Munster, I was overcome with nausea. I was in a huge amount of pain, and it was all I could do to keep it together to try the horse. I was cranky and tired, and not attempting to be impressive, so I hurried through the motions, with little feeling for what was going on. He was very good, but very green, but from what little attention I gave him, it was not a bad ride. All that jostling around in the tack did me in, however, and afterwards had to puke in their bathroom in their house, which was very awkward. I hate getting sick more than anything in the world, hate the dizziness, the sweating, all of it, and for more than five minutes I was freaking out. I haven’t been sick in ages, will go to great lengths to avoid it, but it was beyond my control this time. Luckily no one was waiting outside the door to lead me back to the stable or anything, so I did the best I could to clean myself up, thanked them for their hospitality, and headed home. It poured rain all the way back to top off a miserable day.
Once home I felt much better, reviewed the tape, and was pleasantly surprised at what I was watching. It was not bad at all. The girl did a tremendous job with the camera, and the video turned out quite nice, actually. I poured over it for an hour, converted it and uploaded it to youtube, and sent it out to a few people for their feedback. Abdel was in the yard, packing for a show in Germany, and I had to do a dinner run for him and his helper. Of course he wanted pizza, which I retrieved, but wasn’t really in the mood for, so I had beer instead. He thought that was pretty funny, so I let him be amused. We also talked about his new sales horse, and I agreed to ride it for him while he was gone and make a video of it because it looks like it wants to be a great equitation horse. It’s a big tank of a horse, slow and cold, and every time I sit on it, I am in sweat by lap two of the trot, but he is just about the most comfortable thing to sit on, so I am thinking some junior is really going to like him. Sometimes he is a bit rude, but we are coming to terms with each other, and he is beginning to understand if I want the counter canter to be soft and light, there really is no option but to just do it.
By Wednesday there were a few good responses from the video I sent out, including a request to go try him again, maybe in a bigger arena. I juggled a few things around, asked Ian about the farm he wanted to go visit, and made a plan to return to Germany. Ian gave me the contact, said I was on my own because he had other things to do (not sure exactly what), so I made an appointment for Thursday morning. Sometimes it is better to go alone, but for some reason I was annoyed at having to go to this place, maybe because in Germany, new trainers are not always the easiest to deal with when a girl walks in off the street and says she wants to see what you have. However, I am supposed to be the stronger of the two genders, right, so suck it up, and walk through the stable doors, and put a smile on your face, and act all impressed with the trophies on their walls. My contact was Tom a young twenty something boy working for an older gentleman Fritz and his dressage queen wife I was never actually introduced to. There were dressage horses, jumping horses, and young horses in the stable, and every time we turned a corner, there were a dozen or so more horses. Tom had apparently called Ian a few weeks earlier in a little bit of a panic, saying they were running out of room, and were desperate to move some stock. I could see why. Every nook and cranny was being caged in to hold a beast, sometimes two or three in one space, there were even ten young horses in the center of the walker, milling about chewing on the sides of the walls. There were pens of twenty or so two year olds, three year olds, and four year olds, hairy, muddy, but docile looking, all waiting to be broken, or continue with their training. Wow.
Fritz was a cagey old German that took me a while to find his sense of humour, talked like his dentures were about to pop out, smoked like a chimney, and limped around with this crazy hitch in his step that made him look like he was staggering rather than walking around the stable. He was very serious, wanted me to drink about ten coffees, and told me a few stories about clients he had had from California. It wasn’t until I finally asked if he ever had any American working students in his stable that Tom stifled a laugh and Fritz grew suddenly very silent. Oh shit, what did I say? “It is not possible”, Fritz started, “to have pretty American sixteen year olds bouncing through my very serious working stable, in front of my very loyal, hardworking Polish grooms, unless I do one thing to the men. Castrate them.” Was he serious? I burst out laughing, I couldn’t help it, it was the funniest thing I had ever heard, and he relayed a long story about having an American girl coming one summer and how she ended up on the top of a plastic elephant outside of a disco with all the men underneath trying to look up her skirt. Polish guys did not understand flirting or silliness and couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand so horses were being put away with boots still on, in the wrong boxes, or other lapses in judgement during the day. After that incident, he said no more Americans, he couldn’t handle it. They were too liberal and went against the grain deep inside of Germany and stressed him out entirely. Wow, they were really serious about the riding here.
The next several hours I was thrown onto some big bulky German beasts, that pulled my arms, spooked at other horses, bucked at the ends of the ring, didn’t do lead changes, or did too many of them, jumped like orangutans instead of well bred equines, and as the last one was pulled out of it’s box, I was sweating, exhausted, and depressed that they weren’t in better form. I felt bad for Tom, who knew the inexperience of these young horses was telling of his situation, and he was starting to show his frustration. They needed mileage, and badly, and they weren’t getting it. One of harshest criticisms of Germany is the difficulty in accessing small shows, cheaply and efficiently for young horses. In a shared stable like this where the dressage horses have priority in the ring until lunchtime, and no jumps are allowed until the afternoon when no one has the motivation to drag them out and build a course every day, so the horses become unaccustomed to jumps, and show their greenness in spades. Tom was fighting a losing battle on this one, and it was going to take more than me to help him through it. Somehow I couldn’t picture Fritz throwing caution to the wind and shipping half a dozen horses to live in a world where shows are every other day, in every third stable of the neighborhood and 5 euros a pop. However, this was needed if there was any hope of moving horses through his stable. We taped as many as we could so I would have something to show Ian, and upon quick review, they were lovely to look at, good movers, adequate jumpers, just lacking in sophistication, and spoiled. Too soon to tell what will come of it, but there it is.
I left Fritz and Tom and continued to Munster to try the 5 yr old again in a bigger indoor, his own turf actually. After all of those silly beasts, this one was so pleasant to ride, I really enjoyed him this time, and took my time to get a good feel for what kind of horse he is. I was stunned that he picked up right from where I left the other day, remembering how I wanted to go nice and slow around the ring, jump slower off the ground, and just be a hunter. He gets it. I love him.
I knew my drive home was going to be slow, dark, and boring, and was kind of dreading it. I phoned Tomasz from Alan’s stable to see if he wanted to meet for dinner, but couldn’t reach him, so gave up. Unfortunately, so did my car. Halfway back to Belgium, the once very dependable Audi was suddenly very sick. I groaned as lights and bells went off, and felt a sinking feeling as I watched the temperature gauge slip into the highest range. SHIT. These are the commonly the times I find religion, inadvertently making deals and promises with God if I can just get to a safe place, begging, and pleading, looking like an idiot in the driver’s seat, but somehow it all pays off in the end. I cajoled the Audi into Arnhem, a big city in the center of Holland, and crept around downtown to land myself in front of a Best Western directly across from the train station. I figured this was the best I could do, and checked myself in, asked the girl at the desk to find a car repair shop, texted Ian that I was stuck and not coming back until tomorrow. I checked email, and collapsed into bed, too tired to even bother finding a meal, and set the alarm for 7 am. I figured this would give me enough time to get my bearings, and figure out how to get the car fixed. In the morning I wasted several minutes on the phone, confusing myself and others about where to take the car, but eventually found someone willing to speak with me in my own language, and give me proper directions. I started praying again once I started the car, and wove my way through Arnhem to a mysterious out of the way location for a garage, I have to say, and couldn’t imagine how they got much business back here. However, they were not hurting, and I had to beg pretty hard to get my car looked at. I busied myself on the computer while they sorted out what was wrong, and a nice gentleman came back with really depressing news. The water pump was cooked, leaking all over and the distribution belt also needed to be replaced. Oy, Ian was not going to be happy about this one. I knew enough to know this was a major headache, time-consuming, costly, and couldn’t be stitched together with duct tape to get me back to Belgium. Sure enough, that was not a fun phone call, but I had no choice but to leave the car there, ask for a ride to the train station, and head back to Antwerp. They promised to try to let me know Monday when I could retrieve it, and I started trying to come up with some more ideas to move some more horses through the stable to pay for the bill. Staring out the window wasn’t helping my mood either, as I took in the horrendous flooding of the canals, and saw impossible to believe gushing water that had once been cornfields, and livestock paddocks, and wondered where all the cows and sheep were. I could make out tops of fence lines collecting debris in the raging water, and tree tops just above the line. The Dutch have had to master issues with water for hundreds of years in order to survive, so high water levels are not exactly newsworthy, but seeing flooding is a disturbing experience. There is no high ground here, so if canals fail, damage will wreak havoc on people here.
I wore out the computer battery while staring at videos on the train, and tried to come up with my next plan of action. Creative thinking for survival, people, that’s what keeps us going.