jhubbel

By the third morning I had a routine. Wake up. Coax arms to lift. Find pain pills. Go potty. Now comes the fun part. Between sips of juice and fruit I had spirited into my tent at camp or into my hotel room, I spent the next 90 to 120 minutes going through a series of yoga movements – not poses- but movements those of you who follow Shiva Rea will be familiar with. While painful at first, the slow and graceful dance flowing movements very gently coaxed blood flow here, there and everywhere, while stretching out angry back, angry shoulders, angry neck, angry, well, angry body. I have a 92 yo friend who has been doing yoga for seven decades and these quiet mornings were proof why. She has no arthritis whatsoever, she’s a lifelong athlete, still works out three times a week and climbs and runs. I didn’t start seriously until this August and now, as many enthusiasts kept pointing out to me, and they were right, I’m hooked. The morning sessions, along with the menthol cream and RocTape, were key to being able to get back on, grinning broadly every day, and finding the enthusiasm to spend another six plus hours having Pharos fight me for control. My guess is that perhaps most people wouldn’t sign up to deal with a horse like that, but my Swedish buddy Ewa who was with me in Tanzania on Kaskazi Horse Safaris had a challenging horse just like that. Ewa, my age, was our best rider, got a doozy of a horse. As a result we became fast friends and are still writing each other about our horse adventures. When she got to the end of the day, she could hardly lift her arms. And never said a word. Because crazy people like Ewa and me, this is where real riding begins, not as Julia-t mentioned, plod plod plod plodding along. If you end up covered from one end to the other in bright orange tape and stinking of menthol, that was your choice, and no one else needs to hear you complain about it. For the sheer love of riding, you came back to it the next morning full of verve and ready for more. Because eventually you get better and better, and your skills grow, and the next time you get on a horse like Pharos he is far less likely to take off on you. Hah. One likes to think.

jhubbel

Shortly after we headed out on our last day, Isobel took us alongside a walled (with rocks and wire) pasture where a herd of horses and what I take was their stallion were pastured with a herd of cows. Now why she didn’t let us know that we would be rushed by big boy, as of course they are going to do, keeping in mind our beginners, I have no clue. But she gave no warning, no instructions until the animal had already rushed our line and many of the horses were upset. Pharos, who is bombproof, was under tight rein, prancing but going nowhere. And there was nothing being telegraphed that he was going to rush the fence, cause a ruckus. He kept his eyes forward after seeing this horse, and I kept him there, and I took my camera out of my right slicker pocket.
The older sister- and I’m not a mind reader- but behavior is telling, broke line and made a beeline for Isobel informing her that she ”needed to speak to her privately. She had an issue to discuss. “ Had an idea what it was but may not have been. Now her horse has disorganized other horses because she broke the line, Pharos and I are sitting there calmly, I took some great shots. Handsome little stallion. Ewa and the rest of our safari are still waiting for me to send them the photos I took at full gallop on the African veldt right next to a herd of giraffes and wildebeest. One handed. So holding a horse at a dead stop and taking a photo, without a raging herd of wildebeest close by, seems kinda tame to me.

I love input and feedback and tips and ideas from fellow riders. That’s how we get better. I love riding with better riders. It’s humbling and wonderful and life affirming to have someone who really IS good say, “well done. “ Do I have empathy? Yes, but you can probably understand that by the end of this trip I was bowing out of dinners entirely. I needed to be able to laugh at the day, without having people feeling as though they were being laughed at. People are funny- we are ALL funny, and that especially includes the stupid nonsense I do- but the sad thing is that most people take things so personally that they cannot see the funny, and get terribly, horribly offended. And sometimes, that's the tragedy- the inability to see God's laughter in our own humanness.

jhubbel

So our very last morning we had a four hour ride through some valleys and canyons, most of it through the rain, some lovely canters, and a big barbeque coming up at a house belonging to a friend of Ivo’s. Now some of the arrangements that Ivo and Isobel have organized have evolved over time by accident or necessity, and some of them are incredibly charming. For example, the rooms we stayed at for two nights, run off the grid by a sixty-ish widow, tall and blond, friend of Isobel’s. You have your own room, shared bathroom, and this lovely woman cooks from her own garden right out back, such luscious dinners and breakfast. She is like having a mother on the trip, and so kind to boot. One of the girls fell in love with one of her homemade marmalades and bought a jar to bring back to Holland. The shower had plenty of hot water, and it was a chance to hand wash a few essentials and get them dry in the middle of the journey.

This day however was a big last lunch, to launch us for our last two hours or so home. Ivo’s friend , an athletically built white haired man in his mid forties, was out front cooking chicken on the grill. As we lead the horses into his small yard, Isobel instructed us to watch out for his good grass, so we led the horses out back and put them in what looked to me like a very flimsy set up. Fruit trees, bushes. I could hardly make out a perimeter fence. Hmmm.

Pandora, Isobel’s horse, and Pharos, well these guys, all of them, are tired and they know the way home. You can imagine how they feel. The saddles and bridles are off.
The plot is afoot. Meanwhile the soup is out, and we all tuck in.

Now all I remember is that Isobel was screaming at Ivo about how he didn’t put up fencing and she told him to, and he was shouting something back at her, but the next thing all of us know is that we have three escapees heading up the road and Pandora has ripped open a huge gouge on her right back leg and she’s mad with pain. We jump up to help but in the meantime, the other two horses have panicked because their buddies are gone, and this is a herd mind you, so they are forcing through fence, causing cuts, and tearing off in all directions. Traffic on the road. Yelling. Accusations. What an unholy mess.

Ultimately we get all the buds back together, but now the girls cannot deal with the wound. Can’t deal with the sight of blood.

You’ve got people with no experience on an adventure trip where we need all hands and folks basically can’t deal with blood. We were just exceptionally lucky this happened at a house where the girls had a place to go be away from it all.

Isobel, whose raincoat is drying on the fence out front, is standing with the herd, and we are all ordered to go in and eat. (who's hungry at this point?). She has to stay with Pandora, hold her tail so that the tail hair doesn’t whip the wound, hold the halter, and somehow find a third hand to swat away the flies. Right. By herself in the middle of a tight herd jammed together, anxious horses who want to go home.

We go in the kitchen with the picnic, for now it is raining. Girls are terribly bossy with me about making sure ALL the food and utensils inside. Honestly this is not high on my list of priorities at the moment. At the table we have three German speakers and me. Everyone is speaking in German. This goes on for a few more minutes (I’m sorry, did I mention before how often this happened?) so I left the table.

Frankly, sitting inside eating lunch is probably the safest place for them. Isobel is outside in her fleece getting wet, while Ivo gets a replacement horse, and we are waiting for the vet. I grab her raincoat and spell her at the horse for about twenty minutes (and it is mighty uncomfortable being in a very small space with five skittish, wannagohome, recently panicked horses who have very little space, are tired and prone to kicking one another, trust me) but you do it. You keep yourself quiet and calm around them, because the injured horse is more important and her safety is paramount.

Just then Isobel returned and the vet drove up. He is NOT a large animal vet, you can see that he doesn’t want to be in the middle of that anxious herd either. And we gave him a minus two on the bandage job. Our girl did get anaesthetic, taping enough to get her home. Ivo arrived shortly afterwards to replace Pandora, and take her safely back to heal over the winter. The cut was down to the bone. Sure it was butt ugly. But when you spend time around horses who kick and bite each other, get injured in the stalls, get tangled in wire, this is what you see. It’s part of riding.

I walked back in the kitchen I offered to help dishes, whatever needed doing. The girls were happily chatting away.

We now had to get the horses packed back up, ready to go, and the good man who was hosting us, god bless him, who had no knowledge of horses and wanted only for us to enjoy his excellent food and good hospitality, was rushing about helping us as our horses utterly ruined the beautiful grass in his sweet front yard. My heart went out to him, it truly did.

I asked him to take a photo of me and his handsome German Shepherd, as by this time I had photos of everyone but me and had long stopped photographing the girls. That sweet man. I have a Very Close Up photo of his kind face as he had the camera backwards, and took a great photo of himself concentrating terribly hard to get it right. What that might have been funny, at the moment it was just so sweet. I just loved the man for what he had to put up with, what he gave us, how he did his best to help us clean up, and forgave us for how we ruined his house. What a generous, generous soul, and I am going to recall him most of all that last day. He ran up to every horse, every girl, and proferred his hands to help us get onto overly eager, agitated horses as the traffic came by (Isobel did not respect cars at all) and in his big hearted way, to me he saved the day for all of us. That shot of his face is a treasure. He was a pool of calm in all that chaos, and we left his yard totally trashed. I remember his smile as he waved to all of us as we rode away- so happy to have been our host despite all that. He showed us all what a good host was all about. He remains among my favorite memories of all of Croatia for his generosity of spirit and patience with a war going on in his yard.

jhubbel

Pharos has bent his will to mine at this point at considerable cost, and I am elated. For now these last three days I can bring him to heel for a canter, maintain the safe distance as requested by Isobel two to four horse lengths behind her, or the younger sister, even when they speed into a gallop, he is under my command. And this is pure white joy for me. I can enjoy the movement, the power, the speed, the wind in my face, the landscape flashing by; I don’t have to fight him. I can talk to him and watch his ears swivel back in response. We are having an Exchange rather than a battle. Does he still pull my arms out? Yes. But every so often, after the first quarter mile, when he has relaxed and we are conversing, he is rewarded with more reins, and he no longer takes this a a signal to take advantage of me. We are working together. I could scream with joy.

As the mud and dirt and stone fly up from the lead horses to smack my cheeks and glasses- and trust me, Pharos is not accustomed to this and doesn’t care for it at all- I can laugh internally at the victories big and small of learning to work with him, the hours I spent in the makeshift corral rubbing him down, rubbing his neck, talking to him, taking the time to scrub behind his sweaty ears when the bridle came off. Off saddle and just standing, he is immensely gentle.

Now I always loved to think that when the bridle came off and he immediately rubbed his head and eyes on my legs and chest that he loved me. No, you dolt, it’s because you’re the closest thing to a tree he has handy, and he cares about you about the same amount as the tree. So much for projecting foolish fantasies on someone else’s prize animal. Truthfully, I just wanted his respect, and the honor to ride him. I believe I got both. And that is enough.

Love, you earn time in grade, time in service. He’s not mine, never will be, and does not love me. The best I can ask for is respect.

julia_t

What a lovely report. I've really enjoyed reading it. You write so well, such great descriptions.

I am happy for you that you and Pharos came to an understanding. No doubt you also gained the respect of Isobel and Ivo, and as for the others, well if they didn't have a sneaking admiration of the way you handled that big horse, they will always just be casual riders rather than horsemen or horsewomen.

jhubbel

You are so sweet. Thank you for that. As for Pharos, he humbled the hell out of me, which I appreciated very much, for if nothing else, he forced me to use everything in my tool box, and as a result, I hope that the end product is that I'm a better rider for it.

jhubbel

So here we are, mostly walking our way home. Uvo, who is very tired, and likely at the end of his strength, is hanging on to the horn of his saddle riding behind me because the older sister’s horse annoys mine and she barks at me regularly to move my horse. The younger sister is in front of me, and she is playing bobble head ( watching Pharos instead of her own) , and her horse doesn’t like Uvo’s horse Arab either. But Arab, as he has repeatedly during this trip, trots forward and wants to butt ahead. This of course disrupts what little harmony we have developed in the line, upsetting the older girl who now has to deal with horse she cannot/does not ride; Arab pushes past me to get in behind the younger sister’s horse which causes kicking, I move the hell out of the way to watch the fireworks which always happen because for whatever reason Uvo isn’t managing his horse either, and one of the sisters reminds me that I MUST STAY IN LINE.

Does any of this really matter in the large scheme of the universe?

I feel at times I’m in kindergarten. What it reminded me of what how people can be so polite on the ground but they can be such rude drivers. Perhaps it’s the need to look good, or look in control, or feel authoritative when you’re on horseback. I have absolutely no clue.

I was filthy, fragrant, my hair was matted with sweat and dirt. I had spent seven days plus on the back of a mythical creature. Croatia had rolled out her hills and mountains and lakes and valleys and kind people and good foods and lovely villages and ruins for us. It was deeply satisfying and Pharos had his great proud head held high, ears forward, eager and striding. My big man. This was the ending of our trip and I was thinking one, terribly important, overwhelming word:

SHAMPOO.

Hey my hair is all the way down my back. I braid it, and when it gets THIS sweaty and dirty, comes a point when you think about lopping it off, because birds and small rodent like creatures are considering nesting in it. But BFF likes it and so do I. I waited til everyone showered, the hot water recovered, and I sat in the tub and watch a lot of unthinkables come out of my dome. Then I clear cut Krka National Forest off my pegs. Ahhhhhh.

Feeling like a girl again, it’s time to head down to dinner.

jhubbel

Dinner was a Macedonian vegetable stew in a thick tomato broth with spices, no pasta, no potatoes, soft vegetables. OMG. I was through four bowls before beginning to slow down. This was food I could eat. There were four cartons of yogurt. GONE. Bananas. GONE. Ivo, who did not know about the busted denture, was ecstatic to watch me inhale this dish- and if someone hadn’t grabbed the pot likely I would have. Oh so good. On the trail were deep fried foods and hard sausage and cheese and bread and more bread and more bread and more bread. And deep fried potatoes and fish. Ivo brought me bananas and mandarins, which I would stuff in my saddlebacks. I drank juices and sneaked a German Bueno bar (soft chocolate and hazelnut mousse) when I could find one, and I had the remnants of an old chocolate bar I could suck on at night. Now on trips like this, as I did for this one, I bring my own bars and chocolate and almond butter and energy foods. Problem was I couldn’t chew them. That just made it funnier. I mean come on, you have to have a sense of humor about this stuff. When your Plan B breaks down, you deal with what’s available.

The other thing that greeted us when we got home were more injuries. This time brave young handsome Odin had pushed the big bad boy’s buttons just one too many times. Odin had the unfortunate habit of invading the older dog’s space every single night and they would circle and growl menacingly. It was just a matter of time before this would escalate into all out battle which apparently had happened while we were gone. Odin limped out to greet us on three legs, clearly in a lot of pain, and spent most of his time sleeping and staying under the long porch table, chastised by his experience. He is younger and fitter, but the other is bigger and more experienced. And like with old quarterbacks, that will often win the day.

I coddled Odin where I could touch him and he laid his big huge head in my hands, and we would sit for a while contemplating the unfairness of life, sigh, and then I went upstairs to pack.

jhubbel

Now for some reason unbeknownst to me, at some point during the trip I had corrected the date on my watch. You know how sometime when you travel your watch can be ahead and change days by twelve hours so that you’re on the wrong day?

Right.

Well I left with bang, that’s for sure. My paperwork had me staying at a hostel in Split on the 18th, but my clock said that when I woke up it was the 19th, so crap I had to go the airport with the rest of the group and my flight was first. So we had to hustle a bit to head out on time.

Ivo, as is his way, took us a more scenic route to Split. He told us funny stories the whole way, as he always did, and complained about Isobel, as he always did. The night before we’d had a big rainstorm and I’d been prepared for wintry weather. Instead it was another brilliantly sunny day headed into the low eighties, and we were in the third week of October already.

Ivo crested the top of a hill and Split was laid out below us, a lovely town from on high. We got to the airport and everyone lets me go first. Because of course I only have an hour.

Get to the counter.

“This is for the 19th.””

"Right. Today is the 19th.”

“No, today is the 18th.” She gives me that LOOK that says, “parentheses, stupid.”

I look at my watch. Back at her. Back at my watch, as though by doing so this is somehow going to change the date. So I don’t feel so stupid.

Everyone behind me laughs. I can hardly blame them. I do too, and promptly run over to the counter, pay my $30 and get on the next flight to Zagreb which is mid-afternoon. We have time.

Ivo carts us over to Split, where the girls have not been, and Uvo did not want to go, but did. He complained that time.

We had lovely quiet time in old town Split with Ivo as our guide. I get ice cream. They get pizza. We see a castle- and gorgeous ships and handsome guys working on them and sunshine and sunshine and sunshine. In other words, a perfect restful sendoff from a perfectly lovely city.

Isobel calls and complains to him about where he is.

Ivo sighs, argues, winks at me, and explains about my ticket snafu and the stroll around Split. Hey, what can a guy do?

Ivo tells me things that put a lot into perspective, and I suggest that sticking to what the website promises- advanced riders only- is a good strategy. But….what a great trip. What a great horse.

jhubbel

The information folks inside the airport call the Rooms Katvric in Zagreb, and they are happy to give me an extra night. A few hours later I’m face down in my new room not the same bathtub) and in recovery. There I slept, wrote, ate and rested for two days. While purists would argue that I wasted those two days by not touring Zagreb, I would argue that given the state of my body, and the fact that I had a month of riding, hiking, kayaking and more coming up in Argentina in November, rest seemed like a pretty darned good idea at the time. If nothing else, age has taught me that recovery is A REALLY GOOD IDEA.

I did however have a wonderful moment, shared when I ventured forth on a Sunday to find the local Konzum and find soft food.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun was out in full and the day lovely. Not 45 seconds out of my rooms I was halfway down my side street when I noticed a chubby pug walking his owner and heading towards me from my left. I stopped, and gestured to the man for permission to pet his dog. Permission granted, I squatted down to rub the pug’s rolls of fat. He was happy to oblige.

The man offered a few words of English, a halting conversation followed. After a few moments I stood, the man pointed up and said, “My vife in da sky.” I expressed my genuine sorrow for his loss. He fumbled in his shoulder bag and took out a laminated card with a photo of a younger woman, memorialized. She had died at 58, in 2012. He was clearly still in deep mourning. What do you do? Her name was Julia, like mine.

We stood there for a moment in the bright sunshine. I reached my arms out to him. He hesitated, then reached back and we hugged. “Good voman,” he said. “Good man,” I said.
He fumbled around the card back in his shoulder bag, and then stood, at a loss for a moment. The sun was warm on his patterned sweater. I touched his back where it was strongest.
“The sun.” He nodded.

“That is Yuliya’s love,” I said. He nodded, ears bright in his eyes. I squeezed his arm, he smiled at me, and his pug continued to lead him up the street.

You stay inside all day and 45 seconds after you leave the house you’re hugging a grieving stranger. Most important minute of my day. You absolutely never know what’s going to happen when you walk outside. Incredible gift.

jhubbel

Croatia wasn’t through with me yet, even though I was primarily concerned at this point with recovering from bruises, strains, sore muscles and catching up on writing. My landlady kindly organized a taxi driver who showed up at 6 am to take me to the airport. He was there right at 5:55, and I recognized him from before. A young guy with good English. He was mildly interested in a few stories but he was fuming about something, turning on the radio right in the middle of our conversation.

He finally revealed that he was mad at his boss, and I challenged him (and Eleanor Roosevelt fans can relate) that he had to give his boss permission to ruin his day. This was a brand new concept to him. We had quite a lively discussion about the idea of choice, the choice to not be a victim, and to find the funny in situations instead of always being angry. While he struggled with much of this, he was genuinely intrigued.

This young man was so gutsy. It’s hard enough to embrace radical new ideas when you’re in a good mood. But this guy was angry, yet he was still willing to consider these notions. That speaks volumes about courage- moral courage- when one part of you wants to be righteous and the other part is hearing some really different ideas, and staying open to what could amount to emotional freedom. All I know is that the ability to find the funny in situations gets me through just about everything.

jhubbel

My living room is currently spread out with gear again. Kayaking for the Valdez Peninsula for looking a whales. Riding gear for four different estancias from Buenos Aires to deep down in the high country in Patagonia. I'm watching my Tivo'd Broncos games, high as a kite on Manning news. I have just a few days before jumping the plane for heading south, to spend most of the month on horseback in the high country, herding horses at full gallop, and adventuring in the early spring in some very remote country where the winds are going to be brisk and people are going to be sparse. Sounds good to me. My thanks to all who bothered to read this, and from here, I am shifting over to my Argentina thread. I appreciated the input and hope that you were entertained, informed and were intrigued enough to make plans to go to Croatia, which was by any measure, a treasure.

Happy Halloween to all, and may you find plenty of Snickers in your knickers.

DaveTe3

When I was planning my trip to Croatia, I had a hard time deciding which type of vacation would give me the wanted experience: sea or mountain oriented. The decision was easy once I found out about an intimate ranch holiday destination, hidden in a valley of Velebit Mountain that offers a real cowboy adventure. Linden Tree Retreat & Ranch impressed me immediately.

Not only have I experienced horse riding in Croatia http://www.lindenretreat.com/activit...riding-croatia and beautiful green vastness of Velebit, but I also had a chance to get to know the history and culture of the region through hanging out and spending time with ranch owners and participating in various carefully organized nature excursions. All horse riding activities are guided in the presence of their trainers, and all horses are trained for novice riders, so there is no place for fear.

Another great thing about Linden Tree are their other nature activities like canoeing, cycling, hiking or simple walking. The accommodation is authentic cowboy styled, and the food is organic and all natural. A beautiful experience of nature, culture, horseback riding and the real connection with nature that is usually forgotten in our everyday rushed lifes.

jhubbel

Dave this is very helpful and thanks. I'd love to return to this country, and especially have a better experience riding. While I'm an advanced rider I may have to work with them to find the right horse, this is usually pretty easy to to. At my stable in Denver I get what's called the "barn sour" animals, those that haven't been ridden for months, if not years. This means they buck, shy, rear, walk backwards, refuse to move or otherwise give the rider fits. These are my favorite horses. Not for novices. The reason I love this is because when I do get a challenging animal overseas, nothing surprises me any more. A runaway, a buck, rear, angry animal doesn't matter. Any fool can ride a well trained horse. You don't know if you are a rider until you get on a banshee. I like riding banshees.