106 Family Holiday & Leisure Winter 2013 www.familyholidayandleisure.com

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me, the sea, and thestallion

S o there I was, frolicking on a tropical island, enjoying all things luxurious. I was invited to review

the resort, and with that little magical word “journalist” next to my name, I was being treated to the most wonderful package, and the staff were attentive and kind. I LOVED it! I was moving in. I don’t get this kind of pampering when I’m at home. And when the activities manager suggested a horse ride, well a horse swim actually, in the warm azure ocean, I jumped at the chance.

Never once did I connect the dots between horse swimming in the ocean = no saddle = no stirrups to get me up onto the damn thing. No. Rather I had visions of myself dressed in white flowy things, sexily galloping bareback down the beach, my hair long and shiny and bouncing seductively in the soft afternoon light. Just like you used to see in those ciggie ads in the bioscopes. But that movie reel snapped rather suddenly. It was a startling reality check to realize that I somehow had to get onto this ginormous

horse directly from the ground. And being on the beach, there was no handy little half-wall that I could stand on either. “Not a problem” said my local guide, in his best English “I help you on top. You put left leg here” pointing to the top of his very little thigh “and you put other leg there.” Pointing to the top of the very large horse. “Take shoes off and then no problem.” I loved that things were never a problem with these helpful people. I took off my shoes, felt the sand between my toes, took in his chicken-bone sized thigh, and vowed to start the diet as soon as I got home. And then a few more dots that I had failed to connect became obvious. Sandy feet = slippery feet = sliding off his little leg = me ending up sprawled on the sand at the bottom of the horse in the most ungainly fashion. Not my most elegant moment.

But then that magic word kicked in again, he had obviously been primed that I was a journalist and had to show me the best experience ever. He had me on my feet again and brushed off in seconds. “No problem, we do again.” A-hem, yes, let’s.

This time though he jabbered in Portuguese to his two other buddies who were there to help. He assumed a very deep and low squat, preparing haka-like for the onslaught he was about to receive, one buddy was positioned to support him from behind and me when I got onto his leg, and the other buddy was positioned on the other side of the horse, with strict instructions to catch whatever he could of the mama that was about to be launched onto the horse, and pulled up and over. It was the back-up manoeuvre they had talked about and practised and seen demonstrated, but now, this was their time to shine. This was their moment to make it happen. I had visions of a coach with a white towel slung around his neck, massaging the shoulders of the guide, and whispering instructions to him. I felt the guide brace himself, and count to his friends, and Um… Dois… Três… HUP! And there I was, on top of the horse, triumphantly clinging to the mane, and ready to ride. “See,” he said with a cheeky grin,” no problem.”

Sometimes in life you just have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off,

and get back in the saddle.