Day 4: The Roof Of The World

Horses are universal, really. Horse people, no matter what our language or culture, can suddenly slip into sync when discussing our passion. Oswaldo and Diana, the wonderfully gracious owners of the beautiful Merced Baja, were no different and we spent a long dinner talking of horses and breeding and shows celebrating the animals that brought us together.

The morning dawned bright and promising and today we were going to do a loop ride, ending up back at La Merced Baja for a second night. Capuli and I rode out with a ready step and quickly began to climb. Imbabura had snow on its wrinkled top from the previous night.

We climb and climb and climb. Gaspar points to a long, misty valley behind us and tells us that Andean condors like to live up there, where there is a hidden lake and shelter from the wind.  We all peer hopefully into its depths, trying to call one out with sheer willpower.

Black volcanic soil contrasts with golden wheat, green mountains, and purple lupine.

Suddenly, we are in a heavy, dark pine forest. All is quiet and still except for the muffled footfalls of horses on pine needles. We wind out soon onto a road cut into the side of the mountain. Gaspar and Christian are passing the time as if we are strolling through a city park.

I, on the other hand, have just turned around. All I can think is "the roof of the world."  It's kind of like witnessing a miracle -- you can't quite believe you are awake or that any of it is real. The camera fails to capture it and the eyes are not big enough for this scale. But it is absolutely, piercingly real and you still try to find a way to hold it all inside of you.

All there is left to do is slide back down the hard, slick volcanic dirt back to the village of Zuleta. It feels like you are going down forever. And it's good half-halt practice! Once in the village, we jog down cobbled streets and stop at the shop of a seamstress that Gaspar knows. We walk into a world of exquisite artistry. She embroiders in rich colours on shirts, tablecloths, pillowcases, napkins. And the back of each piece is just as perfect and tightly stitched as the front. She brings out all her pieces with glee, her eyes crinkling with her smile of pride as she unfolds fabric in front of us, each work more beautiful than the last. I am caught by a table runner, its round pattern sewn in shades of blue. I ask her how long it took; she says about 10 days, working on it around four hours a day. I gladly pay her price, she earned every penny.

The hacienda is just down the road and we head home to give the horses the afternoon off to roll in the mud and nap. Tomorrow will be my last day with Capuli, the eager youngster who walks with his entire body and has impeccable balance in every conceivable footing. I hope he gets a good holiday after this -- these rides are HARD HARD work for the horses, yet they take it all without complaint or undue fuss.

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Day 3.1: La Merced Baja

After we passed under the gate, the horses had only one thing in mind. Capuli, my hardy little horse named after a tart native cherry, made a beeline for relief!



You can also hear Gaspar in the background discussing the farm's stallions. Oh, did I not mention they had stallions? Well, guess what, La Merced Baja (I can't read their website, I just look at the pretty pictures) breeds wonderful Pure Spanish Horses (PRE; Pura Raza Espanola). This baroque breed is subject to much inspection and regulation, as we learn at dinner, and you can see the results in their pastures. I also learn that "Andalusian" is just a generic term that marketers in the US love -- we think it's a special special breed, but in reality, it can refer to any number of thick-necked hairy horses of European origin and doesn't mean much at all. And by the way, should you want a hairy, thick-necked horse with a talent for collection and suspension, importing one from South America is wayyyyyyyyy cheaper than getting one from Europe. And this farm, at least, is breeding quality, nestled in this beautiful valley.

Their prize stallion is Kilimanyaro (but pronounce the "y" like a "j", like the mountain in Africa). He is 20 but he looks 13. To get to Ecuador from Spain, as a 3 year old, he spent 8 days on a ship, locked in a container without moving. They were heartbroken when they picked him up at the dock, he could barely move. It's a testament to the toughness of these horses that he survived!

And you know what's cool?  He gets to be a horse.  All their stock are used, working the farm.  There are 125 head of dairy cattle and a herd of Spanish fighting bulls to tend to daily.  The breeding goal:  to produce a beautiful-moving horse that also has a good brain and a solid, working temperament.  Their oldest son is even showing one of their youngsters in the show jumping ring (I tried to convince them that they needed to give me one so I could teach it to event and expand their market.  For some reason, they laughed at me...) over serious jumps and doing well!  But each horse is out in the pasture all day, muddy and happy and snarfing down grass.  Kilimayaro, of course, gets his own pasture next to the mares, where he can keep a watchful eye on goings-on.

 There are also two older stallions enjoying retirement with great dignity.

The yearlings get their own pasture. Manes and tails are kept cut short until the horses are four years old so it's easy to see conformation and movement unfolding. Each horse must be inspected three times if it will be used for breeding, so it's important to keep a sharp eye on what's growing out there.

Then there are this year's babies. Because who doesn't love baby horses! The littlest one is just starting his halter training and he is all sass and vigor. I measure his legs with eyes, trying to figure out how to best fit him in my suitcase.

As with most grey horses, the foals are born dark and lighten to white by about age 6 or so. A rare few do stay dark though, like this mare.

I think my favourites though, were a pair of two year old stallions who always came running to the fence if a person walked by. Absolute love bugs they were and if you stopped scratching their heads and tried to walk away, they would follow you down the fenceline, nickering for more. The darker one was my favourite and his is the pride of the farm, as Kilimanyaro's son. He has absolutely exquisite movement and when he sits down and trots, he looks like he belongs in the ring at Devon with a blue ribbon on his neck.

More scritches, please! His name is Kilimanyaro MB (for "Merced Baja"). And there are even more! They've also imported two young 5-6 year old stallions from Spain to bring fresh blood to the program. Of course, they are lovely too. This one is Falcon IV -- a bit into the video, he brings his head up and you can see quality just oozing out of him.



Needless to say, I went to bed tired that night, worn out from staring at so many beautiful horses at once. I built a big fire in our room (no small feat in Ecuador, where fires sputter and go out in the low-oxygen air), snuggled up with the hot water bottle and passed out.

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Day 3: Traversing Imbabura

Today is our first ride from one hacienda to another. All told, we will ride for six hours. We will traverse the side of the volcano Imbabura and cross a high saddle, then descend into the valley of Zuleta to spend two nights there. It's a beautiful day and we climb quickly.

The landscape changes often. We break away from crumbling villages and move higher into a green zone. Rich volcanic soil is hemmed by neat stone walls. Mountain summits are wreathed in clouds; it is said that when they are not, when the skies are clear, the volcanoes are flirting with each other.  I guess when they erupt, that means someone got turned on.

The horses have already been going for several hours when we come to a spring in a rocky meadow and they eagerly dive in for water.

HaHA! I caught mum smiling when she wasn't looking! And Anna is riding a new horse today.  Gitano is tagging along in the rear as spare pony and the bay she has now is Cuchofito, a 26 year old purebred Criollo.  He is very proud and confident (and a cryptorchid so must steer clear of mares!) and a well put together horse.  It's easy to see why he is still sound.  Later, I learned that Sally, the company's owner, bought him literally off of a slaughter truck, starving and half-wild with fear.  It took her two years to get his feet back into shape.  Looks pretty dangerous now, eh?

As we cross to the next mountain, we pass through a small village full of children playing in the streets. Many are excited to see the horses and we are followed by shouts of "Hola, caballo!"

We must continue on and now we are in a clean, soft pine forest. Even the air smells high. As we move out of the shadows, we break out into a high, beautiful grassland and suddenly I am cantering across the breadth of the Andes.

I can tie many things around my torso at once!! Capuli and Antares just want to know when the next snack stop is.  Many people graze sheep on these high slopes and entire groups of month-old lambs spring in surprise across the trails in front of us. They freeze, then bolt back to the ewes, bleating in chaos. Slowly, we wind our way down into the valley, even passing a riotous party. Two men are completely passed out on the road, one sprawled in the pothole where he fell. Capuli and I almost step on the other, as he is huddled under a blanket, but at the last second I see feet(!!!) sticking out!

Heading down the switchback, the scenery begins to change yet again. Hillsides are a patchwork of greens, browns, and golds, fields climbing in graceful curves as far as people are willing to carry things uphill (if it were me, they'd all be within ten steps of the bottom).

Heading down a walled road, it becomes obvious that there is more money nearby. Round hay bales are wrapped in white plastic (the first hay I've seen since arriving) and green fields are serenaded by high irrigation systems. Then we see a hanging sign and we are here: La Merced Baja, and some very beautiful suprises are in store.

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Day 2.2: I'm Riiiiiiiding In The Rain

Each day we ride, Gaspar and Tostado lead the way.  Then myself, mum, and Anna fall in line behind.  Bringing up the rear is Christian, a chagra (Andean cowboy), riding a bright dun Criollo/Columbian Paso cross who gaits along smoothly.  This afternoon, we are only doing a short loop of a couple of hours so everyone can get to know their horses.  After lining up five horses to cross the PanAm Highway (holy logging trucks, batman!), I follow Tostado as we climb up cobblestone streets into a village, heading for the slopes of Imbabura.

We picnic in a eucalypt grove around 3,000 meters high after picking our way through the fields and huts of the village. The horses catch a nap as we toss our chicken bones to the hungry dogs who miraculously turn up at the unpacking of saddle bags.

Here, Gaspar and Christian are readying a scrumptious lunch while we have just discovered the tasty treat that is salty banana chips. In the US, our banana chips are tough and sweet; these are much more resemblant (is that a word?) of potato chips!  After lunch though, a sudden freezing cold rain blows in and we discover a new miracle in the saddlebags -- giant ponchos!  Little Capuli would rather turn his tail to the wind and wait out the storm, but we must get down off the mountain before the mud becomes too slick for the horses.  Luckily, it's a short journey back to Hacienda Pinsaqui and warm drinks!

After a hot shower, I wander out behind the main building to explore the acres of garden paths.  It comes with its own baby llamas!!!

Just say awwwww! The gardens themselves were lovely, full of unique blooms. Ecuador, with its equatorial climate, is big business for commercial flower companies. Huge greenhouses are everywhere because apparently, flowers will bloom all year 'round here, which then can be shipped all over the world. Here's a funky datura, who has a hallucinogenic aroma (I tested it, but I was apparently immune. Maybe I should have stood there longer.).

There were lots of other lovely things to look at in the fading light.

As the clouds crept up the volcano Cotacachi, the light disappeared and it was time to make my way to the evening reception. There was a bar hidden in a cellar, bedecked with horse show ribbons (the hacienda's owner was a successful breeder of Arabians and jumping horses). We chased the chill away with a welcome drink made of sugar cane and cinnamon steeped for a day, then topped off with sugar cane liquor. That was followed by a shot of anise liquor that made my entire body tingle all the way to my fingertips. So it must be good.

Then, a group of musicians entertained us with the traditional music of the Andean highlands. It had a unique, wild, and joyful flavour to it, even though I didn't understand what the songs were about (damn my pathetic Spanish). Note the young boy who is deeply intent on shaking that rhythm egg JUST RIGHT.



By this point, I was liquor-warm and dog-tired. After a beautiful pork fritata, I managed to slither under my (400) blankets (old houses are freezing!) with my new bestest friend: Mr. Hot Water Bottle who awaited me faithfully with his foot-warming goodness. Tomorrow: we would cross Imbabura to the Zuleta valley!

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