Monday, October 31, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Rome- Part 2
Did you know that almost all pro athletes use visualization techniques to mentally rehearse their winning strategy? Well, I had visualized walking out of the airport in Rome, turning left and walking to the bus depot where I would get on the white bus with Terravision on the side. That bus would take me directly (no stops) to the Southwestern side of the Terminal. There I would get off the bus, walk down the length of the terminal and directly in front of me would be the street on which I would find the hotel reception. I'd walk one block down until I see a yellow wall with a black gate. Inside that gate I'd find my mother and sister waiting for me with open arms. I even looked at my route through Google street view. My strategy was golden. Getting on the blue bus threw my whole game.
So there I am sitting on the bus, right at the front because that's the way I roll and I have a sweeping view of the road ahead. Mistake numero uno! In Rome the rules of the road are more like casual suggestions. This I expected. I expected to see skinny men on little scooters talking on their cell phones, madly gesturing with both hands, correcting the set of the handle bars only at the last possible moment, not a second before he would be sent careening in to the semi-sized bus just inches away. Cars dashing in and out of traffic with no consideration for their relativity to other vehicles; Some cars going twenty miles and hour, some doing a hundred and twenty. I think I could have handled seeing it all... if only... Oh, if only!.... my bus driver were to actually look at the road, on occasion. Instead he looked left (for a few minutes), then right (for a few minutes), only catching sight of the road as his head turned from one side to the other. Sometimes he drove in the left lane, sometimes in the right, mostly somewhere in between. At one point he became so preoccupied with a lady in the car beside us I was able to count to sixty without seeing him so much as glance at the road in front of him. I didn't see much of the long stretching fields and farms of the Italian countryside on the way in to Rome. I had my eyes closed.
Note: On my drive in to Rome and actually on the flight in to Fumicino I was shocked to see that the area was almost all rural. Even just outside of the city limits of Rome the land turns to agricultural farms with no buffer of suburbs in between.
When I next dared to look we were traveling through the sprawl of the working man's Rome: tired and worn with sagging apartment buildings, crammed together cheek for jowl, their terracotta walls, tall and narrow shuttered windows and cute little balconies stripped of beauty by artless graffiti, air conditioning units and stacks of random junk. Car dealerships, gas stations, small neighborhood grocers- familiar businesses in a foreign landscape- stray dogs and cats lounging in the shadows, garbage in the gutters and not so much as a shrub for landscaping. Mid morning and there were men gathered outside their little shops, gossiping; Dark haired woman, sternly dressed, regally smoking on cafe patios. Unlike London, this city felt far from home. I loved it.
As we drove on, the city rose up around us. The buildings became taller, sturdier, wearing their age like a beautiful patina. I became so enamored with the changing landscape I almost didn't notice at first that the bus had come to a stop where there was no light or stop sign (which is not to say that the driver had actually stopped at such previous signs). The bus driver picked up the intercom handset. I am pretty sure he said"Santa initiliani lebititalian... Mario Botali". At least that is what I got. To my horror about 6 of the 20 people on the bus stood up. They picked up their luggage. They got off the bus. Amongst them, the American couple. My heart immediately started pounding and I looked frantically to the streets on either side of me for some familiar landmark. Is this my stop? Should I get off? No one mentioned a stop! When is my stop? What the hell did that bus driver just say? I stand up. Panicked. I intend to ask someone what the HELL is going on!!! but just then the bus lunges forward and I'm thrown back in to my seat. My mind races. I convince myself that when the time comes to get off I will recognize the Termini... after all it is a huge busy building and I've seen it on Google dammit!
The bus seems to grow in size as the streets become narrower and narrower. I hold my breath every time we squeeze between a parked car and a person who has laid themselves flat against it to avoid being squashed; Every time we whiz by a pedestrian just a split second after they step clear of our path; Everytime we squeek by... okay you get the point. The good news is that my bus driver is now actively driving. The bad news is that he's getting cranky. His window came down. He begins to yell and madly gesture at the cars in front of him, at the people that we've passed. They are uneffected by his anger. They yell back. Somehow the streets become even narrower. Next we passed a rally or protest of some kind. People fill the street. I am convinced we're going to run over them all. We turned a corner and I notice that the bus driver is reaching for his intercom again. My heart begins to pick up that lerching pounding beat. I search the street for anything familiar. He says, "Sanitinirinalinibadina" in the time it takes me to say, "Bo!". People get off. This time I stay seated. My new strategy is that I'm gonna sit right there in my seat until he drags me off the bus kicking and screaming. We drive on. Two stops later I need a Prozac and a bottle of wine. Stat. There are only four people left besides me and the driver.
I look down at my map and try to find some familiar landmark. When I look up again we are rounding the corner next to a tall brick colored wall. This wall stretches on and on, winding with the street. It is twice as high as the bus, it's surface is smooth and solid. No windows. No doors. Finally we turn a corner and ahead a line of people stand before a gate. I see a sign. It's the Vatican.
Now I know where I am but I cant take my eyes off of the window long enough to look at the map. With every block there is another gorgeous fountain, ancient church or statue. This time, when my heart begins to pound, it's because I cant believe I'm finally here, in Rome. I dont think I will ever forget the moment I looked from my side window to the road ahead and saw the Colosseum standing right there in front of us. I couldn't even breath. You always think these things will be less than you imagined. But it wasn't. It was pink and crumbling and fantastically immense, right there on the side of the road.
We drove on. When we next came to a stop the four remaining people get off. I sit still. I look left. I like right. I look ahead. This... This is not the termini. Not one thing is recognizable. Not a street, a building. Not a sign saying "Termini". Nothing. I dont have a clue where I am. The bus driver gets up and off the bus. I am forced to follow. My heart isn't pounding. It has stopped altogether.
More, coming.
So there I am sitting on the bus, right at the front because that's the way I roll and I have a sweeping view of the road ahead. Mistake numero uno! In Rome the rules of the road are more like casual suggestions. This I expected. I expected to see skinny men on little scooters talking on their cell phones, madly gesturing with both hands, correcting the set of the handle bars only at the last possible moment, not a second before he would be sent careening in to the semi-sized bus just inches away. Cars dashing in and out of traffic with no consideration for their relativity to other vehicles; Some cars going twenty miles and hour, some doing a hundred and twenty. I think I could have handled seeing it all... if only... Oh, if only!.... my bus driver were to actually look at the road, on occasion. Instead he looked left (for a few minutes), then right (for a few minutes), only catching sight of the road as his head turned from one side to the other. Sometimes he drove in the left lane, sometimes in the right, mostly somewhere in between. At one point he became so preoccupied with a lady in the car beside us I was able to count to sixty without seeing him so much as glance at the road in front of him. I didn't see much of the long stretching fields and farms of the Italian countryside on the way in to Rome. I had my eyes closed.
Note: On my drive in to Rome and actually on the flight in to Fumicino I was shocked to see that the area was almost all rural. Even just outside of the city limits of Rome the land turns to agricultural farms with no buffer of suburbs in between.
When I next dared to look we were traveling through the sprawl of the working man's Rome: tired and worn with sagging apartment buildings, crammed together cheek for jowl, their terracotta walls, tall and narrow shuttered windows and cute little balconies stripped of beauty by artless graffiti, air conditioning units and stacks of random junk. Car dealerships, gas stations, small neighborhood grocers- familiar businesses in a foreign landscape- stray dogs and cats lounging in the shadows, garbage in the gutters and not so much as a shrub for landscaping. Mid morning and there were men gathered outside their little shops, gossiping; Dark haired woman, sternly dressed, regally smoking on cafe patios. Unlike London, this city felt far from home. I loved it.
As we drove on, the city rose up around us. The buildings became taller, sturdier, wearing their age like a beautiful patina. I became so enamored with the changing landscape I almost didn't notice at first that the bus had come to a stop where there was no light or stop sign (which is not to say that the driver had actually stopped at such previous signs). The bus driver picked up the intercom handset. I am pretty sure he said"Santa initiliani lebititalian... Mario Botali". At least that is what I got. To my horror about 6 of the 20 people on the bus stood up. They picked up their luggage. They got off the bus. Amongst them, the American couple. My heart immediately started pounding and I looked frantically to the streets on either side of me for some familiar landmark. Is this my stop? Should I get off? No one mentioned a stop! When is my stop? What the hell did that bus driver just say? I stand up. Panicked. I intend to ask someone what the HELL is going on!!! but just then the bus lunges forward and I'm thrown back in to my seat. My mind races. I convince myself that when the time comes to get off I will recognize the Termini... after all it is a huge busy building and I've seen it on Google dammit!
The bus seems to grow in size as the streets become narrower and narrower. I hold my breath every time we squeeze between a parked car and a person who has laid themselves flat against it to avoid being squashed; Every time we whiz by a pedestrian just a split second after they step clear of our path; Everytime we squeek by... okay you get the point. The good news is that my bus driver is now actively driving. The bad news is that he's getting cranky. His window came down. He begins to yell and madly gesture at the cars in front of him, at the people that we've passed. They are uneffected by his anger. They yell back. Somehow the streets become even narrower. Next we passed a rally or protest of some kind. People fill the street. I am convinced we're going to run over them all. We turned a corner and I notice that the bus driver is reaching for his intercom again. My heart begins to pick up that lerching pounding beat. I search the street for anything familiar. He says, "Sanitinirinalinibadina" in the time it takes me to say, "Bo!". People get off. This time I stay seated. My new strategy is that I'm gonna sit right there in my seat until he drags me off the bus kicking and screaming. We drive on. Two stops later I need a Prozac and a bottle of wine. Stat. There are only four people left besides me and the driver.
I look down at my map and try to find some familiar landmark. When I look up again we are rounding the corner next to a tall brick colored wall. This wall stretches on and on, winding with the street. It is twice as high as the bus, it's surface is smooth and solid. No windows. No doors. Finally we turn a corner and ahead a line of people stand before a gate. I see a sign. It's the Vatican.
Now I know where I am but I cant take my eyes off of the window long enough to look at the map. With every block there is another gorgeous fountain, ancient church or statue. This time, when my heart begins to pound, it's because I cant believe I'm finally here, in Rome. I dont think I will ever forget the moment I looked from my side window to the road ahead and saw the Colosseum standing right there in front of us. I couldn't even breath. You always think these things will be less than you imagined. But it wasn't. It was pink and crumbling and fantastically immense, right there on the side of the road.
We drove on. When we next came to a stop the four remaining people get off. I sit still. I look left. I like right. I look ahead. This... This is not the termini. Not one thing is recognizable. Not a street, a building. Not a sign saying "Termini". Nothing. I dont have a clue where I am. The bus driver gets up and off the bus. I am forced to follow. My heart isn't pounding. It has stopped altogether.
More, coming.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Rome
Mid morning, a clear and hot day, the first of October- I meet Rome for the first time.
London, Athens, Messina, Rhodes, Istanbul, Chania, Bolognia... these were places, cities, towns.
Rome is a woman.
Meeting Rome was like coming face to face with a movie star I had long loved and admired. She is everything I expected- glamorous, vain, distinctly Italian, beautiful...her star quality evident and in tact. Rome wears big Elizabeth Taylor jewels: The Colosseum, the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, The Spanish Steps, the Arch of Constantine, The Vatican. The beauty of these gems fade little for being set against age spotted skin. But the gems, the designer clothes and heavy makeup could not hide her imperfections, the reality of age, heavy drinking and a hard life. The illusion of the silver screen goddess fades. She has yellow teeth and coffee stains. The hem of her vintage Armani dress is torn and dangling. She smells a little.
I landed at Fiumichino airport and made my way through customs, which is to say that I was swept forward by the crush of a crowd along a narrow corridor and through the slim opening between two custom's officers desks, the officers themselves disinterested, half asleep, not even bothering to glance up as I passed amongst a flood of multinational people. We poured out into the Italian sunshine. There is no "Welcome to Rome" sign.
First things first. I must catch a bus or a train to take me in to Rome (the airport is a half hour west of the centre of the city). I walk confidently out of the airport and turn right. I feel confident, cool, a world traveler. I walk a few minutes to the designated bus area. I pull out a sheet from the tab beneath "Bus Rome" in my file folder and glace at it briefly. I know it by heart. I look for the white bus with Terravision on the side. There is no such bus. There are two blue buses. Neither have Terravision on the side. I dont panic. I settle in to wait. I'm confident that one will arrive shortly. A man approaches me. He is wearing a apron with pockets in the front. He looks very official which is to say stern, unfriendly, annoyed, rushed, impatient... his expression says it all. He asks, in broken English, "What you waiting for?"
I say, "Terravision bus".
He seems to roll his eyes, "Yes, Where you want to go?"
I go to say the word on my sheet but falter... I cant remember. So I hold up my page and point at the word "Termini" I dont dare try to pronounce it.
"Ci! Ci!" He cries, "This bus! This bus!" He gestures emphatically at the blue bus and motions for me to get up. "Seven euro!" He holds out his hand.
My false bravado crumbles. In an instant I have become the bewildered tourist: lost, scared and alone in a foreign country.
"No!" I say. "I wait for white bus." I realize that for some reason my English has become as broken as his. This makes no sense.
The man gestures wildly, without even a single word his gesture screams, "Geeze, these tourists! What am I to do! They are such idiots!" I stare at him with wide blank eyes. So he changes tactic. This time he speaks to slowly, pronouncing each world precisely like I'm a dim witted child, "The blue bus is same. Same as white bus. You go to Termini. This bus goes to Termini. Seven euro."
"To here?" I ask, pointing again at my sheet.
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes!"
"Alright I say!" Why didnt he just say so? I pay for my ticket and get on the bus. My imagination runs wild, what if he misunderstood? What if he is conning me? What if I end up in Naples?! Venice! A bad neighborhood?! I'll be kidnapped! Raped! Sold in to the sex trade! But wait! I'm fat. It's all good... surely they dont kidnap fat girls! But wait! What if there is a specialized market for fat girls? Oh my God, I'm going to be sold in to a niche fat girl market!
An American couple sit down in the seats across from me. "Excuse me, does this bus go here?" I ask, pointing at my now sweaty crumpled sheet.
"Yes." She says, confidently.
I settle in for the bus ride to Rome.
More, soon.
Trevi Fountain
Streets of Rome
In the Pantheon
The Pantheon
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
London, England
Not long after sunrise we began our descent towards Gatwick Airport, south of London, North of Crawley. Over a never ending patchwork quilt of rolling green fields we flew, over little villages tucked in between sheets of white fog, over country roads winding between pastures, each unique in shape, fitted together like pieces of a puzzle and each bordered by tall hedging trees, all so timelessly picture perfect that I couldn't help but imagine a fictional Mr. Darcy strolling over those very fields in the early morning dew. So peaceful and quaint it was nearly impossible to imagine the sights, sounds and terror of the all too real Blitz of WWII. History came alive for me before I had even touched the ground. As it would continue to do so, without fail, ever day of my journey through Europe.
I have already described my excitement in those first moments upon landing so I wont do so again. After dropping my bags at the hotel I headed to the airport train station and purchased a ticket on the Gatwick Express (a direct 35 minute train ride from Gatwick Airport to Victoria Station in the heart of London) which was more expensive than I had expected at 17.90 pounds (nearly $30 canadian or US) one way! The first of many expenses I hadnt really anticipated.
When I arrived in Victoria station and stepped out in to London for the first time I met head on a handful of British cliches:, red double decker buses, Cornish pastie stands, pubs, and little black taxi's so cute they looked like toys. I decided to walk around rather than take the traditional red bus tour. I wanted to feel the city beneath my feet.... had I known that three hours and God-knows-how-many-miles later, somewhere between Buckingham Palace and St. Pauls Cathedral, my feet would actually fall off, I might have taken the damn bus:)
I didn't come close to seeing all the sites, or even as many as I would have on the bus but I'm glad, now that the memory of those painful blisters has faded, to have seen a little of London between the monuments. I would love to go back and give the city the time it deserves. I went through it so quickly and was so tired, it feels more like I flipped through a picture book of London- I have little snippets of a beautiful city on a beautiful day, filled with terrifically beautiful sites but no distinct memory of what it was to stand before them. The last I remember of London was of trying to keep my eyes open on the train back to my hotel... I didnt fall asleep thankfully, but I wasnt really awake either, not until the next morning when I flew in to Rome...
A recommendation for future travellers: Look in to buying a London Pass. I had no idea how expensive the admission prices were going to be for the different sites (not just in London but in Rome and other cities as well). For example: Westminster Abby 16 pounds ($25) St. Pauls 14.50 pounds ($23) Buckingham Palace (where Kate's dress is displayed) 17.50 pounds ($29)
Below are my photos of some of the historical sites I visited (or the ones I took pictures of anyways!) It seems that blogger has this new (to me) option where if you doublt click the picture it opens a slideshow format for larger viewing)
Oliver Cromwell statue with Big Ben in background
Walking up the street towards St. Pauls
St. Pauls (the upper facade) sorry I got a little carried away editing this one, I didnt like the originals as there were many buses, sign posts and people below.
I cant remember where I took this one, but it is Elizabeth I
Big Ben
Trafalgar Square
Somerset House Courtyard
Westminster Abby
GIANT arena behind The Guards Museum... wouldnt you love to lope some circles in there!?! 
The Guards Museum 
Buckingham Palace 
Statue outside of Buckingham Palace 
Horse poo outside Buckingham Palace! :)
Horses and Guards at the Gaurds Museum (above and below)
Statue behind The Guards Museum (can you tell that I liked the Guards Museum?!?) 
Douglas Haig statue- I will quote here from wikipedia an interesting fact about this statue:-"Unveiled 10 November 1937. The statue aroused great controversy, comparable even with the reaction to Epstein's early works. The depiction of the horse was deemed to be unnatural; Country Life noted that its legs were in the position for urinating. Haig's widow did not attend the unveiling."
While I did find the stance of this horse unusual it didn't strike me as offensive... if anything I found it beautiful and the pose regal.... I guess Tennesse Walkers, Arabians, Morgans and Saddlebreds were not popular (or didnt exist) at this time! I'm used to looking past horses being arranged in unnatural ways for statues and figurines... someone should have pointed out to those who took issue that a better argument would be for the unlikeliness of Haig's horse to have pointed like a bird dog... just a thought...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Buongiorno!
(getting on the plane to London in Vancouver (red faced from trying not to cry as I said goodbye to DB)Buongiorno! (Good Morning!)
Lo Sono a Casa! (I am home!)
And there depletes my entire repertoire of Italian phrases!
Not really, but it's a near thing.
How could I possibly put down in words just how amazing my trip was?
"The trip of a lifetime!", I could say if I were unimaginative...
"The best trip ever!", I might say, if I were still a teenager....
"An spiritual and emotional cornucopia!"... I could say, if I were pretentious (and lame).
"A wonderfully rich and spiritually nourishing journey filled with adventure, laughter, and memories that will last a lifetime." .... Yup, I think that about sums it up.
I could write a hundred posts about our adventures and still be no closer to describing the whole of our experiences. I am going to run through our itinerary and share a little about each of the places we visited but the CliffsNotes version will have to suffice.
Where to start... Hmm... I best take Louis Carrol's advice and "Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end: then stop."
In the beginning: There was a bittersweet farewell.
Sitting at my gate waiting to board the plane from Vancouver to London I wrote in my journal:
"I hate leaving home. I love where leaving home takes me."
Driving away from my home, my babies, my bed (:D) was bad enough, saying goodbye to my man at the gate was infinitely worse. But as much as I hated to leave him behind, I was so incredibly excited about taking my first real step towards a trip I've dreamed of taking for the better half of my life.
In my dreams I've always envisioned that when the time came I would make that long journey abroad alone. And I did, to a certain extent. I flew out all by my lonesome on the afternoon of 29th and landed in London at sunrise on the 30th of September. From Gatwick I walked five minutes down the road to my hotel where two weeks previously my Mom and sister had stayed when they began their journey towards a cruise out of Amsterdam heading to Portugal and Spain and finishing in Rome on the 1st of October.
Our plan was that I would fly to London on the 30th, stay the night and fly out the next morning to Rome (the 1st) where we would all meet up at the Beehive Hotel within a few hours of each other (they disembarked early in the morning an hours train ride North of Rome in Civitavecchia (and no, after two weeks I still cant that town's name perfectly.) So while I was alone in London that day I had the comfort of knowing that my Mom and sister were just a short plane ride away and that soon we would have a grand reunion in the heart of Europe, Rome! I was so excited about this plan that when my Mom and Fel left, and for the two weeks thereafter, I would finish every text and e-mail to them with a nearly giddy, "See you in Rome!!!"
Here I've already rambled on and I have only gotten so far as my hotel at Gatwick! Before I go on I must say that there was a moment when we first touched down on English soil that I will never forget. When I want something as bad as I wanted this trip I have a hard time letting myself believe it is really going to happen, until it does. It wasn't until I took my first step off the plane that it really sunk in that I had arrived. I cried for joy inside (I had to keep up the I'm-an-international-traveler-and-this-is-no-big-deal-facade on the outside...but inside I was just bursting out of my skin with excitement.) Adrenaline filled me with a desire to jump right in, feet first, to sink in to that old English dirt and soak up every sound, scent and sight around me... *ehem* sorry... got a little carried away there. So, I landed and checked in. I had been awake for 16 hours and knew that my day had just begun. I had all of London to explore and until sunset to make it happen. I dropped my bags and headed out to catch a train to London...
Lo Sono a Casa! (I am home!)
And there depletes my entire repertoire of Italian phrases!
Not really, but it's a near thing.
How could I possibly put down in words just how amazing my trip was?
"The trip of a lifetime!", I could say if I were unimaginative...
"The best trip ever!", I might say, if I were still a teenager....
"An spiritual and emotional cornucopia!"... I could say, if I were pretentious (and lame).
"A wonderfully rich and spiritually nourishing journey filled with adventure, laughter, and memories that will last a lifetime." .... Yup, I think that about sums it up.
I could write a hundred posts about our adventures and still be no closer to describing the whole of our experiences. I am going to run through our itinerary and share a little about each of the places we visited but the CliffsNotes version will have to suffice.
Where to start... Hmm... I best take Louis Carrol's advice and "Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end: then stop."
In the beginning: There was a bittersweet farewell.
Sitting at my gate waiting to board the plane from Vancouver to London I wrote in my journal:
"I hate leaving home. I love where leaving home takes me."
Driving away from my home, my babies, my bed (:D) was bad enough, saying goodbye to my man at the gate was infinitely worse. But as much as I hated to leave him behind, I was so incredibly excited about taking my first real step towards a trip I've dreamed of taking for the better half of my life.
In my dreams I've always envisioned that when the time came I would make that long journey abroad alone. And I did, to a certain extent. I flew out all by my lonesome on the afternoon of 29th and landed in London at sunrise on the 30th of September. From Gatwick I walked five minutes down the road to my hotel where two weeks previously my Mom and sister had stayed when they began their journey towards a cruise out of Amsterdam heading to Portugal and Spain and finishing in Rome on the 1st of October.
Our plan was that I would fly to London on the 30th, stay the night and fly out the next morning to Rome (the 1st) where we would all meet up at the Beehive Hotel within a few hours of each other (they disembarked early in the morning an hours train ride North of Rome in Civitavecchia (and no, after two weeks I still cant that town's name perfectly.) So while I was alone in London that day I had the comfort of knowing that my Mom and sister were just a short plane ride away and that soon we would have a grand reunion in the heart of Europe, Rome! I was so excited about this plan that when my Mom and Fel left, and for the two weeks thereafter, I would finish every text and e-mail to them with a nearly giddy, "See you in Rome!!!"
Here I've already rambled on and I have only gotten so far as my hotel at Gatwick! Before I go on I must say that there was a moment when we first touched down on English soil that I will never forget. When I want something as bad as I wanted this trip I have a hard time letting myself believe it is really going to happen, until it does. It wasn't until I took my first step off the plane that it really sunk in that I had arrived. I cried for joy inside (I had to keep up the I'm-an-international-traveler-and-this-is-no-big-deal-facade on the outside...but inside I was just bursting out of my skin with excitement.) Adrenaline filled me with a desire to jump right in, feet first, to sink in to that old English dirt and soak up every sound, scent and sight around me... *ehem* sorry... got a little carried away there. So, I landed and checked in. I had been awake for 16 hours and knew that my day had just begun. I had all of London to explore and until sunset to make it happen. I dropped my bags and headed out to catch a train to London...
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Arrivederci!
I've been trying and trying for the past week to get the last instalment of my My Friend Princess written and posted but this morning I woke up and realized that it just isnt going to happen, I'm sorry (in my head I like to pretend like 1) there is someone reading this 2) that someone was eagerly awaiting my last instalment and 3) that someone actually gives a flying rat's ass that it isnt coming! Please dont burst my bubble).
I am a little disappointed because the title of my post was going to be "How I try to make my horselove trust me!" which was so exciting because in I've always wanted to try that thingy where you put a line through a word... though in my head I always envisioned applying it in such away that it produced something infinitely more amusing.
I am a little disappointed because the title of my post was going to be "How I try to make my horse
I was feeling really smart about that and was going to share with you how to do it today but I cant seem to get blogger to allow me to show the little bracket thingys... which kinda deflated my feeling smart:( <---- not a sophisticated insert
Anyways, so the reason why I am not going to get that post finished is because...
*drum roll please*
I am leaving for Europe in 2 days!!!
*super geeky happy dance*
This trip is one that I've been dreaming of for basically my entire life and this week it is finally happening!!!
*resisting the temptation to insert another happy dance*
I will be going to:
London, England
Rome, Italy
Messina, Sicily
Istanbul, Turkey
Ephesus, Turkey
Chania, Greece
Rhodes, Greece
Athens, Greece
back to Rome...
Traveling up through Italy from Rome to Bogonia
back to London
Aww to hell with it...
*happy dance*
*happy dance*
*happy dance*
Arrivederci! My friends!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Dont Overthink It or Anything...
I finished my last post with the following:
"Over the past few months Princess and I have developed one of the best relationships I've ever had with a horse and it continues to grow with every ride. It doesn't make my heart pound or my blood come fast. But it is, nonetheless, deeply satisfying...
...There is more to come next post on what happened once I tried to win my mare's mind instead of her heart."
...to win over my mares mind instead of her heart.
... to win over...
I realize now that "to win over" has been the driving force behind my relationship with horses. I constantly seek to not only feel that special and, most importantly, mutual "connection" but to have it demonstrated by my horse in their actions and manners. In the past I've driven by the need to have my horse love me. I find the truth in those words uncomfortably deep. I'm almost embarrassed to admit how deeply in my pysche that river runs, how strong it's current have propelled my truest self, not just in horses, but in life. My hopelessly romantic soul wants nothing more than to be "the one" to that horse and I think I have always secretly been disappointed that none of my horses have looked at me in the truest sense of that way, I've also not-so-secretly envied those who's horses do look at them that way. The irony is that I know better. I've watched all the same clinics and read all the same books! I have a pretty good handle on how the horses psyche works, how to read their body, their intent... how to manipulate it- the basics of "natural" horsemanship. What my mind knew and what my heart had accepted where two different things.
The greatest lesson I've learned in the past year, as bitter as it may sound, is that a horse doesn't need to love me to want to work for me or to respond in a way that I once interpreted as demonstrating love (ie the desire to be with me). Thus is also true that when my horse doesn't work for me it isnt because she doesn't love me. For example, my greatest pet peeve is a herdboundness. To say it is a pet peeve is an understatement. It makes me immediately and thoroughly irate. I cant stand a herdbound horse. I now know why... because I take it personally. It is the ultimate insult to a a wanna-be-loved-horseman. Logically I know why a horse becomes herdbound and I even have a few tricks to help them overcome their herdbound behavior. But I found herdboundness to be a great emotional disappointment, it was so contrary to everything I ever wanted to feel from a horse.
I know that I said today I would write more about how I changed rather than why I changed but I guess I just wasn't finished digging deeply enough in this shamefully overly-thought-out emotional aspect of the "click". I used that word "click" too loosely. In my heart "click" means... It means the sound made when two perfectly shaped pieces of a puzzle are joined together- the sound made when they snap in to place. I was seeking the perfect marriage... rather than the marriage that is perfect for me (borrowed from my friend, the infinitely wise, L.)
More soon.
"Over the past few months Princess and I have developed one of the best relationships I've ever had with a horse and it continues to grow with every ride. It doesn't make my heart pound or my blood come fast. But it is, nonetheless, deeply satisfying...
...There is more to come next post on what happened once I tried to win my mare's mind instead of her heart."
...to win over my mares mind instead of her heart.
... to win over...
I realize now that "to win over" has been the driving force behind my relationship with horses. I constantly seek to not only feel that special and, most importantly, mutual "connection" but to have it demonstrated by my horse in their actions and manners. In the past I've driven by the need to have my horse love me. I find the truth in those words uncomfortably deep. I'm almost embarrassed to admit how deeply in my pysche that river runs, how strong it's current have propelled my truest self, not just in horses, but in life. My hopelessly romantic soul wants nothing more than to be "the one" to that horse and I think I have always secretly been disappointed that none of my horses have looked at me in the truest sense of that way, I've also not-so-secretly envied those who's horses do look at them that way. The irony is that I know better. I've watched all the same clinics and read all the same books! I have a pretty good handle on how the horses psyche works, how to read their body, their intent... how to manipulate it- the basics of "natural" horsemanship. What my mind knew and what my heart had accepted where two different things.
The greatest lesson I've learned in the past year, as bitter as it may sound, is that a horse doesn't need to love me to want to work for me or to respond in a way that I once interpreted as demonstrating love (ie the desire to be with me). Thus is also true that when my horse doesn't work for me it isnt because she doesn't love me. For example, my greatest pet peeve is a herdboundness. To say it is a pet peeve is an understatement. It makes me immediately and thoroughly irate. I cant stand a herdbound horse. I now know why... because I take it personally. It is the ultimate insult to a a wanna-be-loved-horseman. Logically I know why a horse becomes herdbound and I even have a few tricks to help them overcome their herdbound behavior. But I found herdboundness to be a great emotional disappointment, it was so contrary to everything I ever wanted to feel from a horse.
I know that I said today I would write more about how I changed rather than why I changed but I guess I just wasn't finished digging deeply enough in this shamefully overly-thought-out emotional aspect of the "click". I used that word "click" too loosely. In my heart "click" means... It means the sound made when two perfectly shaped pieces of a puzzle are joined together- the sound made when they snap in to place. I was seeking the perfect marriage... rather than the marriage that is perfect for me (borrowed from my friend, the infinitely wise, L.)
More soon.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
My Friend Princess- Part 2
If you didnt read the first half of this story please check out this link My Friend Princess.
I finished off that post with this question: "So which is more important to me- the bond or the ride?"
The question might sound simple but at it's root it is probably the most fundamental question you could ask a horseman- Why do you have horses? For sport, recreation, as pets or all of the above?
I have never been so unsure of my own answer as I am now. In the past I valued, above all else, the bond. I was raised on books and movies like The Black Stallion, My Friend Flicka (hence the title "My Friend Princess"), Sylvester and Wild Hearts Cant Be Broken wherein the bond between horse and rider created a near mythical ability to overcome all obstacles, against all odds. As a child I didnt pin horse calendars on my wall, draw horses all over my binder, or run around a field on my invisible pony because I dreamed of being a champion barrel racer, show jumper or real-life cowgirl. I dreamed that I would have a horse so amazing, a horse to whom I was so profoundly connected, a horse that was so completely devoted and willing to work only for me that together we could do anything including becoming a champion barrel racer, show jumper and real-life cowgirl. I believed in the bond.
For the better part of the time I've owned Princess I've been hung up on the issue that her and I dont have that special connection, that I just dont feel "it". Dont get me wrong, I really did have a soft spot in my heart for Princess, she is a hard mare not to love but it wasnt that... that... you know? That thing?
Princess is a bit like dating that guy who is funny, smart, good looking, great to be around and dangit if he doesnt treats you like gold to boot. He is a great guy.... but....he sure the hell aint that tall slim nameless cowboy with the dark roaming eyes and smooth drawl you two-stepped with all night long that time at the Vermillion Fair. Sure that cowboy might float the ol'boat but he sure as shit isn't going to be there in the morning. As my good friend Barbie once said, "A cowboy is only good for one thing- the weekend." Almost all the horses I've owned in the past ten years have been cowboys... they swept me off my feet only to dump me on my ass... left me with nothing but a few short memories, a nasty hangover and a suspicious rash. *ehem* sorry, got a little carried away with that purely hypothetical analogy there.
Princess is that good ol'boy who smart girls marry.
I'm not going to lie, in the past I've not been a very smart girl.
But I like to think I'm a little older... and wiser...
So I make a decision. I decided to keep Princess. I let go of that whole notion that I needed an organic spiritual connection. I thought I was giving something up. But instead I discovered something that will forever change the way I relate to my horses.
It isnt romantic.
It isn't magic.
It isn't clandestine.
It is simple- mutual respect and trust.
Over the past few months Princess and I have developed one of the best relationships I've ever had with a horse and it continues to grow with every ride. It doesn't make my heart pound or my blood come fast. But it is, nonetheless, deeply satisfying.
I started writing this post because I wanted to put down in to words the evolution of my relationship with Princess. I wanted to remember this time and share it with anyone who might be also be trying to find a balance between the dream of a horse like Flicka and the reality of a horse like Princess.
There is more to come next post on what happened once I tried to win my mare's mind instead of her heart.
I finished off that post with this question: "So which is more important to me- the bond or the ride?"
The question might sound simple but at it's root it is probably the most fundamental question you could ask a horseman- Why do you have horses? For sport, recreation, as pets or all of the above?
I have never been so unsure of my own answer as I am now. In the past I valued, above all else, the bond. I was raised on books and movies like The Black Stallion, My Friend Flicka (hence the title "My Friend Princess"), Sylvester and Wild Hearts Cant Be Broken wherein the bond between horse and rider created a near mythical ability to overcome all obstacles, against all odds. As a child I didnt pin horse calendars on my wall, draw horses all over my binder, or run around a field on my invisible pony because I dreamed of being a champion barrel racer, show jumper or real-life cowgirl. I dreamed that I would have a horse so amazing, a horse to whom I was so profoundly connected, a horse that was so completely devoted and willing to work only for me that together we could do anything including becoming a champion barrel racer, show jumper and real-life cowgirl. I believed in the bond.
For the better part of the time I've owned Princess I've been hung up on the issue that her and I dont have that special connection, that I just dont feel "it". Dont get me wrong, I really did have a soft spot in my heart for Princess, she is a hard mare not to love but it wasnt that... that... you know? That thing?
Princess is a bit like dating that guy who is funny, smart, good looking, great to be around and dangit if he doesnt treats you like gold to boot. He is a great guy.... but....he sure the hell aint that tall slim nameless cowboy with the dark roaming eyes and smooth drawl you two-stepped with all night long that time at the Vermillion Fair. Sure that cowboy might float the ol'boat but he sure as shit isn't going to be there in the morning. As my good friend Barbie once said, "A cowboy is only good for one thing- the weekend." Almost all the horses I've owned in the past ten years have been cowboys... they swept me off my feet only to dump me on my ass... left me with nothing but a few short memories, a nasty hangover and a suspicious rash. *ehem* sorry, got a little carried away with that purely hypothetical analogy there.
Princess is that good ol'boy who smart girls marry.
I'm not going to lie, in the past I've not been a very smart girl.
But I like to think I'm a little older... and wiser...
So I make a decision. I decided to keep Princess. I let go of that whole notion that I needed an organic spiritual connection. I thought I was giving something up. But instead I discovered something that will forever change the way I relate to my horses.
It isnt romantic.
It isn't magic.
It isn't clandestine.
It is simple- mutual respect and trust.
Over the past few months Princess and I have developed one of the best relationships I've ever had with a horse and it continues to grow with every ride. It doesn't make my heart pound or my blood come fast. But it is, nonetheless, deeply satisfying.
I started writing this post because I wanted to put down in to words the evolution of my relationship with Princess. I wanted to remember this time and share it with anyone who might be also be trying to find a balance between the dream of a horse like Flicka and the reality of a horse like Princess.
There is more to come next post on what happened once I tried to win my mare's mind instead of her heart.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
My Friend Princess?
It was this week last year that I first spotted the craigslist ad for my sweet mare Princess. Within a week I had gone to see her and by the fifteenth of September she was mine. I was not in love with her or anywhere close. She wasnt my "type". I hated her color. I wasnt crazy about her conformation. I figured that in one year, when Abby came home, I could send her down the road without a tear and with free conscience as I would have put time and training to her that would give her a better chance for a useful life down the road. One year of riding later.... And boy have I learned a thing or two about what I like in a horse. I still dont like her color. And not just because it is impossible to keep clean.
I still have to turn a blind eye to her conformation and the way it makes her body move, (athletic is about the last adjective that would come to mind). BUT I have gotten more "use" out of this not-so-pretty mare in one year than I have out of all the horses I've owned in the past ten years, combined. 'Pretty' really is, as pretty does.
When I started riding Princess I had a set of hard and fast rules that I felt were non-negotiable. For example: I dont feed treats and I especially dont feed treats out of hand. I dont get off and lead my horse over an obstacle she wont cross. I dont use bribes. I do not coo lovey-dovey "goood girrrrl, what's a sweeeet goooood girrrrl" to my horse and I especially do not do so when trying to coax her through a sticky situation.
I feed Princess treats, out of my hand. I get off and lead her over obstacles she wont cross. I bribe her. I coo lovey-dovey words, especially when I'm trying to coax her over a sticky situation. I did not begin to use the above tactics because I "love" her and she has turned me in to a softy. Oh contrare!
For all the use I was getting out of Princess I was still planning on selling her come September for no other reason other than the fact that I could not seem to develop that bond. I had days where i thought I might just be falling in love with her but then that feeling would seem to fade overnight.... and not because of a bad experience. We just didnt "click".
Not only did we not "click" but it really seemed like she did click with the lady I board off of, who I'll just call L.. You see, L and Princess had this bond... Princess would walk right up to her in the field to be caught and then seemed happier with L under saddle. Princess would relax and respond to L better than to me so much that I actually encouraged L to ride her more and we even talked of her buying Princess. I didnt resent that bond at all, I envied it.... because it is exactly that "special connection" or "click" that I have been trying to find for years now. I always thought that it was just something that was there, or not.
The time came for me to make a decision. Sell Princess or not. The answer wasnt simple. I still had so much room to grow on Princess. I still loved riding her. We still had years of good riding a head of us. But we had no bond. So which was more important to me? The bond, or the ride?
More soon.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Out of Sight... but Not Out of Mind
This evening I was contemplating just what I was going to do if Hola does not sell before I have to bring her home (in the next month basically)... the market is tough out there especially for young stock and while I think she is priced well I know that it will take time to find that special buyer. While she has been out of sight it (though never out of mind) it has been easier to stomach the idea of letting her go.... but I just know that as soon as I lay my hand on her baby soft coat and look in to those eyes, so much like her kind momma's, I'll be undone. I'm torn between praying that she sells to an awesome home as soon as possible and praying that she doesn't so she can come home. There is a reason why I made the tough decision to let her go- you know, that whole "I cant have it all" bullshit bullshit bullshit (I love this scene from Forgetting Sarah Marshall) I wrote about last post.... but that doesnt mean I have to like it.
As a matter of fact, I dont.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Selling a Dream- Abby's 2011 Filly
Why do I feel like the only way to begin this post is to shout "Hello!" followed by a series of echoing "hellos!", 'ello, 'ello, 'llo, 'o, 'o, 'o, 'o!"
"Is anyone out there!"- "out there", "out there", "out there"!!!
But I wont start things off that way because that would be just cheesy as hell and this post should be nothing if not serious (with a title like "Selling a Dream". Did you forget that I can be a wee bit over dramatic?!)
*clears throat and sits up primly in my chair*
Hello dear bloggerworld! I've missed you! Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the summer! I'm not coming back to blogging just yet. We'll see. For now I just wanted to tell you this...
... I'm selling Abby's 2011 filly MyBlingsOnTheInside- by Jumping Jac Whiz (Topsail Whiz x Miss Maggie Jac- earning and producing daughter of Hollywood Jac 86) and out of Roosters Abby (own daughter of Gallo Del Cielo (Rooster) x Miss Shorty Lena (Shorty Lena)). How is that for a pedigree!
Why am I selling my dream filly? Because I cant have it all!
"Cant have it all!!???!" you exclaim!
I know! I was as shocked as you are! Along with that tidy bit of information I also recently discovered that I am not the centre of the universe, the world does not revolve around me and the sun does not, in fact, rise and set at my discretion. *huge exasperated sigh*
It's taken some getting used to but I think it really is better this way:)
I've dreamed of having a filly like Hola most of my life- a filly out of a stud I love and a mare I adore with the pedigree that I think is just magic... one that I can raise myself and keep for life. She is everything I ever wanted in a foal. But...
Last September I bought a mare that is nothing I've ever dreamed of. She is a medicine hat paint, a color I not only dont prefer, but one I particularly dislike. Her breeding leaves something to be desired. Her conformation is about as far from my "type" as it gets. She moves like a pleasure horse, not a reiner or cutter and is far from catty. She was cheap. She wasnt particularly broke. I figured I couldnt go wrong. I'd put some miles on her and sell her this September when it came time to bring Hola and Abby home... I didnt feel bad about that because I figured that I could give her away to a great home and with the time I put in to her she'd have a better chance at a good life than if she had stayed up in the hinterlands where she came from (where she would have remained relatively unbroke for the rest of her days.) Turns out I'm not very smart. This revelation also occurred to me just recently.
I ride Princess about five days a week. We haul out. We ride trails. We play in the arena. I love to ride her. I love to be around her. She is a pleasure. I've gotten more use out of my big white mare in less than a year than all the other horses I have owned in the past ten years combined. She is beautiful to me now because beauty really is as beauty does.
So I'm not keeping Hola.
Yup, just like that. These past few months have been filled with lots of revelations and trials and tribulations. I wont bore you with the details (she says as if someone is reading this and after writing a lengthy dialogue that is of no interest to anyone but herself). Let's just say that I feel very blessed in life. I just hope someone out there will feel as blessed to have Hola as I do Princess.
MyBlingsOnTheInside can be seen at McBridesQuarterHorses.com . Please contact McBrides for futher info.
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