I May Be On The Horse, But I’m Not In Charge

My horse has a listening problem.

Or maybe she just doesn’t like listening to me.

To be fair, she does listen to me sometimes. For example, when the horse in front of her stops, she doesn’t stop unless I tell her to (every other horse seems to automatically space themselves). If I gently pull the reins, she stops quickly, so I can get her to stop in that scenario.

On the other hand, she sometimes won’t keep pace with the horse in front of us. When this happens I try to drive my heels into her flanks as they instructed us to, but she just ignores me. At least that’s what she does until the gaucho comes along and threatens her – then she trots (maybe it’s a slow gallop – I really don’t know).

In short she will stop at my request, but will not move at my request. Perhaps she is just tired. If I had to haul a human around on my back for three hours, I imagine that I would be tired too.

I arrived in Mendoza last night well after dark and ate a massive dinner of boar ribs before bed. This morning I woke early and started to explore this beautiful town, which bakes in the desert sun at the feet of the Andes mountains just to the west.

Parks dot the map, sometimes named after individuals, sometimes after other countries. I wonder if they are sponsored by Chile, Espana, and Italia, or if they just honor those places.

The biggest in this part of town is Plaza Independencia, dotted with jacaranda trees laden with tiny lavender flowers, all around a grand fountain.

Tthe next one I visited, Plaza Espana, was a smaller, more serene space, with a fountain of its own, and impeccable tilework, recalling the Moorish history of that land.

I continued to wander town for a few hours, orienting myself and trying not to fall into the many irrigation ditches that stand ready to swallow a careless visitor. They are frankly hazardous.

At 3 pm, my driver picked me up, as well as 2 others, and we headed out toward the Andean foothills northeast of town, in Las Heras. Far from town, we left the paved highway and headed in a westerly direction on a very loose gravel road, the suspension in the truck demonstrating that it had long since given up.

The ranch really wasn’t a ranch. It was a dining hall, parking area, bathroom, and corral. We met other touriststhere, and of the 13 of us, only one had any real riding experience. My last riding experience was in 10th grade on Mackinac Island, when the horse wouldn’t listen to me (there may be a theme here).

The gauchos gave us brief mounting and riding instructions. They told us that these aren’t city horses – they are mountain horses who graze in these hills and know the trails well. We have to let the horses know we are in charge, he says, but then makes it clear the horses know what they are doing.

They assigned us all horses, a process that seemed to focus primarily on our height. I looked at the well cushioned saddle I was to mount, which sat on the mares back, just below my eye level. I briefly imagined how awkward the process of mounting up might be, but then realized that this really isn’t unlike some of the things I’ve prepared for at the gym. In the end I was correct – notwithstanding my general lack of coordination, it wasn’t terrible. The most difficult part was placing my right foot into its stirrup.

The gauchos led us up into the hills, along meandering trails where an occasional shrub rubbed against my shin.

Our path led us into a rocky riverbed, which I think is called an arroyo, which is probably surging with water during rains.

My horse was steady on the way up the mountain, stopping only once to munch on some greenery.

At the top, the views were magnificent.

The desert valley below us reached as far as we could see.

Behind us, the sun hadn’t yet moved behind the peaks, but our shadows were lengthening and the time would soon come.

After 30 minutes of rest for the horses, and photos for the humans, we remounted and headed back down.

This time my horse stopped more often to munch on some of the greenery. If we were paused, I let her do so, but I also did my best to not let her dawdle. She mostly ignored me.