Riding bareback en la playa

This week's post is brought to you in part by photographer Charles Denson.

Last weekend a group of us escaped the rainy season here in the highlands of Ecuador as we road-tripped it to Mompiche, playa numero cuatro for me.

When I was in Puerto Lopez last June (la playa que yo prefiero mas que las otras) I was reflecting on the contrasts between the beaches of Ecuador and the beaches of my adolescence, which were spent in Mexico. This latest vaca allowed me to further ponder how these playas, or my experiences at them, are really quite divergent.

First, arrival to the spring break Mexican beaches was uneventful, at least as far as my memory serves me. Arrival to Ecuadorian beaches, not so much. We stayed at Cabañas del Mar in Mompiche, a lovely hostal with delicious seafood...

which also happens to be tide-locked several times a day. Wouldn't you know that we arrived on Friday evening after the tide had come in and wouldn't be retreating for some four odd hours. The owner of the hostal (an incredibly dreamy hombre who unfortunately had five children) met us in the town so that we could swim and walk the two miles to the hostal. I am a bit embarrassed to admit that rather than stuffing my things in a hiking pack, I had my heavier, clunkier carry-on suitcase. (And I'm the most low-maintenance Baci sister.) Priapus was sweet enough to carry my suitcase over his head while I paddled behind him.

So that's that. Now let's talk del mar. From my experience, Mexico's turquoise ocean is teeming with tropical fishes that awe you with their brilliant colors...and the occasional barracuda that chases you out of the water and forces you to flop down on the sand with some chips and guac and a Corona. In contrast, Mompiche's beach is brimming with jellyfish. Thousands and thousands of little jellyfish. And flopping down on the sand with an ice cold Pilsener doesn't prove a refuge from the terrible tentacles; even the dead jellyfish that litter the sand can sting you and leave you itching for hours. Unless of course one of your friends is kind enough to Rossify you. You are now left with one option: engage in a competitive game of Beersbie.

While the frisbee may hurtle into your shins, at least you will have escaped the need to ask your friend to pee on your various sting spots.

We move on to beachside activities. While nursing beersbie bruises, we ponder what other diversions we might engage in at this secluded beach. Michelle, quite the caballera, has checked into horseback riding. Images of paseo a caballo on the beach in Cozumel surface. It was a beautiful experience as my dad, Linds and our friend Joey meandered along the ocean. On well-trained horses. With a guide. These are important details. Musing on this pleasant experience, I sign on for another horseback riding excursion, as do Charles, Alli, Prissy, Justin and Matt. Rebecca--20-some weeks pregnant-- Patrick, Chris, Greg, Luke and Cait deem sipping piña coladas out of pineapples a better option. Wise folk, they are.

On this I expound further...

Come Saturday morning, our adventurous group treks back down the beach into town. No swimming necessary as we have timed this much better than our arrival into Mompiche. After a welcome 30-minute walk, we find ourselves at Lucia's little outdoor tienda. She is taking us to the finca where we will choose our horses. First, we count seven dogs and a number more cats. Justin and Pris are already scratching their eyes. As we march behind Lucia, she explains that none of the guides wanted to work on this holiday weekend, so we'll be free to guide ourselves. A slight sense of foreboding creeps into my chest. Michelle reassures the group that her work on various Canadian ranches fully qualifies her to be our escort. I've seen Michelle on a horse. She has good command and control, but still my anxiety increases.

When we enter the little ranch area where the horses are housed, the situation becomes laughable in a #thisSouthAmericanlife kind of way. We come to find that we aren't just choosing our horses, but we are also rounding them up.

As Michelle and Lucia work on cornering and lassoing the horses, the rest of us are left with a bucket of their food, which entices the horses to nuzzle up to those of us with little caballo experience, those of us who may or may not be a bit timid when the horses come sniffing our ears and noses.

After about 45 minutes of this scene, we have enough horses for the whole group. What we don't have are saddles. Here begins my first bareback riding experience. As we make our way from finca to la playa, I grip my horse's short mane like a child hanging on to her first lollipop. Except with less excitement.

By the time we finally reach the beach, the sun is going down. We begin this part of the ride by sauntering towards the east and as I look back towards the west, I catch a glimpse of a stunning cotton candy sunset.

I breath into this moment and it's good that I appreciate it because it lasts all of 30 seconds. Soon, Michelle is suggesting we try a little trotting. I am apprehensive but all of my other amigos are game and Michelle reassures me that, while I may feel nervous, I am projecting confidence. I wonder what the horse senses. After explaining that we should trot single file so that the horses do not feel inclined to race, Michelle gives her horse a signal to kick it up a notch. As a former track girl, I get the need for speed. I understand the desire to compete. So does my horse. It doesn't matter that we began behind Michelle, my horse immediately begins to gallop. Suppressing shrieks of "¡¡Ayúdame!!," I manage to slow my horse, turn abruptly to Michelle and explain that I am about ready to walk my horse back to Lucia. How this conversation turns into an agreement to canter (because galloping is easier than trotting), I am not sure. I think it was a silly moment of "this could make for a good story for the blog" which, to be clear, is nothing like "if I do this, then I can post it on Facebook."

Like good primary teachers, we get our horses back in a single file line. At this point Alli and her horse are behind me. I have not yet mentioned that, euphemistically speaking, Alli's horse is a bit ornery and anti-social. We begin slowly. I'm practicing my yoga breathing. I can sense Alli and her horse creeping up. Tailgating is not desirable here. We've been instructed to keep our horses a horse length apart, so my apprehension increases. Without warning, Alli's horse bites my horse's ass and without further ado my horse takes off. I didn't sign up to participate in the the Kentucky Derby, but it seems my horse believes her training starts now. Hanging on for my life, I am now. audibly. shrieking. My heart is racing and, just as I did on a mountain in Montana, thoughts of not saying my final goodbyes to friends and family fly through my mind. The wind is whipping through my hair--though not in a sexy or exhilarating way--as I contemplate fight or flight. My horse clearly chose flight. Does that mean I go fight? Before I make any final decisions, Michelle is racing up on my right as the ocean is on my left. She begins to cut my horse off poco a poco and push us towards the water. Soon, water is splashing up my legs. My horse's velocidad has significantly decreased and I essentially throw myself into el mar. At this point, bring on the jelly fish because they are a better alternative than death by horse hooves. As I am submerged in water, the others come a-cantering into the ocean as well. Alli's night in shining armor bursts onto the scene wielding the machete. (Right, I forgot to mention Lucia handed Charles the cleaver when we entered the finca. Yes, bushwhacking was also part of the roundup.)

Do I laugh here? Do I cry? I compromised with both as Charles valiantly delivers the following: If a shark writes himself into this story, I´ve got your back!

To cut to the chase now, we've just passed the climax. The falling action? In the oscuridad of this noche loca we manage to get all of the horses back to Lucia, me dripping wet, soppily walking next to my horse the whole way back. The sea and sky gods are kind enough to keep the tide out long enough for us to return to our hostal without any swimming. We indulge in all manner of seafood and tropical drinks as we recount the story to our happy and dry friends who have spent the day sunbathing on the beach.

The clincher: As we are enjoying our final breakfast the next morning, I find a horse tick on my hand, its head embedded in the webbing between my fingers.

I start inspecting the rest of my exposed body to find that another tick has nestled its way into the skin behind my knee. I leave you with this final image: Michelle, Justin and I running toward the ocean, stripping down as we go, to dive into the salty sea water in order to dislodge any of these terrible vermin that have hidden themselves in our piel. Not so much the resolution I was hoping for, but certainly an experience that will lend itself to many laughs in the future.

As I write this latest post with humor, I must sign off here on a more serious note. Returning from the jungle last weekend, four of our friends were in a terrible bus accident. Please send your good energy and prayers the way of Brenda, David, Mallory and Josh. Josh was the most severely injured and was flown back to the States. Please visit Josh's fund in order to support his recovery.

Sending love out to you all,

Jame