Galloping Horses

I have lived in Kitchener for more than twenty years. It sounds like an eternity but at times it feels as if it was yesterday that I arrived from Uruguay, a very small country in the south of South America.

One of the things I still miss is the sounds of Uruguay. Today as I hear some “clickety” sounds from my street in Kitchener, I get a déjà vu of horses.

The sound brings me back to the countryside of Uruguay, when I was a fifteen-year-old city girl.

I am with my older sister Carla and her husband Roberto. We drive three hours to visit Santa Clara de Olimar, a small village from another time. Gauchos riding horses wave at us.

We get to a very rustic cabin with no electricity or running water, but it has a beautiful fireplace. It is July, the middle of winter, the cabin is very cold. We make a fire and put on our thick wool sweaters.

There is a gaucho that lives in an even more rustic cabin who helps us set up in the house. In the morning, we milk a cow. I sit beside the cow so I don’t get kicked. When I drink the milk, it feels thick and warm. It’s the best I have ever tried!

Today a sheep is “sacrificed” for us. The gaucho butchers it and I witness how he prepares the meat. The grill is on the ground with fire coals underneath. This outdoor barbeque is a typical asado. It takes hours and there is no time set for when the food is going to be ready. Someone plays the guitar.

The next day we need to check on the animals and fences of another another piece of land that can only be accessed by horse. It takes two hours. In Uruguay you learn as a kid how to ride horses and how to be “one with the horse”. I instantly feel that amazing feeling of freedom. There is no trail, just an immense view of high grasses with forest in the distance.

The gaucho, Ramón, wearing the typical beret, poncho and gaucho pants, is our guide. The sounds of my horse are like clop, clop, right, left. At times the horse wants to trot; it’s a bit painful. I let him gallop which feels nice, liberating. It doesn’t hurt like trotting. It feels dangerous and amazing at the same time. You start becoming “one with the horse.”

We stop for a break. We roll up our wool sweaters and drink water with our hands from a little stream.

Going back, the horses gallop excitedly. We are very tired. My bum hurts from hours on the saddle. It is dangerous and scary because it’s easy to lose control of the horse. Mine bolts and suddenly makes a move to the right. He knows that straight up is a muddy swampy area. I end up flying to the left and land in the mud. It is shocking but nothing hurts. I was lucky.

Finally, we arrive at the cabin. When we get off the horses, we walk really funny. Our legs bowed and we can’t walk straight. Everything hurts so much but it’s a happy pain.

At that moment I do not realize that this would be such a memorable experience I will cherish for the rest of my life.

I look out the window in Kitchener and come back to reality, the “clickety” sounds outside are not coming from horses. It’s kids playing road hockey. Oh, what a beautiful memory!