White Horse Pilgrim

Wild West.....Spain

The Magnificent Seven, A Fistful of Dollars and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly were all filmed here. So, for that matter, were Lawrence of Arabia, El Cid and at least one version of Zorro.

But this is not a part of the Wild West, not even close, but rather the Desert of Tabernas in southern Spain - a wild, arid region that happens to look just the part.

Here are some mouldering film sets, constructed for what picture I could not ascertain. The wind whistles by carrying flurries of dust, dessicated twigs crackle underfoot, the sun beats down even during late October, and these ruins continue to disintegrate.

Anonymous or not, this is a highly atmospheric place. I imagined action taking place, horses galloping, stage coaches and wagons clattering up, all to the whir of cameras. How busy this must have been, and how many iconic images created? (And how many more that have been forgotten totally and utterly.)

Who trod this dust in pursuit of the goals of cinema? A little research digs up John Wayne, Charles Bronson, Yul Brynner, Alec Guinness, Charlton Heston and Clint Eastwood as visitors to the Desert of Tabernas. Did they, like me, stand here on a hot afternoon thinking of a nice cool drink? It must have been gruelling work filming out here.

It is impossible to imagine this little piece of cultural "history" not being commercialised even in a backwater of Europe. The result is unfortunate. Surely they have Google down there, or even an old-fashioned paper map, to explain where Hollywood is located and how the name is spelled. Memory of this sign did, however, bring D and I many laughs over the following days.

Away

I have been away, figuratively washed up on a beach in southern Spain.

It was very pleasant too. The sea was warm and clear, the beach clean, and the quiet sandy bay near our accommodation almost deserted. It became obvious that naturism was the default position there, and I was happy to follow that particular convention.

A part of the well-known film Lawrence of Arabia was shot nearby, and the thought of that epic did influence my garb going to and from the beach.

Some well-known Westerns were filmed nearby too, in Europe's only true desert, and these warrant a post to themselves. Tomorrow, perhaps?

New truck

The old truck is gone. I drove it one last time today, delivering the trailer for servicing then taking the truck back to the dealer for exchange.

I knew that this was the right decision. I made slow progress up the motorway even towing an empty trailer, speed limited to 50-55mph because the engine overheated going faster. After eighty miles odd noises had begun. I was glad to unhitch and head off light to the dealer. Strange clickings still came from the engine however to my relief we made it there.

The new truck is a three year-old Mitsubishi L200. I did enjoy the journey back: what a pleasure to drive a reliable vehicle with nice light controls, air conditioning and good performance. I'm going to feel much safer taking Brena out with this truck.

Equine solace

Unlike the photo it was utterly dark when I made it out to the field, late and tired. It had been a long day.

I fed Brena: pasture mix, chaff and apples. Noisily she ate, contentedly crunching applies and slobbering into the rubber bowl that would soon be licked quite clean.

I buried my face in the warm smooth space behind her shoulder, taking in the soft fur and wonderful fragrance of horse. With one arm over her neck hand resting in thick mane and the other across her back, I closed my eyes and relaxed. In that position, supported by the companion who carries me long miles, I could have slipped into a welcome sleep. or so it felt. I was so very tired and here it was familiar and warm.

In the thick night ours was a small world, familiar and predictable. The wind rushed past, the air was cool, and no stars shone through thick cloud above. Nor did the moon provide so much as a glow. We might have been in a field anywhere, two travellers about to spend the dark hours together. It was not so, but at least I could provide for her needs.

Wind

For the final ride before holiday I was given a windy day. The wind rushed across the hills, sweeping grass flat, tearing at trees, dragging clouds past in unseemly rush.

Riding into wind my hands were filled with blown mane, thick strands tangling with woven webbing reins. My ears took in the roar of swift air. My body was buffeted. The skewbald mare forged her way ahead.

Leaves pulled from trees soon to be skeletal whirled past in flurries, their driven path making me think of the snow that will fall in two or three months time. Well, one thing at a time. The horse chestnut trees are shedding prolifically whilst the beeches lag. Indeed I'm still due the finest colours. I can wait for a short warm late-October afternoon when nature presents her surprise.

I love the powerful authenticity of these days. Life has a special vitality when the wide world outside shows what she is made of. I appreciate a steady mare who walks on through all that nature has to offer, unconcerned save to grab as many mouthfuls of grass as possible.

My mind went back to windy days in the Carpathian mountains. One Autumn day we crossed an exposed ridge where the sheer power of the wind forced us to dismount. Our horses were well behaved, only the sheer speed of the wind made it hard to breath mounted whilst a strong gust might easily have knocked a rider off. The wind really was that strong: raw, elemental, stunning.

Today, therefore, was easy. The wind was impressive in proportion to the low hills and copses of this predictable land. But not in absolute terms. I will experience nothing here like a night in my former mountain village home when a roar like a long heavy freight train continued for hours, keeping me awake, impressed and a little alarmed. It was a tremendous gale rampaging through the forested ridges. Morning brought a scene of fearful destruction at higher altitudes.

It was our final riding excursion with the old truck too. I've decided to change vehicles, given the truck's age, low performance and increasing tendency to require costly repairs. I'll keep you waiting just a couple of days to be introduced to the replacement. I am pleased with what is coming.

 

 

Towards rest

Doru's sleepiness is a metaphor for the world going to sleep beneath a blanket of fallen leaves. Soon there will be mud, too, and mist. For now, however, autumn is beautiful. Doru is handsome - and still clean. Soon he will wear a thick winter coat, and it will be smeared with mud.

I took Brena out on a grey afternoon. (The morning was used for another purpose that I shall reveal in a few days time.) A cool breeze blew across a dull land. But isn't grey one of nature's colours too? It's people who have given grey a bad name.

It was a slow ride as I felt a little stiff. Last week the surgeon who operated on my hip remarked that six to twelve weeks is a key period for healing. It does feel as if something is happening within, as if small but vital parts are regrowing. So the physiotherapy exercises continue to be important.

Finally I've completed that time-consuming work assignment. I've spent so long writing about personal development that I wonder whether growth itself hasn't been hindered. Perhaps not - for reflection is vital and doesn't writing require one to reflect? I've posited a circular model: shock - reaction - reflection - learning - probing. In turn the last of these will lead to another "shock", by which I mean a disturbance provoking a reaction that makes one reflect, learn and grow.

The more I think about it, the training course that led to the assignment seems like a cut-price effort. No support was offered to participants after a week of provocation and emotional disturbance. That is the rub. It has avoided damaging too many people only because a proportion simply block out what is happening as a defense measure. I am frustrated - so many people just "don't get" psychology. I can forgive ordinary people for this, but not leaders who ought to know better.

A few days of holiday beckon. These I am looking forward to, for I need them. Truly I do. The past months have been intense and the pace of work only intensifies. A destination with no phone or internet sounds perfect, and that is what we have booked.

October duties

As the days get shorter, weekday opportunities to ride have receded to almost nil. Now my duties are to feed and care, not exercise.

I got out a little earlier than expected today, catching the last rays of sun. Brena's mane cascaded white around her ears and across her face like a swift mountain stream. I love the simple natural beauty of that sight: a natural horse happy in her environment and yet comfortable with her human around.

I've been writing: more of that personal development assignment, and a corporate paper seeking support for a massive investment. Now the fluency is there, handling concepts and figures with deft intuition.

I find myself writing about personal development with passion - not least because I am a late visitor to the concepts of psychology and find them very helpful. The last couple of years have been a time of growth, indeed of making the profound discovery of who I really am. Back in exile, guiding in the mountains, I simply was - happy enough but unenlightened and not developing beyond the purely organic. Personal growth, the process that Jung called Individuation, he likened to a spiritual quest. It is "religious" in the sense of a way of thinking characterised by having been touched by something beyond one's conscious control: a wider, higher destiny. So naturally there will be passion, for something beautiful, powerful and good has been taking place.

It is strange to leave the wilderness and only then find oneself. Shouldn't I have discovered myself out there? Well, perhaps, however that place did breed a bit of determination whilst taking off some rough edges. Now I have more free time to think, perhaps surprisingly. I have less to worry about - every month I get paid and it's enough to get by. What I do is a bet less clear cut - basically to do with bidding for contracts and "adding value". But here the wilderness guide's preparedness for the unknown comes into play. Just because the trail ahead isn't all visible or mapped does not alarm me. One has the skills to find a way. It's like the way that I ride: looking far, aware of my surroundings, working out where to go next. That's why I can't abide a tricky, pretentious horse. I need a horse that does his job whilst I do mine. In this respect colleagues are rather like horses: I value commitment. I'll provide guidance, take care of needs, however I expect steadiness and work.

There again, at a certain level the corporate world is a wilderness. There are unmapped places, strange goings-on, predators and traps - and sound allies, reliable companions and secret ways. A while ago I saw parallels between the office and a peasant village, with its quarters, cliques and local specialisms. My goodness, Transylvania was an eye-opener.

The road

A deadline is bearing down upon me. I need to complete the final assignment of the management training course that I have mentioned occasionally. This is the assignment about "personal development".

A former wilderness guide with an interest in psychology is going to look upon personal development from a unique perspective. What I am learning is that growth stems from "shocks" (which may just be nudges) that stimulate interaction between conscious and unconscious. Development is fed by reflection and study too, of course, however one must get on a horse and ride him across rough terrain in order to become a real rider: thus also with life.

In comparison Sunday's trail was green and beautiful, simple and easy to navigate.

 

Two years

I make no apology for including another photo of Brena two years ago. On that lunchtime she ate hay and swished her tail at flies whilst I devoured a welcome picnic then walked around the picturesque margins of Giotto's birthplace. It really was all rather pleasant, almost a waking dream.

It seems like an awfully long time ago that I visited Tuscany. I spent the anniversary preparing papers about a technical matter of some importance to my employer - and not a little interest to me. Life moves ahead in peculiar ways. I don't know what life will bring, nor what growth the next change will encourage. Suddenly it's all rather an adventure. Not just riding back from a strange place without warning because my truck had broken down. But other things too - new requests, changes, things that intrigue and attract.

Compare and contrast

This was the view riding Brena for the first time two years ago. 2 October 2009 was a hot day, sunny and bright. The woods were fragrant, the ground dusty and dry. It was an exotic experience to ride through the Apennines, tall foreign hills after the pedestrian terrain of southern England. I was just learning that this peculiar skewbald mare, her build and colouring so at odds with her lithe fellows, was a reliable and trustworthy mount. I began to feel at home on her, and she displayed a welcome tolerance to my ways.

The view yesterday looked like this. Again we traversed a dry warm hillside, if one lower and less perfumed by the native flora. But this too seemed foreign after the familiar rolling green hills of this land. Brena has lost her fly fringe and ear covers, these things not being needed over here. Now I know how Brena will react to most things, that her snorts at anything strange are bluster, and that she is truly trustworthy. She is a lovable yet assertive character, analogue rather than calculated in her moves, not flashy but "good enough" in enough ways that she is a kinder, safer and more reliable mount than most.

 

It's a long way from a Tuscan hillside to a fold in the chalk Downlands of Oxfordshire. At the same time it's curious how a similar-seeming place drew forth some familiar emotions: pleasure at being out on a sunny day; appreciation of a good horse; pleasure at the smells, sights and sounds of a remote rustic place; happiness knowing that I had several hours riding ahead of me with the challenge of finding my way safely to journey's end.

On reflection this last hot ride of the autumn was like a ceremonial homecoming from a summer of good rides. It was as if a chapter had closed, leading to a pause before the next chapter of life and riding begins. Psychologically it is sad to see the summer departed and autumn slipping by in preparation for the long dark damp and muddy season. Indeed a little ceremony helps me to get over the negative feelings by perceiving that which changes merely as a part of the ongoing cycle of life.