Two years have passed since my horse trek from Italy to Norway in 1982. It was time to saddle up again. Adventure and the urge to explore the unknown once again tugged at my ready spirit.
July 1983. My Connemara stallion Lover and I lived in a small village along an isolated stretch of the Sicilian coastline, bit over 100 kilometres south of the bustling, if not chaotic, Sicilian capital, Palermo. Once again, I drove to the city to meet up with some of my horse-mad friends, as I had every fortnight.
Riding along old wagon tracks. Campo Imperatore is a 2,912 m High Plain in the Abruzzo region of the Apennine Mountains
While we were sitting and chatting away I blurted out: ‘I feel like doing another horse ride, maybe a ride around Italy. What do you think? And, does anyone know of a horse capable of such a trek?’ A moment of silence ensued and I knew that none of my friends doubted my intentions. ‘What about Lover?’ one of my friends queried. I explained that I would prefer to ride an Italian-bred horse, preferably even an indigenous ‘Sicilian’.
My girl friend, Valeria, left the room and to come back with a photograph. ‘This one’, she suggested, ‘should be the one.’
I looked at a black horse standing on his hind legs with his front hoofs stretching out pawing the air. He was showing off all the powerful beauty he possessed.He was the one! I would share my next trekking exploration with him.
A night out in the saddle shed after a comfortable night on hay bales and under Italian driza-bones the head drover awakes me with a much-appreciated mug of hot coffee.
The Italian stock saddle. The master saddler of Tolfa, in the region of Lazio, is about to finish his master piece of saddle for us. The saddle together with our mascot was stolen after we finished our round-Italy ride. Anyone know of its whereabouts?
Chaperon, Zorra and I in keen excitement to muster a startled mob of buffalo. The owner had looked on in uncertain trepidation.
Documents, please… We are stopped by a patrol of carabinieri to show our documents, especially those of Chaperon. Just to make sure we belonged together.
Our Mascot: Back on the saddle. This puppet, our mascot, by now a pro. It had already accompanied me on my previous horse ride from Italy to Norway in 1982.
My companions on this venture
He was the most beautiful, powerful and charismatic horse I’ve ever owned or travelled with. He was ten years old, indigenous to the Sicilian mountains and a stallion. When I thought of renaming him for our journey Chaperon came instantly to my mind, meaning companion or protector. It seemed to fit perfectly the noble character of this magnificent horse.
After six months of intensive training and getting to know each other I felt certain that Chaperon and I had forged a strong bond. On Easter Monday, April 20th, we set out from Milan to Verona to circumnavigate Italy and I knew that we would make a formidable team.
Then there was Zorra, a yet-black, loveable mutt whom I had rescued from an animal shelter. This now no longer homeless girl was a bundle of energy. While she might have exasperated us many times over she equally enchanted us with her need for companionship and outgoing personality.
The three of us sitting on the rim of the crater of the still active volcano Mt. Vesuvio/Vesuvius near Naples. While I looked into its depths with trepidation I found my stallion standing relaxed and Zorra snoozing off.
Pompeii. Thanks to a special permit the three of us were allowed to roam the ancient city of Pompeii. All tourists were ordered out for that occasion. It was the first time in modern history that hoofs echoed on the ancient cobble stones.
Rocca Calascio in the mountainous region of Abruzzo. As we passed the ancient fortification I felt like a solitary medieval rider.
The knitting part. While elderly men sit in piazzas to smoke their pipes and chat, women get together to knit something pretty and ‘useful’ for the grandchildren.
A friendly chat with an old-hand fisherman at the fishing village of Martin Securo situated at the Adriatic Sea on Italy’s east coast.
A cozy night out. How more comfortable can it get? I always felt relaxed and happy when I slept on bales of hay with my horse and dog nearby.
Crossing the Reno River at the very north-eastern tip of Emilia Romagna region. It was the only way to get to the other side without riding a 50 km detour. My horse stood stock-still but tensed during the short ferry ride.
9th of October – our horse adventure has come to an end. We are greeted by the same drovers who had looked after us early of our trek when we passed through Maremma in the region of Tuscany along the Mediterranean Sea.
A free spirit… along the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea.
The journey on horseback was neither a fashion nor a challenge with myself, but the only way of life that made me happy then.