“BACK IN THE SADDLE”

-... for A Lap around Italy -

 Veneto, Verona - Fiera Cavalli

November 3rd

Chaperon and I were on our 2nd or 3rd circuit of the arena at Verona, the famed setting for Romeo and Juliette; the grandstands were absolutely packed for the International Horse Trade Fair “Fiera Cavalli”.

Chaperon seemed to understand and was putting on a grandiose performance.

It was a far cry from the solitude of the trek my stallion, dog and I had just completed.

The finish was so starkly different from the subdued and quiet beginning departing Milano at Easter six months earlier.

Though I was aware of the crowd my thoughts drifted into trying to summarize the highs and lows of the slow circuit of almost all of Italy.

The first week of the journey could not have had a better script, the weather, the scenery and the people were all worthy of a place in a fairy tale.

My stallion Chaperon immediately adjusted to the trek behaving exactly as he was trained; the bond between us getting stronger every day. I found myself able to rely on him and Chaperon seemed to return the sentiment and proved to be very aptly named.

Our situation became more difficult as we climbed into the Italian Alps, the northwest region of Val d‘Aosta, the weather becoming less predictable, colder and the terrain more challenging.

We descended again, this time to the Mediterranean coast into the verdant rolling hills of Liguria. We had received an invitation to visit the Acienda Prato Rondanino (Agriculture Farm) and were to keep an appointment with Daniele Pellegrini, the photographer my publisher Georgio Mondadori had assigned to cover our journey.

June 3rd

Chaperon was stabled in five-Star luxury but, unfortunately after a few days a stable door was left ajar and he decided to do what stallions do and check out the fillies. His flirtation found objection with the Azienda’s resident stallion and the ensuing altercation resulted in Chaperon copping a kick where no male ever wants to be kicked. The injury took six weeks to heal and caused the cancellation of our journey through the most southerly section of our planned route, the regions of Calabria and Puglia.

Tuscany, Maremma - “Tenuta La Trappola”

July 11th

It was there, in the ‘heart of Maremma’, where I relaxed in the company of Nobil Donna Giuliana Ponticelli over a cup of tea in her elegant sitting room at ’La Torre’. I listened in fascination as she told me of the stock horses bred and broken in on her hacienda, the tough and occasionally fractious cavalli Maremmani; of the excellent stockmen, the ‘buttero’, a legendary and an essential part of the Maremma culture and traditions; of her pure Maremmana breed, the beef cattle, and of the by now world-wide and sought-after sheepdog, the mostly white or creamy coloured ‘Maremmana’, or Maremmano-Abruzzese sheepdog.

“Another cup of tea?” the Nobil Donna asked me ... and with it my host invited me to stay on for a couple of days. “Ride out with my stockmen for a muster; they’ll show you my beautiful Tenuta (Estate), an integral part of the National Park of the Maremma, my riders will explain about the breeding stock of my horses and cattle and our internationally recognized wetlands, the Trappola Marshland, core of an extensive coastal wetland system...”

 So it was I experienced one of the most enjoyable and fulfilling visit of my trip. Of course I was urged to ride one of the hacienda’s tough Maremanno horses. In this case her gelding, ‘Tafano’, aka horsefly.

 The Noble Donna generously offered Tafano as my packhorse and we did set out as a foursome. Chaperon though had other ideas and refused to be with Tafano. Was my stallion jealous? Only a few hours into our resumed journey Chaperon kicked Tafano, ending the partnership almost as soon as it began. Poor Tafano had to be transported back to the Hacienda for veterinary attention.

Campania, Mt. Vesuvius

August 11th

Acid fumes rose from the depths, assailing our noses. Chaperon, my dog Zorra and I were, so it seemed, on top of the world, precisely perched on the 1,281 meters high rim of Mount Vesuvius. It had last erupted in 1944. Far better known is the eruption in 79 AD which buried everything in its path below, including the once thriving Roman city of Pompeii.

For us it was a sunny, calm day with unlimited views spanning the horizons. To the west in the near distance below us lay sunlit Naples, to the south the archaeological site of Pompeii and the rich blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea that followed Italy’s westerly coastline from north to south.

Daniele, our photographer, had once again joined up with us for this occasion. As soon as the three of us had completed the steep one hour climb to the crater’s rim he began directing us to capture that spectacular UNESCO World Heritage setting.

“Wow!” I thought while sitting on the crater’s edge and looked into its greyish depth veiled in fumes, “how extraordinary for us to be sitting up here... how singularly an occasion... what a lucky gal I am!”

As I pulled pull myself from the views my intense gaze took in Pompeii once more.

Tomorrow... tomorrow we would be given special status when we entered that ancient city.

Campania - Pompeii

August 12th – 16:00h

There was no other sound, only the echo on cobble stones as Chaperon set down his hooves.

No voices from bustling tourists to be heard, they had been ordered to leave before closure time just to allow Daniele, myself and my animals to move about in this vast archaeological site of Pompeii unimpeded.

 It was intensely emotional.

I was not acutely aware of specific thoughts. I wasn’t even really aware of our photographer who quietly advised where he’d like us positioned for the shots.

We had the incredible privilege to ride through ancient streets, enter once occupied dwellings and cross small plazas that were once the hub of merchants. But most significantly of all we were able to imagine the lives of the petrified victims of the all-destructive eruption centuries ago.

Our being there passed as a veiled dream. Yet, we were there, an honour bestowed on us. Chaperon became the first horse in modern history to be granted entrance to the historic site, one never to be experienced again.

Abruzzo – Campo Imperatore and Gran Sasso

October 2nd

As my two 4-legged companions and I explored the wide expanses of Campo Imperatore our movements were once again conducted by our photographer.

Over a two day period I galloped my horse over its open plains, with Zorra racing along; we rode up and down gentle hills, scrambled over basaltic rocks and played movie stars at a rickety structure especially set up as setting for some notable films like The American, In The Name of the Rose, and Ladyhawk

Our stunts on that high plain, 1500-1900 metres, were the most exhilarating time on our horse trek. I am sure I can include my horse and dog in my sentiments. Daniele snapped a magnificent photograph of us at Rocca Calisco, Europe’s highest fortress.

Time had come to move on, though.

It meant a laborious climb ‘up the crest’ as locals call it, a mountain chain which was to offer a short-cut access to a narrow and precarious mountain path which eventually lead us to the upper escarpments of Italy’s highest mountain, the Gran Sasso, Big Rock.

The goat-trail-like path narrowed so much so that we got stuck and had to tightly squeeze around, then descend on the northerly facing slopes of the mountain chain into the valley below.  It took us two days to reach the foothills of the Gran Sasso and then climb as far as possible for a horse toward the top of the peak.

The reward was breathtaking; we could look down on the world, with the glistening Adriatic Sea beckoning in the far, far distance to the east.

Yeppie! We had conquered the Gran Sasso. My black stallion, my black sheep dog and I, dressed in a bright red jacket for the photographer’s sake, stood smiling and tall and proudly posed in front of the blue haze of Italy’s highest peak.

Click... click... click

Verona – Fiera Cavalli

November 3rd

Our arrival and final day - Fine

What a surprise reception it was for us. Shortly before the three of us were to enter the grand arena at the Fiera Cavalli, Italy’s premier equestrian exhibition for our ‘last ride’ a contingent of butteri encircled us. They were the same stockmen whose company I had enjoyed and had been riding with while at the hacienda ‘La Tenuta’ in Maremma. With broad smiles, stretched-out hands they lifted their hats in hearty ‘congratulation’.

 As I bend my head to voice my thank you it dawned on me what I had actually accomplished.

 I could not help but shed a tear in gratitude and joy.

Chaperon and I were on our 2nd or 3rd circuit of the arena at Verona, the famed setting for Romeo and Juliette; the grandstands were absolutely packed for the International Horse Fair “Fiera Cavalli”.

Chaperon seemed to understand and was putting on a grandiose performance.

It was a far cry from the solitude of the trek my stallion and I had just completed.

The finish was so starkly different from the subdued and quiet beginning departing Milano at Easter six months earlier.