Vacation Horses

I would definitely classify myself as a homebody. I sleep better in my own bed, I'm more comfortable with my own shower and I don't find living out of a suitcase enjoyable. If people elicit the places I've travelled, they would probably not guess I was a homebody. While seeing amazing spectacles and meeting other people from all over the world are a big draw for most that have caught the travel bug, I'll admit that my draw is decidedly more equine in nature.

My favorite thing about travelling is the horses I get to meet abroad, the ones that maybe don't know what a cluck means but they have a little piece of my heart no matter how long ago I met them.

Architect

If you followed my Instagram story while I was gone you may have noticed that I took a few photos of some Icelandic horses. Iceland is definitely not hurting for ponies. They are everywhere, and it was lovely going in early summer and seeing them enjoy the change of season. Lots of ponies scratching each other, laying flat out and sunbathing, and even little tiny foals taking their first few steps among the lava rocks.

I've never met an Icelandic horse I didn't like, and this most recent trip was no exception. His name was Architect, and while he wasn't as cute of a color as Hrollgar, he was delightfully fat and had a perfect little face. I also took pictures of about eight million of his closest relatives. They all have fantastic hair and love people.

Brown and White Spotted

One of the Original Vacation Horses, from my first solo trip abroad was Brown and White Spotted. I don't remember his name in Mongolian. This little dude hauled my butt all over the country side. With nary a fence in sight we galloped up and down perfectly sloping hills. He was easy to stop but loved to run, and he was comfortable and even allowed me to kiss his sweet little nose. I also stopped to take pictures of about eight million of his closest relatives.

Interestingly, one of the hotels we stayed at in Iceland had a book about Icelandic horses. It discussed the similarities between the Icelandic and Mongolian breeds, and how genetically they were quite close. It was surmised that Mongolian horses are kind of the 'summer version' of Icelandic horses, and both breeds were the mount of choice for basically land (Mongolian) and sea (Norse) pirates.

Cafe 

My little Coffee horse. Of all my brief vacation interactions with horses, he was my favorite. He took me on my first ride on the beach, and carried me through countless villages in the Catalonian countryside. Spending all day with a horse allows you to know them quite intimately. We were responsible for all their care and I quickly learned how Cafe felt about things. He was surly, careful, and independent. His affection was begrudging and on his terms. Being around him felt like we had met before; he immediately started pushing his boundaries and I pushed right back. Despite only knowing me a short amount of time he trusted me, and the feeling was mutual.

The guide confided he had given the little snot to me because he thought I was a 'strong headed woman'. He was probably not wrong.

After our beach ride, the horses got a morning break. They were high tied to pine trees while they had breakfast. Once he was done his giant bucket of grain, Cafe vigorously rolled. I got my brushes out of the saddle bag and set to getting him clean to saddle up again. The very moment I walked away he rolled again, really fast and jumped up covered in dirt. He had a smug little look on his face. "Now you'll jut have to brush me again, huh?"

I brushed, and when I turned my back he did the same thing again. The rest of the group found this immensely hilarious. I finally gave up and settled for brushing him until it was time to leave. His eyes closed and leg half cocked, he looked pleased he had finally gotten his way.

The last day of the trip is incredibly vivid for me. We untacked and brushed the horses for the last time, and hand walked them to their paddock for a vacation after a hundred miles of travel. When I took his halter off he stayed for a minute for a last ear rub before turning to leave. I knew I'd never see him again, and I couldn't help but let a few tears go. I still have a picture of him on my desk, and when I look at it I can almost feel the sun, smell the rosemary and olive trees.