When Leo had his ninth
birthday last November, I decided that I had hosted my last kids'
party. Eighteen years of cakes, jelly, party games and piles of
washing up came to a gentle but definite halt: there was no point in
putting in my twenty. “Tell that to Zenon,” Sophia had said when
I announced my early retirement to my older children. But “I'll
think of something,” I had replied.
I broached the subject
to Zenon at the end of March, and after disappointment flashed across
his face, hope flared. “Can I go with some friends to paintball,
then?” he asked. My heart fell. I hate paintball for the same
reason that I hate computer war games and anything that encourages
little boys in the phoney heroism of sanitised combat. So I
temporised with “Maybe we can think of something else – would you
like to take two friends and try riding?”
Riding was part of my
childhood. Never as accomplished an equestrienne as my sisters, I
was, nonetheless, pony-mad, and began riding at four. Except for a
time in Hawaii where there were no nearby stables, I rode until I
left Ireland in my mid-twenties.
Cyprus is not a horse
place. Donkeys have always been a part of the furniture, draught
animals since time immemorial, but the few horses on the island are
either on the race-track or the preserve of a (mostly English) horsey
set in a few scattered saddle clubs. The climate and environment are
harsh and feed is expensive, so horses have not been a part of my
children's lives as they were a part of mine.
His eyes lit up
immediately, so I called
Anarita Equestrian Centre, open for a year
or more in a village about thrity minutes drive away, where we went
for pony rides after Leo's party. But Marlene said that they did not
have enough suitable ponies for five of us (Zenon and two friends,
Leo, and me) to go for a quiet hack in the countryside. She
suggested that I call Pat at
Aphrodite Hills – the saddle club
attatched to the nearby InterContinental Hotel.
Pat had enough quiet
horses for us all, and enough helpers to lead the boys. We settled
on a date three weeks hence (Zenon's birthday falling, this year, on
Orthodox Easter Sunday); a time that would allow us an hour on
horseback, cake back at the stables, and a reasonable hour to hit
Gino's La Sardegna Pizzeria in town for a celebration meal; and a
price (discounts for being local and a group of five).
Zenon chose two
friends, Loucas and Marcos, to come with us, and we showed up in
plenty of time. Pat and several young ladies fitted us with hard
hats, and introduced us to our steeds. Leo had a smart-looking
little grey Welsh pony called Mr Bojangles, and I had a rather
classy looking dark brown mare called Twizzle. The others had solid
looking bays and a chestnut of around 14 h.h., which looked quiet but a long way
from bored riding-school gee-gees.
We spent a peaceful
hour riding along a track through olive and carob groves to a
look-out from where, on a clear day, the view stretches from Troodos
to Akrotiri. Each of the boys chatted with the girl who was leading
him, and I – when I wasn't out in front because of Twizzle's longer
stride – chatted with Pat, discovering that her son had been in
Sophia's class and was also at drama with Zenon. There is no escape
in our small community! Everyone is linked somehow, either through
relatives or school or neighbourhood or afternoon classes.
Arriving back we did
some exercises in the arena, then enjoyed Zenon's choice of cake –
New York Sweets profiteroles – which we shared with our patient
'leading ladies'. While we were eating, one of the girls resaddled
Twizzle and rode her around the arena, practising for an upcoming
dressage test. From quiet trail horse, Twizzle metamorphosised into
a nicely balanced show horse, and watching her revived dormant
memories that I patiently shoved aside.
Collecting Best Beloved
and Alex – Sophia was at work – we rounded off the day with an
array of Gino's pizzas and I dropped Marcos and Loucas off at their
respective houses just before nine in the evening.
I was a little unsure
of how the boys had enjoyed the unorthodox celebration, but both of mine were
enthusiastic and, according to their parents, Loucas and Marcos
'haven't stopped talking about horses since'.
So glad we passed on
paintball...
