Greetings from Son Menut!
Life is good. The day started with a fabulous Spanish breakfast of jambon y queso (ham and cheese) at the Hotel Saratoga in Palma. We washed it down with an espresso. Then we hit the streets for the Palma Cathedral.
This cathedral was started in 1292 and was designed to be seen from the sea. It is all crenellations and flying buttresses. The inside was redesigned by Gaudi in the 20th Century and features a shockingly gaudy (get it?) Candelabra over the crossing. It looks like a massive flying carpet with cattails growing out of part of it and parasails and other magical things. It is so hard to describe that I gave up thinking about it and bought a post card instead.
Then we walked through the old Arab part of town and found the ancient Arab baths. It was stunningly quiet, with medieval muslim architecture surrounded by frangipanis and bougainvillea and cactus. We bought a Fanta and sat at a cafe. The walls were orange. It was silent and beautiful.
Then the owner of the riding school at Son Menut, Antonio Barcelo, picked us up in the Son Menut van we remember so well from last summer. He owns a horse farm but is miserably allergic to horses. Also, he speaks not a word of English or Spanish, only Catalan. He recognized us nervetheless, and sang out, “Vamos a Son Menut!!!”. We clapped amongst the two of us in the back of the van and cheered, “ole!”
We got to Son Menut, an hour later, and Tony Barcelo immediately served us a complimentary glass of hierbas, a licorice and fennel-based liquer that is unique to Mallorca. He told the woman behind the bar, in Catalan, “they were here last summer, give them what they want.”. We were also greeted by Steffi, the German dressage instructor, who said “Hello! Welcome back!”. It was wonderful. We put our bags in our room and immediately went to see the horses.After saying hi to all the horses, we hit the pool. Naturally.
NOTHING HERE HAS CHANGED AT ALL. It's still in the back of beyond, it's still hot as blazes, the horses we met last summer are still all here, and all the staff remembers us. There's even a German woman and her ten year old daughter here who were with us last summer (we reacquainted with one another in the pool). It's heaven.
At 7 pm I had a jumping lesson with Manu, the jumping instructor. She spent half an hour with me working on dressage flatwork -- canter pirouettes and lateral work, etc. Then we began working on jumper courses. Being French, Manu has no use for hunter work, which is fine with me because it's Greek to me anyway. Manu doesn't even know what U.S.-style hunter work is. I'm in heaven. My little horse (who seemed tiny compared to Kona) negotiated a three five course of verticals and oxers with no problem, and Manu had us working on very collected turns and techniques to reduce our time over a jumper course. Her main complaint was “slow down!” I was very gratified to hear her say about an hour in that the horse I was on was not for beginners, and that she rode him in the winter to keep up his competitive skill because otherwise he took advantage. He had a bad accident over an oxer at some point recently and so every time we came to the oxer he wanted to run out. But I blocked him and rode him straight and he not only went over every time but picked up whichever lead I wanted on the other side with no fuss. Manu had us doing very tight turns and flying changes and it was fabulous! I can't remember when the last time it was that I was on a jumper who knew his job so well. Also, Manu said I rode over the jumps like a person accustomed to riding a very strong horse. I told her she was right, and explained Kona and his racehorse tendencies and how he tears off after jumps. She gave me some tips about a) how to teach him his jons, and b) how to jump a horse other than Kona properly. This is EXACTLY why I came here!
An hour and a half later I was exhausted. Manu said that tomorrow I will jump Roissy, the big chestnut Selle-Francais that I rode last summer. She says on him I can jump higher (gulp) which she seemed to find exciting. I also have a two hour dressage lesson tomorrow morning with Steffi, the scary German instructor, on either Roissy or one of the Andalusians. Either way is fine with me.
I am shocked once again with the high quality of the school horses here. In the States, these guys would all be considered schoolmasters. Here they live out in the wild fennel and the sun and the dust and could be purchased for under ten grand.
Also, the food is stupendous. Lunch outside under the olive tree today was pork chops and red pepper pizza and farm-made flan. Dinner tonight was grilled swordfish and farm-made meringue. The chef, Francina, came out at dinner and greeted us warmly -- “Ai! Mais uma ves acqui en Son Menut!”. (Translation -- “hey! You're back!”).My room overlooks the jumping field. We are miles and miles from any neighbor so the night sky is pitch black -- the only sound is the chickens and the horses and the moorhens clucking under the orange grove. There is no TV or radio. There is only a tiny isolated community of horse experts and miles of farmland bounded by cliffs dropping to the Mediterranean. We could be living one hundred years ago.I love it here.
Life is good. The day started with a fabulous Spanish breakfast of jambon y queso (ham and cheese) at the Hotel Saratoga in Palma. We washed it down with an espresso. Then we hit the streets for the Palma Cathedral.
This cathedral was started in 1292 and was designed to be seen from the sea. It is all crenellations and flying buttresses. The inside was redesigned by Gaudi in the 20th Century and features a shockingly gaudy (get it?) Candelabra over the crossing. It looks like a massive flying carpet with cattails growing out of part of it and parasails and other magical things. It is so hard to describe that I gave up thinking about it and bought a post card instead.
Then we walked through the old Arab part of town and found the ancient Arab baths. It was stunningly quiet, with medieval muslim architecture surrounded by frangipanis and bougainvillea and cactus. We bought a Fanta and sat at a cafe. The walls were orange. It was silent and beautiful.
Then the owner of the riding school at Son Menut, Antonio Barcelo, picked us up in the Son Menut van we remember so well from last summer. He owns a horse farm but is miserably allergic to horses. Also, he speaks not a word of English or Spanish, only Catalan. He recognized us nervetheless, and sang out, “Vamos a Son Menut!!!”. We clapped amongst the two of us in the back of the van and cheered, “ole!”
We got to Son Menut, an hour later, and Tony Barcelo immediately served us a complimentary glass of hierbas, a licorice and fennel-based liquer that is unique to Mallorca. He told the woman behind the bar, in Catalan, “they were here last summer, give them what they want.”. We were also greeted by Steffi, the German dressage instructor, who said “Hello! Welcome back!”. It was wonderful. We put our bags in our room and immediately went to see the horses.After saying hi to all the horses, we hit the pool. Naturally.
NOTHING HERE HAS CHANGED AT ALL. It's still in the back of beyond, it's still hot as blazes, the horses we met last summer are still all here, and all the staff remembers us. There's even a German woman and her ten year old daughter here who were with us last summer (we reacquainted with one another in the pool). It's heaven.
At 7 pm I had a jumping lesson with Manu, the jumping instructor. She spent half an hour with me working on dressage flatwork -- canter pirouettes and lateral work, etc. Then we began working on jumper courses. Being French, Manu has no use for hunter work, which is fine with me because it's Greek to me anyway. Manu doesn't even know what U.S.-style hunter work is. I'm in heaven. My little horse (who seemed tiny compared to Kona) negotiated a three five course of verticals and oxers with no problem, and Manu had us working on very collected turns and techniques to reduce our time over a jumper course. Her main complaint was “slow down!” I was very gratified to hear her say about an hour in that the horse I was on was not for beginners, and that she rode him in the winter to keep up his competitive skill because otherwise he took advantage. He had a bad accident over an oxer at some point recently and so every time we came to the oxer he wanted to run out. But I blocked him and rode him straight and he not only went over every time but picked up whichever lead I wanted on the other side with no fuss. Manu had us doing very tight turns and flying changes and it was fabulous! I can't remember when the last time it was that I was on a jumper who knew his job so well. Also, Manu said I rode over the jumps like a person accustomed to riding a very strong horse. I told her she was right, and explained Kona and his racehorse tendencies and how he tears off after jumps. She gave me some tips about a) how to teach him his jons, and b) how to jump a horse other than Kona properly. This is EXACTLY why I came here!
An hour and a half later I was exhausted. Manu said that tomorrow I will jump Roissy, the big chestnut Selle-Francais that I rode last summer. She says on him I can jump higher (gulp) which she seemed to find exciting. I also have a two hour dressage lesson tomorrow morning with Steffi, the scary German instructor, on either Roissy or one of the Andalusians. Either way is fine with me.
I am shocked once again with the high quality of the school horses here. In the States, these guys would all be considered schoolmasters. Here they live out in the wild fennel and the sun and the dust and could be purchased for under ten grand.
Also, the food is stupendous. Lunch outside under the olive tree today was pork chops and red pepper pizza and farm-made flan. Dinner tonight was grilled swordfish and farm-made meringue. The chef, Francina, came out at dinner and greeted us warmly -- “Ai! Mais uma ves acqui en Son Menut!”. (Translation -- “hey! You're back!”).My room overlooks the jumping field. We are miles and miles from any neighbor so the night sky is pitch black -- the only sound is the chickens and the horses and the moorhens clucking under the orange grove. There is no TV or radio. There is only a tiny isolated community of horse experts and miles of farmland bounded by cliffs dropping to the Mediterranean. We could be living one hundred years ago.I love it here.
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