Jarabacoa

Not quite ripe coffee beans.

Our program took a trip to Jarabacoa Friday to visit a coffee making farm/factory and ride horses.  It all went swimmingly at first.  We had a smooth bus ride and got to sample some goodies along the way (torta- which is a sort of under cooked sweet corn bread and jonnykaykay- like a big round flat funnel cake, fried of course).

The coffee farm was interesting although not exactly what I expected.  No wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee here.  Mostly just manure.  But I had never see a coffee plant before so that was pretty awesome.  Did you know that the beans are green and then red while they grow?

Yaddy-yadda, we went back to the hotel that was our base camp, ate lunch and prepared to take our riding adventure.  Here’s where everything went astray. 

As we were walking down to the stable I noticed the sun peaking out of the clouds and was struck by the sudden urge to reapply my sunscreen.  I certainly didn’t want a repeat of that awful burn two weeks ago (FYI there’s a spot on my foot that is still red!)  So I and a couple other students headed back to the bus, did a quick application and ran to catch up.  By the time we arrived almost everyone else was sitting on their horses.

So, how to pick ours.  There were a dozen or so small boys (between 6 and 14) running around who were helping and would sit behind those of us who were less experienced while we rode.  I was motioned over to a horse, helped up and then handed the reins.  And then I waited for some little guy to hop on behind me because no way was I going to attempt this by myself.  The only other time in my life I have ridden a horse I was 7 and we all walked in straight line. 

So, waiting, waiting.  Everyone else who wanted a helper had one but me.  There seemed to be some disagreement between the horsemen who would be riding with me.  This should have been a red flag, but no, I was just obliviously exciting to be underway. 

Finally I got my guide and off we all went.  Clop, clop, clop down the trail which was muddy from earlier rain.  ‘Okay,’ I was thinking, ‘This is kinda fun!’  And then my horse started to trot.  ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘This is kinda bumpy.’  And then my horse started to gallop!  (Well, according to the horse people in our group it was a canter but I don’t care.  It was fast!)  By this time I was no longer having totally coherent thoughts.  I kept saying things like ‘Oh my God!  Oh my God!’ and I may have uttered what, from a less graceful person, might be classified as a shriek. 

This was no smooth road people!  There were ups and downs and river crossings and while we didn’t canter the whole time, it was enough to keep my heart rate up.  Oh, and the saddle I was in did not have much to hold on to.  So I was flopping around, holding on for dear life, with a 12 year old pretty much the only thing keeping me on the horse. 

Turns out I got a ‘bad horse that likes to run all the time’ as explained to me by my riding partner.  Wonderful.  By the time we got to our destination, this incredible waterfall, my legs were jelly.  All I could hope was that I got a different horse on the return journey.  I did, thank goodness. 

This experience has also given me a new respect for cowboy boots.  I can see their purpose now that I, and several others in the group, have scrapes and bruises from the stirrups.