Well, I haven’t really managed to tick that off the list yet, but after today’s adventures in Paraty I haven’t been that far off at least. Galloping on a muddy path through the Mata Atlântica with butterflies big as saucers around me is as close as I’ve ever gotten to fulfil that pink girly dream of mine. Trotting along the sand banks of the clear rivers and stopping for a swim by small waterfalls only makes the experience escalate even more.
However, there’s a very fine line here and depending on the person you ask I guess I was probably on different sides of it. According to myself, this horse back ride would have fit in any romantic drama that might have been produced in the big country in the West. A blonde girl on a horse, total sunshine, spectacular views of the mountains and the sea from the top of the hills, rain forest with rivers, birds, waterfalls and orchids everywhere and accompanied by a guide with the biggest brown eyes in history. Plus a brother and his friend as well, but that part didn’t make it through the final cut of my teenage movie. Only thing missing would have been a sunset or sunrise to make the set-up complete. I’m not too sure someone else watching me would have agreed though. They would probably have put it in the same slot as Dumb and Dumber or any random Jim Carrey comedy. The view of me trying to control the big animal could possibly be classified as a thriller comedy as well, if there is such a genre. But I really tried and I was digging deep in my memory, trying to remember what Cissi taught me on the wooden horses in her garden when we were 8 years old. For weeks and weeks, perhaps even years, she spent every Monday afternoon passing on all the knowledge she’d gotten the day before at the riding school. Including the different names of those white thingies the horses have on their foreheads and how to jump the really high tree trunks blocking the path when riding through the forest, galloping of course. I doubt that the latter of the two was something she’d been taught at riding school though. Unfortunately, those lessons on the wooden horses did not include how to tell a Brazilian horse how to go faster, nor stop, and keeping track of your stirrups was a lot easier when they were made out of your old skipping rope. One thing is for sure after today’s great morning though, if I ever get into horse back riding, I’ll stick to walking and galloping, trotting is way to bumpy.
However, there’s a very fine line here and depending on the person you ask I guess I was probably on different sides of it. According to myself, this horse back ride would have fit in any romantic drama that might have been produced in the big country in the West. A blonde girl on a horse, total sunshine, spectacular views of the mountains and the sea from the top of the hills, rain forest with rivers, birds, waterfalls and orchids everywhere and accompanied by a guide with the biggest brown eyes in history. Plus a brother and his friend as well, but that part didn’t make it through the final cut of my teenage movie. Only thing missing would have been a sunset or sunrise to make the set-up complete. I’m not too sure someone else watching me would have agreed though. They would probably have put it in the same slot as Dumb and Dumber or any random Jim Carrey comedy. The view of me trying to control the big animal could possibly be classified as a thriller comedy as well, if there is such a genre. But I really tried and I was digging deep in my memory, trying to remember what Cissi taught me on the wooden horses in her garden when we were 8 years old. For weeks and weeks, perhaps even years, she spent every Monday afternoon passing on all the knowledge she’d gotten the day before at the riding school. Including the different names of those white thingies the horses have on their foreheads and how to jump the really high tree trunks blocking the path when riding through the forest, galloping of course. I doubt that the latter of the two was something she’d been taught at riding school though. Unfortunately, those lessons on the wooden horses did not include how to tell a Brazilian horse how to go faster, nor stop, and keeping track of your stirrups was a lot easier when they were made out of your old skipping rope. One thing is for sure after today’s great morning though, if I ever get into horse back riding, I’ll stick to walking and galloping, trotting is way to bumpy.
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