Horse riding in France

Written Aug 25

Back from a week's riding in the south of France (the little beach town of Mimezan en Plague to be exact), Mike and I are nursing bruises, scrapes and a variety of sore muscles. The riding was fantastic, if a little wild at times. Gallops along beaches and through forest trails have a whole different element when if a group of 14. Such a completely different experience to the scenic awe and sedate pace of our ride in the Rockies. Instead of swimming in a glacial lake, we swam in the warm surf of the Atlantic Ocean, this time with the horses.

The horses were all Anglo-Arabs, the same breed as my first horse, Zack. Lots of stamina, lots of energy and almost too intelligent for their own good. We rode with a mixed group of French, Italians, Brits, Irish and Swiss and had a great deal of time to ascertain a few national personality quirks. The French members of the group ranged from incredibly warm and friendly to a bit cold and there was one downright rude woman who griped, in French which I am now understanding more and more of, about the amount of English being spoken within the group. She and another woman refused to speak with Mike and the two others on the ride who spoke no French would only speak to me, in slow, deliberate French, when absolutely necessary. In an amusing twist, I had quite a few conversations with another woman with me speaking mostly English and her sticking with French, most of which I could understand. She spoke English just fine and seemed to be understanding it perfectly, but she wouldn't speak it to me unless I really didn't get a word or phrase. While it annoyed me a little at the time, it was actually an excellent way to improve my French.