04.01.08 - Pantanal to Corumba

Equine Adventures and a Horse's Ass

Marisa was a very active pig this morning and was very interested in everything our group was doing, despite an early morning “piggie yawn”.



This morning we were headed for the much anticipated “horseback ride in the Pantanal”. My trusty steed didn’t wither at the imposition of a photograph.



Patrick deserved the “red badge of courage”, as he was game for tackling one of his fears, horse riding.



Morgan was “all smiles” as the gaucho made sure he was well prepared.



To prove his equine fitness, Morgan started by corralling Marisa… well actually we were all amused by her persistence in wanting to be a part of the activity.



After eighteen months of travel and blogging, there hasn’t been a serious critical mention of an isolated individual, but our collective interaction with a single offender over the past few days was defining our “Pantanal Experience”. Frank is the epitome of the stereotypical ignorant East German from Rostock. We could all debate mildly and even ignore his “return to socialism” commentary (Why should a janitor earn any less than a doctor?), but his utter hypocrisy this morning set a new level of annoyance. The guide had given him the smallest horse of the bunch to ride and granted this was a much smaller horse. His response was to stomp away, with a tantrum, demanding a refund for the entire safari because, “I came for horse riding, not to ride a pony.” Well comrade, it seems that in your return to socialism scenario you wouldn’t have much choice in the matter would you? Why should a spoiled brat from East Germany, traveling on money given to him by his West German grandmother, have any preferential treatment for which horse he gets to ride over anyone else?

After chasing down Frank’s fifty-meter head start, the guide agreed to let him ride his horse. Now the great East German horse expert prepared to mount the horse from the right side (Que idioto, no). Realizing his mistake, he walked around the rear of the horse (equine etiquette mistake #2) and mounted from the left. Jolting himself upward the horse reacted and Frank jerked the reigns hard left, twisting the horse’s neck and then slapped the horse with the leather reign ends. The horse spooked and galloped off. Obviously not listening to the guide’s instructions, and more for the horse’s safety than Frank’s, the guide took possession again. With an impending stalemate approaching and most of us in stunned disbelief, thankfully Kelly jumped into action and offered to exchange her horse for the smaller one. Whew… after all the juvenile drama, we were finally off into the Pantanal.



Marisa seemed unphased by the excitement and content to stride alongside the line.



There was a mixture of terrain along the way and even some water crossings that threatened to get our boots wet. (Not this one, but later…)



Kelly set the amusement bar for the morning, when her horse, sensing that the barn was near, took off in a full gallop. Thankfully, the only thing lost was her hat, later recovered, and an extended howling scream, followed by amazed giggles and excited story telling.



A shower was definitely in the offing, after becoming one with the horse’s terrain and smell. In Brazil most of the showers are electrically heated at the shower head level. This is a sketchy proposition, given the third world electrical connections. To turn off the shower has become synonymous with receiving a muted 220V shock through the handle. If you try to adjust the temperature from the head, a not so diminished direct current may be the reward.



The humidity finally broke over lunch, with dense tropical downpours soaking the camp. It would have been nice if the management made us aware of the obvious leak and pooling water in the dorm rooms, that way we could have put our luggage on the beds prior to a thorough soaking. It is highly unlikely that this was the first occurrence of the added floor collection during a rainstorm.



Our trip back to the originating intersection to catch a bus to Corumba was an exercise in “truck mud-skating”. As entertaining as the ride was, we were all looking forward to the departure of Frank. His classic opinions were becoming so amazingly ridiculous that some were sure to endure. For instance, he ranted on about how over-rated Machupicchu was and that it would be stupid to waste your time there.

Then someone asked the perfect and simple question, “Have you been there?”

“Well no, but…” was the insipid reply that served as the final nail in the patience and credibility coffin… Adios and not a minute too soon to this “April Fool”!



Fortunately, I would be continuing to travel with a great natured trio of Kelly and Morgan (Aussies) and Patrick from Ireland. We traveled together in the direction of Bolivia and the border town of Corumba. Cooking dinner together, at the poolside kitchen of the hostel, I joked about skinny dipping later in the night. I actually did and it felt equally like a sloughing off of Pantanal heat and pompas East German hot air.