Jamaican Horse Tail

Jamaican Horse Tail

Jamaica. Beautiful Jamaica. This story could be about my niece’s destination wedding and the joy of riding a bicycle on the British side of the road through a resort with 54 swimming pools and 31 villas equipped with butlers, cooks, and housekeepers.  Or the story might be about our villa’s housekeeper who lost her husband and two of his friends in a landslide on a precarious construction site.  Or it might focus on Rosalie Warpeha, a dedicated Marist nun who practiced dentistry on the island and after doing nearly a hundred extractions some days, researched and successfully fluoridated the country’s salt supply to save kids’ teeth. But this tale is none of these. It is simply the story of a horse ride along a Jamaican beach.

Hannah’s Wedding in Jamaica

Two weeks before the ceremony, I receive an email inviting me to bond with other “girls” for an unique equestrian experience.   Should I do it? Should I not? When we were little, I did manage to rein in the swayback nags we were given on kids’ trail-rides at Ding’s ranch.  And didn’t I survive a harrowing jaunt on a Colorado Fourteener when my eager horse took off lickety-split down through the timberline, me clutching the pommel, sweet lord, as I tucked my very long self under very low branches?  Sashaying  along the Caribbean?  Easy peasy.  No sweat.

We saddle up at the stables, my sister and I the only older “girls” on the ride.  Along with a horse, each of us is given a handsome attendant.  I luck out—Aaron is my assigned  guardian angel and beautiful Romeo my mount. Bikinis to the left of me, bikinis to the right of me, seven of us promenade along the beach front.  I congratulate myself on my horsemanship as Aaron helps me ford a stream. I rein-in Romeo along a picket fence, patches of sea grape and luscious verbena lining our traverse.

When the seven of us reach the main beach, the guides remove our saddles. My sister and I strip down to bathing suits and don life jackets as the bikini youngsters gallop out into the froth.   Romeo brings up the rear, treads carefully, accustomed to the sea floor below him and a tourista on his back. Juliet?  I am not she.  That’s for sure.  Aaron trots beside us, intoning words of encouragement, pointing out a beautiful frigate bird on the horizon. Deeper and deeper Romeo wades, warm salty water washing up over my thighs and suit, the translucent aqua world below us waving with verdant sea grass. Do I not love this? Far behind us back on the shore, wedding guests stroll the sand or sip, sip, sip, sun-glassed in shady groves.

But we are the ones who dare! We are the explorers! Yes!

Romeo begins to swim in earnest now, legs flailing, nostrils widening, labored breath spuming over a deep and salty sea.

“Hand me your reins,” Aaron instructs.

“What?”

“Hand me the reins. Hang on to the mane.”

“Really?”

Aaron takes hold of Romeo, leads us out farther out into the ocean.  “Don’t be afraid.”

I grab Romeo’s hair, lean forward, squeeze my elder thighs round his middle.

“Now let go of the mane and slide off the back of the horse. Grab the tail.”

“Grab the tail?   All around me, bikini girls shriek spasms of delight. Slide off the back of this big horse rump? Grab Romeo’s tail?   Won’t his tail just snap off? I saw that once in a lizard video.  A predator grabbed its tail and it fractured in two, the lizard scampering away. I know Romeo may well wish to bid me goodbye, but I don’t want him to split in two and leave me bobbling in the surf.

“Slide down his back!  Grab the tail!”

I slide, the tender parts between my legs meeting a range of craggy vertebrae, my tummy, face, and hands finally clearing Romeo’s ample butt. The tail, the tail, my kingdom for a tail.  Thank god, the appendage does not break loose. Those whom God has joined let no man put asunder!  Romeo’s legs kick, kick, kick like the Kentucky Derby.  Will I not get a boot in the brain, a blow to the gut? Who’s idea was this anyway?  Adventure?  Gaw! Give me a break!  Give me a steel drum.  Give me a Mojito. Why didn’t any tell me what this horsey ride would entail?

“Relax!”  says Aaron.  “Look at your sister.”

Look at my sister?  There she is, Gloria, next to me in the water, lying on her back like an otter, eyes closed, her trusty steed pulling her through the ocean as if she were a levitating water ski.

If she can do it, so can I. I relax my grip. I settle into idle.  I flip over on my back, take in  beautiful puffs of cloud, turquoise sky. Life is good!  Life is an adventure! Carpe Jamaica! Carpe maňana! Carpe Romeo!

Gloria Jean post sea-jaunt

Back on shore, cell-phones snap photos  as we guide our horses up through surf and sand.  Yes!  Yes!  We did it! Weren’t we so far out you couldn’t even see us? Didn’t we dare?  Didn’t we?

Arrivederci, Romeo! Grazie mille!