UCan'tDutchThis
Day 8: Monday, February 15th.
Eight hours felt like a heavenly eternity when we woke on Monday morning. Rested and ready to take on the world, we made quick our trip to the cafeteria, where again the hotel provided a lavish spread of cereals, breads, fruits, eggs and meats. Excited to see what Germany and Holland had to offer, Courtenay and I grabbed our coffees and loaded up the BMW. Evi had advised us to bring our luggage as we would likely be staying overnight in Holland. While she was getting a brief ride in on her horses this morning, we headed into town in an effort to find a suitcase to house the anticipated tack purchases. Our mission was a success, as we explored "Real", the German equivalent of Walmart. Loading the new suitcase into the crowded trunk, we hoped that Evi was planning on travelling light!



Evi was just finishing up with her spectacular grey gelding, "Renaissance", when we arrived. We watched him go, noting how much he resembled his sire, Royal Diamond. Stephanie took the horse once he was cool, and Courtenay and I warmed up the Beamer while Evi made a quick change of clothes before joining us. Stuffed to the gills, warm and hopping with German Pop music, our happy little SUV handled effortlessly through the fresh snow.

Our first appointment of the day was at Bert Rutten's stable in Holland. For myself, being unaccustomed to European travel, the concept of travelling back and forth between countries sounds a lot more daunting than it is in reality. Within an hour or so, we were into Holland and with a bit of time to spare, we stopped to lunch with Wayne Channon, a British team rider and friend of Evi's. ` Wayne is involved in the International Dressage Riders' Club, and the ongoing struggle to preserve the welfare of the horse in sport. He spoke about the constant contraversy surrounding the practice of Rollkur, (extreme hyperflexion - google it if you don't know!) and the struggle they are having in trying to establish boundaries on what may and may not be permitted in training and on showgrounds. As always, this topic sparks strong emotions and opinions on both sides. It was an unexpected opportunity to hear an insider's view on maintaining the integrity of the sport.
Satiated by salads, (the others following my lead now) we arrived at the Rutten farm soon thereafter. Here we had the supreme pleasure of watching Bert ride a black gelding, performing all the Grand Prix movements, and reminding us of what it truly means to ride with invisible aids. Courtenay responded with an enthusiastic "Yes, Please!" when asked if she'd like to try the gelding. Tall and leggy, the horse was an attractive match for Courtenay. As she gave him a full test-drive, even Bert had to ask where she had learned to ride like that, nodding in understanding when the Von Hopffgarten name was given in answer. Dietrich truly left his mark on the sport, providing his riders with a seat and style seldom seen in modern dressage. It was evident that the same standards were adhered to on Bert's horses.



Darkness was creeping in as we pulled back onto the highway, consulting Carmen the GPS for directions to our next stable, that of Imke Shelleckens-Bartels. The ETA Carmen gave us was 5:43, only thirteen minutes behind our intended arrival of 5:30. Courtenay stepped on the gas, adamant that we would not arrive late! The Beamer was giving Carmen a run for her money, as the ETA was shaved down to 5:42, then 5:41, and then... nothing. Inertia. What was happening? Traffic had come to a complete standstill, as we painfully watched the ETA creeping back up. Carmen was taunting us - 5:42, 5:43... pretty soon we were at 5:46 and still not moving. Seeing colorful floats and haywagons passing us in the opposite direction, we recalled that Carnavale was still on, and that a parade was likely the reason for our immobility. Gradually the traffic began to trickle along the highway, oversized headless cattle and ghoulish cartoon children turning down the sidestreets on trailers and wagons.
With white knuckles and clenched jaws, we made it to Imke's handsome estate just as the last of the sun disappeared on the Dutch horizon. We pulled through the gate, parked on the brick drive, and entered the elaborate stable. Understanding of our delay, Imke was already on the horse warming up. The cute bay gelding was presented flawlessly, with the large button braids so typically seen on the Dutch horses. Imke showed us his 'tricks', and then put Courtenay up to have a go. I was experiencing technical difficulties at this point, fumbling with drained batteries, full memory cards, and anxiety-inducing 'error' messages on the video camera. Feeling that my position as media supervisor was in jeopardy, I improvised and captured the last moments of Courtenay's ride on her small digital camera. My advice to anyone endeavoring to purchase a horse in Europe: bring multiple cameras! Thanks to modern technology, we have been able to view these videos and pictures at the end of each day, reminding us of the strengths of each horse and enabling comparison between the top contenders. An invaluable accessory, one should also be sure to include a reporter/photographer/general sidekick such as myself!



Leaving Imke, who had been most gracious despite our tardiness, to get to dinner, our thoughts turned again to feeding ourselves. With some difficulty, we found a restaurant, relishing the chance to warm our frozen toes and revive our waning enthusiasm. Holland and Germany seem to be less accomodating when it comes to the English language, as compared to our experiences in Sweden and Denmark. Our Dutch menus and difficulty in placing an order were in this way demonstrative, though we managed to communicate some undertanding of 'salad with meat'. I was glad that I had requested salmon rather than steak on mine, when Courtenay and Evi stared in disgust at the mystery meat bedded on their lettuce. None of us enjoyed this meal particularly, and we were more than ready to procure directions to the nearest hotel and make haste in that direction.
How convenient! The owner of the restaurant had a brother who owned a hotel in the town just down the road! It was a small town typical of Europe, brick and cobblestone streets lined by historical little shops and eateries. We drove in a few circles before deciding to consult Carmen once again, as the directions we received from the restauranteur were proving fruitless. Courtenay pulled the Beamer onto the side of the road, typing street names into the GPS. The three of us were intently focused on Carmen's colorful little screen, when suddenly, Courtenay jumped as her driver's side door was opened! We gave a collective gasp at the young man standing there in a prisoner's uniform, his hand on the door. His invitation of, " You want come Carnavale?" met with astonished silence, and he stood there with his jaw open for some time. Finally Courtenay replied sheepishly, "No thanks!" and closed the door. We all burst into nervous laughter while the guy continued to stand creepily outside the window! He was obviously inebriated, and thankfully his friend walked over from the corner and pulled him aside as we fled the scene.
People, mostly young people, were wandering the streets in all manner of costumes. Mostly brightly colored with crazy wigs, they headed to parties in the pubs and even the town hall. A small group of them hovered under the streetlight in front of what we found to be our hotel. This building looked like it was probably from the early 1900's, charming with the pub below and a steep wooden staircase, (up which we had to haul the aforementioned bevy of suitcases) leading to the rooms upstairs. A party was in full swing as we entered the pub, loud polka-style music cheerfully accompanied by several older patrons in full costumes. One gentleman in particular was down on his knees, performing a parody of some religious ritual while dressed in full pope regalia.
We laughed as we passed through the bar and heaved our way up the stairs. Courtenay and Evi opted to take in the festivities downstairs, while I stayed in the room getting caught up and ready for bed. The party ended early, around 11pm, relieving my friends of their obligation to participate. We all agreed to get some sleep and be ready to leave at 7:15, heading back to Bert Rutten's before returning to Germany where we would visit Hubertus Schmidt and Patrik Kittel.