| Views from Horesback in Pedasi, Panama |
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| Written by Matt Landau | |
| Monday, November 05 2007 | |
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We got out of the car at the base of a long stretch of
rolling hills, atop from which were supposedly the most spectacular ocean views
in the entire province. Tied up were a team of horses, and as if choosing a
taxi driver, I petitioned for the quiet one... Let me begin by saying, nothing good has ever come from me riding a horse. "Is there one that's like retarded?" I asked Tito. "If there is, I'll take the retarded one. Or some kind of drowsy horse, who likes to sleep? I want the sleepiest horse possible. Seriously, I like that one." I pointed over to a horse who had lay down beneath the shade of a big lime tree. I had never seen a horse lying down like that, legs folded like a golden retriever. Almost out of spite, Tito tossed me the reins to a brown stallion whose penis was as big as my forearm and who had more testosterone than Magnus Ver Magnuson in a Strongman competition. This action, of giving a kid from Jersey the reins to young charger without any kind of instruction is not unlike handing a caveman the keys to a space shuttle. "Here" you might say. "Go...do the thing on your own." The horse was so mischievous and stubborn that as soon as I hopped aboard its saddle, he took off, stopping fifty paces down the road only to piss several gallons of yellow horse urine. Let me add that I was unaware we'd be riding horseback and wore only a thin bathing suit and a pair of Reef sandals. We ventured up a few steep inclines and eventually down into a stunning valley with rivers and streams and waterfalls. The horses drank from the rushing water as I stopped to take photos of the hoards of fiddler crabs who'd made their way out to watch the gringo on horseback. The fresh air of Azuero was a welcomed change from the stuffy city I'd left behind a few days back. We continued on, meandering through fields of tropical flowers and under mango trees, stopping by a flourishing orange grove for a quick snack. Beautiful white herons floated overhead, and one landed atop a grazing cow. Several monkeys popped down from a nearby stream, and at one point, directly across my path ran a small black and white squirrel. "Was that a skunk?" I asked Tito. "No, he not a sonk." "A skunk" I clarified. "Was that some sort of small skunk or squirrel?" "He not a sonk and he not a girl." I could tell this conversation wasn't really going anywhere. The Azuero Peninsula is characterized by this inimitable backcloth of large rolling ant-like hills which blend, almost artistically, into the khaki-sand beaches and dark blue sea. Just after rainy season is the best time to see the area as its various shades of green are a jewel on the eye. We made it through a few more pastures and up a several steep inclines, to the summit we were all waiting for. The views were spectacular. Tito turned to me, in the sort of way a daytime soap opera might towards the end of a segment. "And yes, this what make my country so special" he said. To add some dramatics, he repeated part of the phrase again. "So, so, so special my country." I nodded my head in agreement, but what I was really thinking was how incredible it might be to have a life-sized horse taxidermied for my apartment. I had already figured out just where I'd put it and everything. But Tito was most certainly right: the view from a top that tall hill in the Azuero Peninsula is about as good as it comes. Views of roadways become covered up by trees, the few homes that exist intermingle effortlessly with the landscape, and the beach and ocean are postcard-picturesque. The horseback ride and my aching haunches were small, unmatchable prices to pay. |
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| Last Updated ( Monday, November 05 2007 ) |
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