Rollercoaster Ride

As 2009 starts ebbing away, giving way to the start of a new decade, there is no better comparison that can be given to an eventful year other than that of a rollercoaster ride.

Those of you who, like me, love roller coasters fully understand the thrill of such an experience. As we experience the upside-down turns and dizzying heights whilst going through the course of the coaster at high speeds, a varying degree of sensations are experienced. Weightlessness from plummeting in a downward spiral, giddy from reaching heights when looping the loop and the exhilaration as the speed increases making our hearts race, blood pump faster heart dropping as we twist and turn. Similar to life, this one minute adventure can be a stomach churning experience filled with heart dropping sensations. Turning our world upside down for a few seconds but filling us with a sense of optimism as we soar up and look towards the sky.

I am sure that every time we celebrate the start of a new year, we are all filled with a sense of optimism. Wiping the slate, we look forward to what hopefully will be a good year ahead. Nine days into 2009, my optimism took a blow. A horse riding accident was not exactly how I had envisaged 2009 to start. Having been knocked unconscious, suffering concussion after falling off my horse whilst training for a jumping competition I was lucky enough to be left relatively unscathed. However, my confidence levels plummeted to a free fall. It would have been easy for me to close shop. Sell my horse and never set foot in the stables again. But I was not going to give up a lifelong dream so easily. It was a case of literally getting back onto the saddle. I had to start afresh to regain my badly shaken confidence. My determination combined with my instructor’s patience paid off and I started jumping again within a matter of weeks.

If there is one thing that I have learnt in 2009, it must be the fact that one does not have to take years of knowing a person for them to have an impact on one’s life. Cases in point were Cliff Micallef and Jenny Psaila, who passed away tragically this summer, within days of each other. I became friends with Cliff and Jenny whilst practicing the same sporting disciplines – cycling and equestrian sports. Both were enthusiastic about their sports, professional in their approach and always willing to give a helping hand to newcomers like me. Their loss, just before leaving for Lifecycle in the first week of August, was a bitter pill to swallow. I guess one could be forgiven for wanting to give up practicising their disciplines after these tragedies. We can easily cocoon ourselves into a comfort zone, taking little or no risks. But then, would we really love our sports as much as we claim to do if we gave up? No, not really.

Disappointment stemming from being let down by people we trust or have faith in is an emotion that I guess all of us have been through at some point in our lives. When such trust is broken, the relationship, be it a working relationship, a family connection or a friendship, suffers. The trail of hurt caused by these people, intentionally or not causes, most likely than not, irrevocable damage. Thankfully, I am strong enough not to let such actions turn me into a cynical, bitter person. Whilst I will find it hard to be trusting of such people again, I look at those steadfast friends, who are there for me through thick and thin and am grateful for their presence in my life.

Steep hills covering innumerable kilometres, late nights cycling in the dark, lack of food at the end of the day, swollen knees and sores deriving from long hours on the saddles were few of the horror stories recounted by friends who participated in the grueling Lifecycle Challenge. Such visual descriptions were enough for me to deem this a crazy feet which I never really showed interest in. But in recent years, I sort of recanted especially when meeting some seasoned Lifecyclists who keep on returning for more. There must be something that keeps them going and early in 2009 I figured that I should find out for myself.

8^th August 2009 saw me, and seventeen other cyclists, cross the Bosphorous Bridge in Istanbul Turkey starting off an eleven day adventure that would take us through the Asian side of Turkey into the Syrian border towards Damascus. Covering 2000 kilometers we faced never ending straight roads, with nothing in sight for miles, interminable uphills reaching inclines of 18%, swollen knees and inflamed ankle tendons.

But throughout the duration of the Challenge we were taken care of by a great back up team who ensured that we were safe, well fed and taken care of. The cherry on the cake would be at the end of each day when, irrespective of the time we got to our accommodation, we were greeted with cheers, enthusiasm and delicious hot meals.

The horror stories are easily forgotten once the final checkpoint was reached, successfully completing this year’s Challenge.

Not one to stay put at home, I guess my mother has finally resigned herself to the fact that I will never take up knitting or embroidery as a hobby. The adrenaline that was pumping through me upon my return from Lifecycle was definitely not going to let me sit still for more than a day. Although I had finished one of the most grueling challenges I will probably ever participate in, I had itchy feet. I needed another challenge.

What challenge?

Climb a mountain - Kilimanjaro, Rainier, Mont Blanc? Been there, done that

Trek the Andes on horseback, riding into the sunset? Been there done that

Cycle for thousands of kilometres in a foreign land? Had just been there done that.

A good friend and Lifecycle participant suggested, over dinner one evening, triathlon. Echoing the words of another friend of mine, he said triathlon is a great to remain in shape and working on three disciplines for one race, swimming, cycling and running, would prevent me from getting bored and keeping focused. For someone who gets easily bored it sounded very enticing. But there were two problems. Running was a sport that always eluded me. Admittedly I got a slight twinge of interest when taking photos of my friends during the February’s half marathon but the twinge was slight and never felt again. Swimming for me equates to a day at the beach in summer and jumping into the water to cool down. My Lifecycle friend suggested that I have a chat with Dermot Galea, Malta’s Triathlon Champion. It only took a five minute chat with Dermot to get me convinced to start training. The first goal would be the Half Marathon in February. Although months away, I had a long way to go seeing that I never ran or jogged in my life. Taking slow steps, building my pace gradually, I took part in the Mdina to Spinola race – 17 kilometres, mostly downhill which I completed in 1hour 50 minutes. Not bad for someone who started running a few weeks before.

The writer Paul Tournier describes the real meaning of travel as being the discovery of one self through contact with other people. Ever since I tasted my first trip abroad, my wanderlust has deepened, fuelled by the geography lessons I sat for in school. My TripAdvisor application on Facebook shows that I have visited 181 cities in 36 countries covering almost all continents - Europe, America, South America, Africa and Asia. My passion has taken me to far flung corners of the world. Roughing it up Cuba and splashing out in New York were my trips for this year. Ironically, one is the antithesis of capitalism and the other the hub of it all.

Controversial and conflicted, Cuba is a nation like no other - rhythmic, colorful, sophisticated and whimsical all in one sumptuous breath. Encapsulated in a time warp, the streets of Cuba are filled with messages revering the 1959 Revolution, with Che Guevara being the most popular revolutionary hero depicted in murals, paintings and sculptures.

Yet Cuba is vibrant in its own way, with youths dancing to the beat of salsa music at almost every corner, whilst old men while away their time slapping down dominoes and smoking chunky Montecristos. Baracoa’s virgin beaches provide the perfect location for periods of tranquil isolation, characterised by golden powdery sands and the turquoise waves of the Caribbean.

On the other hand New York is the quintessential metropolis. Chaotic and glamorous, New York can be anything you want it to be. When faced with adversity it has been capable of bouncing back – the Great Depression, the Wall Street Crash and more recently 9/11. Exerting its powerful influence over worldwide commerce, finance, culture, fashion and entertainment there is never a dull moment spent in New York. New York can boggle the mind. It is easy to feel overwhelmed as the visitor is spoilt for choice. Watching famous actors like Daniel Craig, Hugh Jackman, Catherine Zeta Jones, or Jude Law thread the boards on Broadway. Hitting the shops for some retail therapy at Tiffany’s, FAO Swartz, Macy’s or NikeTown and if the therapy proves to be too expensive, one can always savour the fresh air with a walk in Central Park.

In the city that never sleeps, there is plenty of time for dining and unlimited options to choose from. Considered to be a culinary capital, the foodie can find everything from sushi and dim sum to hot dogs and donuts. My favourite eateries being the Loeb Boathouse in Central Park where it is easy to forget you are in a bustling city. Frankie and Johnnie’s steakhouse began as a speakeasy in the 1920’s at the height of the Prohibition. Carnivores like me can sink their teeth into amazingly huge steaks cooked to perfection. Yes, New York might not be Fidel Castro’s favourite city but it is certainly mine. My visit to this city, in December certainly rekindled the glow of Christmas and with it the hope that a New Year brings with it.

Some people have described 2009 as an annus horribilis. Yes. 2009 was not an easy year. Just like a rollercoaster, it has caused us to twist and turn, plummeting into a free fall and rising up towards the sky giving us a degree of optimism that all will be all right. But in a couple of hours, I wil be raising my Champagne glass, toasting the end of a difficult year, that has made me stronger and welcoming 2010 full of renewed optimism.

2010 will be the start of a new Chapter.

Photo copyright Maria Vella-Galea, excluding Lifecycle related shots copyright of Ray Pace

The Road to Damascus

The flight to Istanbul from Damascus took exactly 1 hour 30 minutes. A bat of an eyelid compared to the 11 days it took us to cycle the same distance. This year’s Lifecycle Challenge saw 18 cyclists cover 2000kms in what was, as the Committee put it, one of the toughest challenges ever.

Being my first experience as a Lifecyclist, I didn’t really know what I was going to face, even though friends of mine, who took part in previous editions of the Challenge, warned me that this was going to be tough!.

This year’s Challenge, started on Saturday 7th August at 7am and saw us crossing the Bosphorous Bridge in Istanbul. An extremely special event as cycling is not allowed on this Bridge. Supported by the Maltese Consul and a Police escort we took off, battling heavy rainfall that was to see us through most of the day.

As the Challenge progressed we battled strong winds and faced extreme temperatures which rose up to approximate 43 degrees. Fatigue set in as day after day we cycled for long hours, up steep and never ending inclines. The roads were considerably in a better state than ours, but the tarmac grip was a nightmare as it made us have to cycle hard even in the downhills.

Turkish hospitality was amazing. I must admit I had some reservations about cycling in Turkey but I was proven so wrong. Although cycling is not a widely practiced sport there, drivers showed us great respect, keeping their distance and ensuring our safety. At times we were even escorted by traffic police who were friendly and happy to help whenever we had a puncture – and that was quite often. A perfect example of such hospitality was the time a police officer offered me an apple, which is not exactly the easiest thing to eat on a bicycle. Having politely refused his offer, he came back a few minutes later, with the apple neatly cut in small pieces. To ensure that I eat all the apple without risking falling off, the officer passed on the small pieces, patiently waiting for me to eat each piece slowly whilst cycling.

Although neighboring countries, Syria was so different to Turkey. As we started approaching the Syrian border, the temperatures started soaring, reaching the 46 degree mark in some instances, making it a nightmare for the backup team to ensure that we had a steady supply of cold water. The traffic in Syria was chaotic, a case of survival of the fittest, having to swerve away from vehicles driving on the wrong side of the road or turning off a junction completely ignoring us. Syrian drivers tend to ignore warnings from traffic police – so imagine the chaos. That we survived Syrian traffic without injury is a miracle.

Apart from all this, I also had to contend with some injuries to my knees and ankle – the latter being the most serious. Although I was injected with pain killers and anti-inflammatory I was warned by the doctor that there was a possibility I might have to stop if the injury got worse. Not something I wanted to hear after all those weeks of training and sacrifice. Luckily the pain subsided and I was able to continue and successfully complete the Challenge finishing in Damascus at 3pm on Tuesday 18th August.

We were lucky to be supported by a fantastic backup team who were there all the time to provide us with all the support we needed. They had their fair share of hassles, some of which I am sure we were and never will be aware of. Edward Mercieca's arrest for spying was something that had all the team worried, and thankfully the ordeal, which lasted nine hours, ended happily, with Edward giving a colourful version of the account once he was back, safely, in our midst. My fears relating to food or the lack of it, were unnecessary as the cooking team were fantastic – dishing up varied, nutritious meals in all the places we went to, even when facilities were not so great. The medical team providing us with all that was necessary even in the remotest of places and the rest of the team who provided us with a laugh and a hug when they were most needed!

The success in completing this Challenge has sort of sunk in now. I did feel lost when it was over. A sensation I never thought I'd have. People have asked me whether I would take part again. Before leaving for Lifecycle the answer was a clear and definite No. But now, a month later.....……who knows!

If you want to know more about this year's edition visit - http://betfairlifecycle2009.blogspot.com/ for a day to day account of my participation in the Lifecycle Challenge!

The Challenge begins!

The dreaded sound of the alarm clock goes off. In reality it doesn’t wake me up as I have been awake for quite some time. A multitude of thoughts run through my mind as I try to fall asleep…..unsuccessfully.

Sunday morning, 19th April. The first official ride of the Betfair Lifecycle Challenge 2009 will take place this morning and will be the start of this year’s training programme, scheduled to last sixteen weeks. Sixteen weeks of progressive training, building and developing our physical and mental fitness to cope with the grueling challenge that awaits us in August.

The Lifecycle Organisation requires no introduction. Since it’s inception in 1999, it has earned a well deserved reputation as being an organisation which organises a tough endurance event that sees dedicated cyclists battle several elements, crossing different countries all over the world averaging around 200 kilometres per day. But the yearly challenge isn’t just about cycling in extreme conditions. The cycling part is a means to an end. Raising funds and awareness about renal disease whilst supporting the Renal Unit at Mater Dei to assist in the upgrading of equipment which will increase the quality of life of patients visiting this unit is a small part of what this organization does.

My thoughts are back on the morning’s planned cycle. 60 kilometres. In all fairness I have cycled that amount of mileage in the past but it was always in a small and relaxed group. This time the group will be much larger. The cyclists’ assessed for their performance. What if I am not up to standard? What if I cannot cope?

Slowly I get out of bed. After having breakfast as instructed by Alan the day before, I put on my cycling gear. Go down to the garage to inspect my bike. Nothing should have changed from last night when I made sure that the tyre pressure was as it should be, the chain was well oiled and spare tube in my pouch. Slowly I set off for our meeting point at the entrance of Mater Dei. Cycling up towards the entrance, I see that the Organising Committee and back-up crew are setting up banners.

Being the first training event, we are having an official send off by the Parliamentary Secretary for Youths and Sport Clyde Puli. Slowly other cyclists start arriving. Some of them have already participated in previous events, others are new and probably feeling a bit lost like me. Although I might not show it I am quite a shy person and it does take me some courage to walk up to someone and introduce myself. But this is part of the Challenge and I start introducing myself to others. I think it is important to start working on building a team spirit from the very start. What if the group doesn’t gel? Team spirit or lack of it can make or break a group.

Getting to know other cyclists


At 9am sharp the Parliamentary Secretary for Youths and Sport Clyde Puli arrives and gives a brief speech. After the speech he goes round speaking to the cyclists, giving words of praise and encouragement and promising his Government’s support.

Lifecycle Deputy Chairman Mario Scerri briefing Parliamentary Secretary for Youths and Sports Clyde Puli on the Challenge and what it stands for

Group photo

It is time to set off on the route set for the day. I am one of the first to start off – mainly so that I can pick up my pace and then keep up as much as I can.

Heading towards the Birkirara by Pass we pick up a steady speed. Soon cyclists start zooming past me. Am I that slow I think? I look at my GPS and I am clocking 25km/hr. Not too bad I think. I continue with my pace, changing gears when necessary. The training I undertook, on my own, the previous week is beneficial as I could experiment with gears, without disrupting anyone’s pace or timings.

At regular intervals we see the back up crew either showing us the way or ensuring that we are fine. A back up vehicle, recognizable by the Betfair Lifecycle Challenge 2009 poster heads back and forth.

Sometimes other cyclists catch up with me and vice –versa. The pace is just right to have brief introductions but as soon as we get to Burmarrad hill, the downhill is too enticing and the majority of us just pedal faster, clocking 52km/hour and more.

Proceeding towards the Bahar ic-Caghaq coast road we are advised by the Backup team to undertake a couple of laps. I can’t help remembering a Facebook Status update a few days before when I commented on the fact that I had built an excellent relationship with the Coast Road having done a couple of laps there the day before. A comment which Sandro, a fellow cyclist, reminded me of just as he whizzed past me!

Cars are driving past me but I keep on focusing on my breathing, speed and occasionally at the wide open sea. Just before I reach Splash and Fun I am flagged down by Alan who advises me to put my bicycle seat higher. I am not too sure as I do not feel comfortable not being able to put my feet flat on the ground however Alan explains that my current posture on the bike will could lead to potential knee problems. The plan is to gradually increase the height of the seat till I feel comfortable enough. As Alan is busy sorting out my seat I see the other cyclists go past. My first thought is that I am going to lag behind but then this is a legitimate and important stop. If I don’t get the basics right at this stage of the challenge the consequences might be dire.


I start off again, heading up the slight incline towards Splash and Fun, Francesca and the girls flag the cars coming from the opposite direction enabling me to turn back and continue my lap. I start pedaling at a faster speed – my goal is to at least catch-up with the rest. In a couple of minutes, I see Carolina paddling on her gold coloured bike. God Bless her! Her bike is loaned and is not exactly the right kind of wheels to have but she is focused and looks determined. As we start the second lap I notice a fellow cyclist, Nigel, showing some signs of discomfort. The traffic lights are red so I stop next to him. He is suffering from cramps and tells me that he has not had breakfast so he is not feeling too well. I promptly give him one of my energy bars and encourage him to eat it. Making sure he is fine, I continue on my ride.

The sun is getting warmer. A gentle reminder of the weather we are to expect in Turkey and Syria this summer. After approximately 44 kms, we are directed to head towards Msida Bocci Club, going past St. Julian’s and Sliema seafront. The Regional Road tunnels are not an option as they are dangerous and it is illegal to cycle through tunnels. The steady climb up Bahar ic-Caghaq hill towards Pembroke is not easy but I keep focused on the cyclists ahead of me keeping a steady gap between us. Once this hill is over it is basically a constant flat road with some downhills towards Msida Bocci Club.

Reaching the Msida Bocci Club I find the backup team waiting for us. Throughout the whole ride they were there either following us in their cars, slowing down to check on us, to see if we are doing well or guiding us from fixed points, giving us words of encouragement. As I stop I realize that we have pedaled over 50kilometres. Admittedly the first 20 kilometres where the most difficult but once my muscles warmed up and I managed to get a steady pace going it felt good. Francesca, our physiotherapist is going around giving us tips on how to stretch our muscles to ensure minimal soreness or injury.

The first group training session is over. As we discuss our performance with the rest of the team, the magnitude of this event starts sinking in.

I feel proud to wear my Betfair Lifecycle Challenge T-Shirt.


Photos courtesy of Ray Pace

El Silencio

A sombre mood engulfs the otherwise vibrant city of Seville during Semana Santa (Holy Week). Celebrated with great fervour since the 16th century, the importance of Holy Week can immediately be felt by just looking at the Sevillian’s dress code which changes from a normally relaxed attire to more formal dark suite for the men and the mantillas, (lace mantle, stiffened by shell or another material) donned by the ladies, exuding elegance throughout. This custom was revived in the 1980s. The religious aspect of their attire is distinctly visible by the rosary beads that women wear as accessories.




At the heart of Semana Santa are the brotherhoods (Hermandades y Cofradias de Penitencia). The brotherhoods are made up of Catholic lay persons, whose membership is usually a matter of family tradition.




There are approximately fifty nine brotherhoods that make the stations of penance from their affiliated parish church to the Cathedral.



Dressed in their habits, having a distinticve pointed hood, brotherhood members march in pairs and in silence, often barefooted, holding a candle, which is only lit at night.



Others hold incense whilst those known as penitentes carry wooden crosses a sign of public penance. Whilst they wear the habit of the brotherhood, their hood is not pointed.



The earliest known brotherhood (Primitiva Hermandad de Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, known as El Silencio - The Silence) was founded in the mid 14th century. El Silencio, as the name implies, is followed by the watching crowd in silence in the early hours of Good Friday. This procession has a great following, with people thronging the area hours before the start to secure a good place. The very thought of trying to squeeze in is unheard of, and the looks such “invaders” get are enough to silence anyone!





Processions are elaborate affairs. The entire scene, although sombre is at the same time alive with colour and sound. Marching bands of bugles and drums play music, known as the marcha procesiónal - which influences the pace and action of the pasos (religious statues). Some processions, such as El Silencio, march in silence and without music. In key locations the procession stops for a Saeta – a very emotional flamenco solo mournful song sung acappella from balconies. The Saeta echoes through the streets making people feel the solemnity of the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord.





Each procession starts with the Cruz de Guía – (Guiding Cross). The Cross marks the way for the rest of the procession which sees members of the various brotherhoods carrying various effigies of Christ on the Cross, the Virgin Mary and other floats representing the stages of the Passion.









The early hours of Good Friday constitute the most important time of the Seville Easter week celebrations. That night, some of the most venerated statues make their way through the streets, such as Jesús del Gran Poder, la Macarena, el Cristo de los Gitanos and La Esperanza de Triana which is sees the Virgen de la Esperanza which is the most adored and revered Virgin of the city of Seville.




Whether out of piety or curiosity, Semana Santa is a centuries old tradition, bringing people from different religions and parts of the world to experience the ambience and aura of such an occasion.

From exercising restraint from hitting the loud tourist who just pushed you off your precarious piece of pavement, or the deep breath you take when somebody stands on your foot with their pointed stiletto to the smell of orange blossoms, incense and candle wax and despite the fact that Malta has a good tradition of Good Friday processions, Seville’s Semana Santa is one thing that should be on your list of things to do before you die.

Photos copyright Maria Vella-Galea 2008

Getting back on the saddle

Holding the reins in my left hand, I gingerly put my left foot into the stirrup and swing my right leg over Daffyd's back. Gently I settle into the saddle.

Daffyd makes no movement, waiting till I gently nudge his girth with my calves, signalling that I want him to start walking, making our way out of the stables, slowly, onto the road that leads to the practice arena.

It has been three weeks since I entered that very same arena on Daffyd's back. Three weeks since I flew off, knocking myself unconscious, causing the most unpleasant headache which led to three weeks of rest at home.

My doctor has now given me the all clear. I can start riding slowly again. No jumping for the time being. I won't beat around the bush and say that I am not apprehensive. There is no such thing as a fearless person, fear is one of the most basic human emotions and it serves us well protecting us from danger. In our society admitting to fear is tantamount to showing weakness. But in reality it is not. It is a responsible and sensible way of limiting danger to ourselves and potentially those around us.

Closing the school gate behind me, Tommy, my instructor, advises me to take things slowly. At my own pace. There is no deadline. There is no pressure to prove anything. At the first instance of discomfort I must stop. Things will fall into place, he reassures me whilst I head for the Dressage arena.

Steering Daffyd around the arena a couple of times, I gently progress into a rising trot, achieving an immediate rhythm which Tommy is very pleased with. Slowly we start working on some basic dressage exercises – twenty metre circles in different directions and areas of the school, changing rein, practising a square halt – which requires the horse to bring his fore and hind legs in such a way that when viewed from the side the legs are perfectly in line.

Seeing the direction the training session is taking, Tommy encourages me to undertake a preliminary dressage test. Upon completion, although requiring some fine tuning, the result was very satisfactory and saw me with a grin as big as that of a Cheshire cat. My lesson is over and we slowly head back to the stables.

In equestrian sports, most of the physical work is carried out by the horse but it is the mental attitude of the rider that defines one's limits. Being confined indoors for three weeks, with little to do, gives growth to a number of negative thoughts. It gives you time to start creating a number of “what if” scenarios. Couple that with comments from well meaning friends who give a very graphical example of what could have happened is not conducive to gaining back the mental conditioning required. Ultimately, we need to confront our fears but we must do it in our way and speed. I am just going to do that.

Having stiff muscles from riding again is a great feeling!

Riding into the Sunset

This article was written almost a year ago following my return from the Trans Andes Horseback trek. The article was published in the July edition of the Sunday Circle. A special thanks goes to the editor Sarah Puntan Galea.

Only one small piece of luggage remained on the revolving carousel which slowly ground to a halt. My luggage, containing all the equipment necessary for my Trans Andes horseback trek is lost somewhere between London and Mendoza, Argentina.

I am exhausted, alone, in the middle of a deserted arrivals hall, on the other side of the world. Realising that my luggage won’t arrive in time, there is not left for me to do but find my hotel and nurse the migraine that had started playing a symphony in my head.

Adrenaline rush

As an adventurous spirit searching for an adrenaline rush, my participation in the Trans-Andes Horseback Trek was a dream that I had ever since I was a little girl. The time never seemed right though…until September 2007 when bored at home one evening, I decided to do a Google search on adventure travel. The first result was a horseback challenge in aid of the Prince’s Trust in the UK which was set up in 1976, by Prince Charles, its purpose being to improve the lives of disadvantaged young people in the UK.

The Challenge consisted of a six-day trek starting off from Mendoza, Argentina and finishing in Santiago, Chile. It would involve riding up to eight hours a day, climbing up mountain passes as high as 5,000 metres, galloping through wide valleys, jumping over streams and negotiating river crossings.

There was only one slight problem. I did not know how to ride a horse. Not exactly the right qualification for such a challenge.

Learning to ride

Signing up for the trek prior to finding an instructor would be the driving force to get me started. Luckily I found a patient and good instructor willing to take up the challenge and getting me up to standard. Come rain or shine I would take lessons, when possible go out on longer rides just to get used to sitting on the saddle. I discovered muscles I never thought I had!




Although I was growing quite comfortable in the English saddle I was using, the trek, being in South America, would see us ride Western style. This style evolved from the ranching and warfare traditions brought to the Americas by the Spanish Conquistadores.

Trans Andes Horseback Trek

Mendoza, situated at the foot of the Andes, was our starting point. Being the only participant from Malta, I travelled separately from the rest of the group and met them in Mendoza a day before we started our trek. Fortunately some of them did not travel as lightly as we were supposed to and could afford to lend me some items of clothing.

Our team leader Louise was instrumental in helping me rent out vital missing equipment – sleeping bag, waterproof trousers and thermal clothing. I just hoped that what I managed to borrow would withstand the possible climate and not end up feeling uncomfortable or cold.

Following a detailed briefing by our guides, it was time to set off on the first part of our journey, a three hour coach ride out of Mendoza to Scaravelli where we met the other gauchos who would lead the trek, prepare our food and ensure that we had a pleasant and safe journey.

The Challenge begins

The horses we were allocated were based on our riding experience and would be our companions for the whole adventure. At this point, it all started to sink in: Here I was at the foot of the Andes, waiting to be given a horse that I would ride, on my own, over a six day stretch.




Many questions started flooding my mind. Would I cope with a strange saddle, would I bond with the horse, would the weather be fine? Happily one of my fears was soon allayed when I was introduced to Mio, a huge six-year-old chestnut with kind eyes. Rodrigo promised me that he had a gentle nature and that I would be fine.



With border formalities over, we mounted our horses and set off on a four-hour ride into Quebrada del Arroyo Grande – a vast ravine high in the mountains which would eventually lead us to our first campsite – Scaravelli lodge. As soon as I sat on the saddle, I immediately felt comfortable – in fact it is much more comfortable to sit on a western saddle, mainly because of all the padding that is placed on the hard leather frame. Though the differences in equipment appear dramatic, in reality there are fewer differences between ‘English’ and ‘Western’ riding, than most people think.

A slow steady pace takes us uphill, on uneven rocky ground. I start thinking about whether I am crazy but, looking at the scenery, absorbing the beauty of the nature around me, I start to relax.



My reverie is soon broken when the horse in front of me suddenly stumbles and falls back, sending Claire flying onto the sharp, rocky ground. I am horrified. Claire is an experienced rider and had never, in her 15 years of riding, fallen. Although she confidently mounts her horse and continues the ride I am quite shaken. This happens just 30 minutes into the ride. I start thinking that perhaps all this was not such a good idea. But I am here. There is nothing I can do. I need to compose myself, concentrate and keep on going.

We set up camp at Scaravelli, in a place called La Mula Muerta - one would think that the name didn't augur well however we were in a sheltered area complete with a corral for the horse, a sheltered kitchen where our gauchos prepared a delicious barbecue and a clean bathroom......yes I am not joking, we had a clean toilet in this campsite!






Honing horse skills

The next day, after breakfast, we embarked on the first part of the day's journey which would take us on a three-hour ascent to the Argentine Portillo, a high and narrow pass cutting through rocky cliffs, standing at 4,380metres. Reaching the Portillo I quickly realise that the way down was going to be quite frightening. The winding track was just about a metre wide and beyond it was a slanting scree. Falling down that scree would not be at all pleasant, so I am not ashamed to admit that at this point I froze. Not usually afraid of heights, abseiling down Mosta bridge headfirst is one of my favourite adrenaline rushes, here I was worried. The difference being that in this situation apart from trusting myself, I had to trust my horse.



Seeing the fear in my eyes, Rodrigo offered me two options – walk down leading Mio in the process or else trust the horse and ride down slowly. For a few seconds I weighed my options – the former was really not going to happen – I was here to trek the Andes on horseback not on foot. Putting full trust in Mio we walked down, slowly, the steep scree. What was a half hour trek seemed an eternity but we made it safely and by nightfall we were all laughing about it over dinner.

The next morning we gave the horses a well deserved rest. After lunch we set off on a short exploratory ride down the valley to Laguna de Los Patos.



It was during this trek that I experienced my first jump. Jumping usually comes almost naturally to horses but both the horse and rider have to have their techniques honed. Combined together we had none! Apprehensive as I was, I had no choice. I had to cross the stream. There weren't any options this time. The terrain gave Mio the necessary space and freedom to stretch out. Following his effortless movement we made it to the other side.

William Faulkner's words came into mind: “There’s something about jumping a horse over a fence that makes you feel good.” I was not feeling good, I was feeling ecstatic! I had done my first jump and I loved the feeling. I realized that I had come along way since my first riding lesson.

The daily challenges continue…

Day four into the trek and we were faced with another challenge – that of crossing, roaring waters with strong currents. As a safety measure we were instructed to wear our backpacks on one shoulder – serving as a quick release should we accidentally fall. If this happened, we were reassured that two gauchos would be positioned on either side of the river bank, armed with ropes which would be thrown in our direction and which we would need to grab so that we could be pulled in to safety.

One by one we coaxed our horses through the river. The currents could be felt pulling at the horses’ feet. There was no stopping. Squeezing Mio's flanks gently we slowly crossed the river. The lack of hesitation from Mio's part was so reassuring, helping me build a stronger trust in him as each day passed.



The weather started deteriorating. A cold biting wind started to blow. The fleece I had managed to borrow was warm, but did not protect me from the wind. I could not help but pray. As we climbed to approximately 3,500 metres we could see Tupungato looming above the dark clouds that started to form above us. A light drizzle started to fall. The wide grassy plain in front of us gave us the opportunity to ride into a fast canter, which the gauchos hoped would bring us closer to Palmares Valley in time for the night.

We did not make it to Palmares. The wind became stronger, and it was decided that it would be safer to find the first sheltered area and camp for the night. We would have to make up for the time lost on the following day, hoping the weather would clear up. The wind made it very difficult to set up the flimsy tents and all of us were wondering whether we would be flying away with our tents during the night!
The next morning, the wind had died down and the temperature was much colder as it had snowed during the night.

Achieving a dream

Our last day of riding would see us reach the steep Portillo Piuquenes – the official border between Argentina and Chile. Standing at 5,000metres it would be the highest pass in our trek. Welcomed by Matthias, waving a Chilean flag, it was time to bid farewell to our horses as Argentine horses are not allowed to enter Chile.




I never thought I would feel so sad at saying goodbye to Mio. I was not the only one to shed warm tears. Mio seemed to sense my sadness and just stood by me whilst I stroked his neck. Trying to lighten up the moment, I joked with the gauchos telling them that I would gladly give up my luggage should it arrive in exchange for Mio.

It was time to go.

Bidding a last farewell, we mounted our new horses and started a three-hour descent towards Plomo River. Reaching San Gabriel we went through Chilean customs formalities and effectively the trek was over.....

..... and I had achieved my dream of riding off into the sunset.

My latest (mis)adventure

I don't recall much of the accident.

My last recollections are those of jumping my horse Daffyd over a course in preparation for the next day's show jumping competition followed by Leli, the stable owner, cradling my head and telling me not to worry as the ambulance was on its way.

Ambulance I think? Why? Then I recall that there was a fall somewhere in between. But how fast were they to call an ambulance, it is only a fall, not my first. Then the realisation, that this might be more serious than I'd like to think, sinks in.

The pain in my head and the nausea are unbearable. My first reaction is to see what degree of mobility I have. I have heard of too many accidents not to be aware of the potential hazards. Thankfully I can move although Tommy, my instructor, and Leli are begging me to stay still.

I ask if my horse is fine and when I am told he is I am relieved. One less thing to worry about but I can't help thinking that this will be a huge setback on my riding experience since potentially I could lose my nerve and give up riding altogether.

I can hear the ambulance from a distance, well perhaps not such a distance after all as soon after I can hear a doctor asking me what happened, my name etc. My rescue training skills come back to mind when the doctor starts explaining the procedure, what kind of treatment they are giving – just as though a spinal injury has taken place. I know its procedure but still I get a bit worried.

All this has made me tired and want to sleep. Jenny, a fellow rider at the stables has taken the trip on the ambulance with me, tries to keep me awake by constantly calling my name.

I hear a siren, is there another ambulance in the vicinity I wonder? It isn't the case. It is the ambulance I am in being transported in. I feel very disoriented and confused. I try remembering Conrad's number but no luck, I have to ask the guys to take my phone, which I left in my tack room, to call him and advise him. I would have preferred speaking to him myself but I had no choice.

Arriving at the Emergency department, I feel very relieved when I see Herta, Conrad's sister, waiting for me. Such a friendly and familiar face is very reassuring. A doctor comes in to assess the situation, I know him slightly. He asks me how I am feeling ....to which I dryly reply that I have seen better days. He asks me what happened but I don't remember much. Jenny fills him in following the account that Tommy gave her prior to leaving for hospital.

Conrad arrives, I guess he is relieved to see me alive following Tommy's call. I hear his voice, muffled but very concerned. He patiently waits next to me, holding my hand till it is time for an X-Ray and CT scan. Apparently it took quite some time till it was my turn but I don't realise this. I am lucky the CT scan shows a slight brain haemorrhage but no fractures. The doctor says I am very blessed as it could have been worse....much worse.

As is normal procedure I have to stay in hospital under observation for at least 24 hours. Since there has been a head injury, I cannot eat or drink as it might induce vomiting and that could be dangerous to the brain. I am given an intravenous drip which is very uncomfortable but at least the straps and the spinal board are finally removed. They were very uncomfortable, making me feel very claustrophobic....a feeling that I am normally oblivious to!

The next couple of hours are hazy. I only start to focus a bit when friends start coming to see me during the hospital's strict visiting hours routine. Although I try to set their mind at rest by trying to look wide awake and smiling, in reality I am very tired and feel like a zombie. The pain in my head won't go away and finally I fall asleep even before some of them leave.

Thankfully I manage to sleep at night and if it was the case that I was being woken up at regular intervals, this procedure did not affect me. What affected me was the wake up call at 5am – what a rude awakening. Hospital staff start shouting orders and moving objects around as if it were midday. The cherry on the cake was the religious chanting of an old lady, two beds away from me....the double portion was the nurse joining her chants at the top of her voice I felt like chanting a chain of expletives but where would have that taken me? Nowhere!

To my joy I am discharged a few hours later, with strict instructions to rest and take things easy for the next couple of weeks.

I am now resting at home. A slow steady progress towards getting back to my hectic lifestyle. This (mis)adventure has taught me, if anything, that it is during these times you will (1) realise what is really important and (2) who your real friends are.

Having 600 friends on Facebook or on your contacts list doesn't really mean anything if they are just there to add up the numbers.....it is those few friends, who regularly check on you, whether by means of a phone call, SMS, email, message or visit, to make sure that you are still alive, to see if you need anything, to make you smile if you are sad and need cheering up, are those that really matter.

This blog post is dedicated to all those friends who cared.

You don't know how much you mean to me!