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!

MEMORABLE QUOTES

"A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.”

Pam Browne

Been there, done that!

Learn to ride and buy a motorbike - proud owner of a Honda CB400 and a classic Vespa




Climb a mountain - Mount Rainier, Mount Kilimanjaro, Mont Blanc, Mount Snowdown



Uhuru Peak - The roof of Africa, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Jan 2007




Mount Rainier, Washington State, June 2005

Learn rock climbing - don't do it so often, have recently discovered Via Ferrata - what fun!!!




Go on a safari in the Serengeti - seeing wild animals - Elephants, lions, cheetahs, hippos at close range - how beautiful nature can be





See Robbie Williams in Concert - July 2006, San Siro Stadium, Milan - WOW!!!



Learn how to ride a horse, and go on a horseback trek, buy a horse - yes, one year on still taking lessons, trekked the Andes from Mendoza, Argentina to Santiago, Chile and am a proud owner of a 5 year old chestnut - Daffyd




Take a tram ride in San Francisco - what an experience, reminds me of the times I used to watch the Streets of San Francisco when Michael Douglas was still handsome!



Go ice climbing - Dolomites on New Year's Day 2000 - what a great way to start the new millenium!

Go on a hot air balloon ride - sunrise over the desert in Dubai - a magical experience.



Experience the white nights - Tampere, Finland June 2002. Partying late at night but having full daylight at 2am was a surreal experience.

Go white water rafting and canyoning - Mayrhofen in the Zillertal region in August 2007, participating in the Ability Challenge, I experienced both canyoning and white water rafting - great fun. Won't be the last time!



Visit New Orleans and get tipsy in Bourbon Street - A couple of weeks before Katrina struck I visited New Orleans - what a vibrant place - one hopes that it has not lost all it's magic



Get involved in a charity or charitable organisation - My participation in the Kilimanjaro and Ability Challenges saw me get involved in the organising committees - hard work but very fulfilling.

Create a website or blog - here's my work of art!