Friday, April 2, 2010

Red Carpet



Puerto Vallarta on Mexico's Pacific coast presented an unforeseen challenge for me, but fortunately, I had my holiday tools with me which always ensure a good time. They are; an open mind, a positive attitude, and most importantly, a good sense of humour. This trip was no exception.


I rode into the Sierra Madre mountains on horse-back. I wanted to follow trails similar to the ones that General Santa Anna's soldiers took as they headed to the Rio Grande in the old days. Once our guide had told me to mount my horse from the other side, I was ready to go. The scenery was magnificent. Tumble-weed blowing across the trails; clusters of cactuses growing in the desert-sand; and the possibility of a rattler striking at my horse made it all terribly exciting. I was living the moment. But, ...after ten minutes I began to get saddle-sore. I expected it to be soft polished leather but it wasn't. It was made out of balsa-wood. Every step the horse took made my discomfort increasingly worse. I had been seat-sore on my Harley before but nothing like this. I tried mind control and self-hypnosis but it didn't dull the pain. I tried distraction, by singing “Can you hear the drums, Fernando? (ABBA)” softly to myself but that didn't work either. I tried standing in my stirrups and shifting my seating position. I tried prayer. “God help me please!”, I whispered under my breath. An eternity later, I saw a few stables and a canteen far in the distance. “Thank God!” I said to myself. “Its over!” I couldn't move. I needed assistance to dismount. Then, the guide announced that we had arrived at the half-way station. That was the precise moment when I declared that if I survive this day, I would never ride a horse again. I have kept that declaration.

Several days later when I could once again sit down on a chair and walk in baby steps as if I had soiled my pants, I attended the much-touted Mexican Fiesta. It was a dinner and show. It was a spectacular exposition of Mexican Folklore; SeƱoritas and Senors singing and dancing in traditional costume and expert demonstrations of the bull-whip; the lasso and the six-gun. It was a gala affair. What a glorious ending to my holiday. Nothing could possibly outshine that wonderful stunning performance....or so I thought!

Some people had chosen to walk back to their hotels that starry night along the promenade. I did too. I was reflecting upon images of the Fiesta fresh in my mind when I noticed that everyone had stepped off the side-walk and onto the road. They were looking back at the side-walk intently. I had heard about this; I remember reading about it in my encyclopedias but I never thought I'd ever get to see it. Marching on the pavement was a carpet of red soldier-ants in a column four feet wide and at least eighty feet long. They were marching in formation with absolute military precision with every single soldier in precisely the right spot, marching at precisely the right speed. The Colonels and Lieutenants marching alongside ensured that perfect order was maintained. All that was missing was a brass band. You would have to actually see this, to believe it.

After a while, the Colonels ordered a right-wheel turn into a culvert where the carpet dispersed into the under-brush. It was a manoeuvre executed perfectly. I was so impressed that I renamed this story from “Riding in the Sierra Madre” to “ Red Carpet”.





1 comment:

Anonymous said...

hope your ass is better,a good remidy is to dab it with mussy peas.

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