The Spanish Championship of Doma Vaquera was held in Almonte this weekend. Guillermo was once Champion of Andalucía, and, even though he wasn’t competing this year, he still watched with shrewd veneration.
We arrived at 2, to catch the end of the under-18 class. Enough metal benches to seat a few thousand people wrapped around a big sandy arena. Each side was hung with long Spanish flags, and adverts for saddlers and for caterers. Marta nudges me as a 16-year-old girl, Alba Fernández, on a tall chestnut enters the arena. “That’s Jaime’s cousin.”
The competing horses’ manes are plaited and knotted, creating a crest of dark studs along their strong necks. All the riders wear grey pinstriped trousers, spotted cummerbunds, and cropped jackets, with a grey flat-brimmed hat. The hat is worn slightly forward. It angles down towards the horse’s ears. You can tell that the horses know it’s crunch time because most of them raise their tails and do a haughty poo as they enter the arena.
A bell rings, and the rider canters into the middle of the arena, pulling the horse to a complete halt (parada) at the centre. The horse digs all four of its heels into the ground by straightening its front legs and bending its back legs; angling its back-end down towards the floor. It skids along the ground, raising a tremendous amount of dust, until it comes to a standstill. An acoustic guitar begins its low, heavy strokes when the horse starts moving again.
There are certain exercises that every competitor must do, and this parada is one of them. Done well, its beautiful drama raises applause. Done badly, there’s silence, or a sharp intake of breath. The media vuelta (half turn) is one of my favourite moves. Here, the horse stops cantering to rear up on its hind legs, turn 180 degrees, and set off again in the opposite direction. In a pirueta (pirouette), the horse keeps spinning on its hind legs, around and around again. Like gymnasts and dancers, riders choreograph unique routines to highlight their horse’s particular talents. The accompanying guitar is perfectly timed to end when the rider takes off their hat, and bows to the judges.
Alba Fernández won the under-18 competition, and was crowned Champion of Spain. I came across her father at lunch. He could barely stop smiling as countless people came up to pat his back and shake his hand.
In true Spanish fashion, there was a three-and-a-half hour gap before the adult’s competition started. We spent the time well: cold beer, hot food, and good company. The riders mingled with the rest of us, leaving the buttons of their smart jackets undone while they relaxed. I got introduced to just about everyone. There were fathers, mothers, sisters, and cousins; babies in pushchairs, and grandmothers wearing big gold rings. They were kind and familiar. I started to feel I was amongst friends when people forgot that I was a foreigner, and began talking and laughing with me as quickly and as loudly as they would with a Spaniard. All the women wore lipstick and wedges, and almost everybody asked me if I had a boyfriend. People are more shocked to hear that I’m single than they are to hear that I’m not Catholic. Ladies would cast their eyes around the crowd as if looking for my other-half-to-be. As far as I can tell, when you’re a Spanish girl in your twenties, you just are in a relationship. I await my conversion.
The metal tassels on the riders’ trousers jangled as they walked back to their horses. After a few drinks, nobody seemed much concerned with the competition. There were more people in the bars than watching the horses. Our whole group went into the stands to watch the last horse, the current champion of Spain, compete. Alvarro Teba was sensational. Sometimes, when a rider leaves the arena, a judge places a white handkerchief to the horse’s side. If the horse has been handled too harshly, it will bleed from its mouth and belly, and the rider is disqualified. Not Alvarro. He was so delicate, you barely saw his hands move. It was past midnight when he left the arena with a standing ovation. Children were still up, playing with plastic horses in the sand. The bars stayed open, and the night carried on well into the morning.
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