It makes perfect sense that if you are going to visit the Celtic part of France, you should expect some bracing Celtic weather. But we didn’t let a little liquid sunshine get in our way (well, except for the day it rained so hard and so sideways we pulled the car over and waited for the worst to pass over us before beating a retreat back to our rental for some liquid consolation). That’s what doggie raincoats are for, right?
Before we headed to Brittany, I was finally able to add the Cadre Noir to my almost-complete list of classical riding school visits (Portugal, I hope I’ve saved the best for last). Chorizo doesn’t have much to report from Saumur. That’s because he spent his Cadre Noir time parked in the shade in the car. For obvious and sensible reasons, dogs are not allowed to attend the public training sessions or go on the stable tours.
I found the visit to the Cadre Noir quite a bit more interesting than I’d expected, and for surprising reasons. I fully expected the in-hand airs above the ground and quadrilles. A favourite performer for me was a little buckskin Lusitano stallion that was ground driven at all gaits by an impressively skilled woman. She was quite literally joined at the hip to the horse, so close behind him that she was in physical contact with his hindquarters with her arms and at times even torso. Now that’s one fit horsewoman:  the demo included canter work and extended trot.
But back to the surprising bit. Saumur stands alone among the great classical schools of equitation in one important way: rather than exist merely as a museum to a dying art and tradition, the Cadre Noir is an active training centre that produces teachers, trainers and international competitors. The school is living proof that it’s possible to preserve the past while also moving forward into the future. I was impressed by the quality of the riding, the happiness of the horses at their jobs, and by the modern and efficient way the extensive stables (up to 350 horses can be housed there) and facilities (seven indoors!) are maintained and managed.
It was also a proud moment for me to see Col. Carde’s name up on the wall as one of the school’s Ecuyers-en-chef (1991-1999). I have long held considerable affection and admiration for Christian and his passion for his craft.
Don’t get your panties in a bunch, anti-roll kur zealots. It’s just a snap shot taken at an awkward moment.
Chorizo is pleased to report that the beaches of Brittany are very fine, with digging sand of the highest quality.
He is also enjoying his dietary supplements during picnics, including but not limited to, salami skin and cheese rind. He was quite pleased with himself in the charming village of Locronan the other day, where he was twice called mignon (as in cute, not filet) in a period of five minutes. The French call Dachshunds petits saucissons, which Chorizo finds a much more dignified nickname than the crass English ‘wiener’.
Perfect day, perfect picnic, perfect companions
Chorizo’s only tribulation now that the sun has returned to our skies, is the time spent in the terribly inferior back seat, from where he can’t properly perform his wing dog duties. Unhappy hours are spent leaning as far forward as three inch legs will reach, with snout pushed as far forward between the front seats and Jan’s or my blocking elbows as possible without toppling off the back seat. All is forgiven and forgotten when the next beach is achieved, or a nice romp on a well-groomed castle lawn is granted.
We are getting some excellent defensive driver training in preparation for Spain next week. That is, if you call ignoring the maniac three inches from your back bumper defensive driving. France is a country whose roads appear to be populated almost entirely by people who are late for job interviews. In spite of the proliferation of photo radar speed traps, the standard practice is to creep up your backside to a distance at which it’s possible to determine the eye colour of the driver in the rear-view mirror. I can nearly smell the Gauloise smoke being snorted testily from those Gallic (or Breton) nostrils, though oddly they rarely pass – except of course when a perfect opportunity presents itself, such as on the outside of a sharp curve or on a blind crest.
I will be back with a more Straight-Up horse blog in the next couple of days. My horsey inbox is filling up surprisingly quickly for this time of year. But right now Chorizo needs to find another beach, or at least a 5000 year old neolithic megalith.
