Tour de Horse : Back in the saddle again--riding over the fields and into the quaint villages of Provence

It was just before sunset, and we were riding at a fast canter, cutting through a field that ran beside a saltwater lagoon. We were trying to make it back to the mas, or ranch house, before dark, but we were losing light fast. Already the clouds were streaked with pink and scarlet, almost the same improbable shades as the flamingos wading in the lagoon.

In the distance was a herd of ghostly white horses, the mysterious wild horses of southern France that I’d read about since I was a little girl. All at once my horse spotted his untamed cousins, tossed back his head and joyously greeted them with a deep, long, spine-tingling whinny. In that exhilarating moment, I too felt infused with the liberating wildness that is so much a part of the character of this unspoiled, protected marshland.

I was in the Camargue region of southern France, a part of Provence seldom visited by American tourists. Seeing it this way, by horseback, is a rarer experience still. It is an intensely visceral and sensual adventure.

This riding trip had been set in motion months before, when my friend Linda Seger mentioned to me and several other riding friends that it might be fun to see some of Europe by horseback. The idea caught fire, catalogs were sent for, and in almost no time at all three of us--Linda and I plus our friend Carol Davies--signed up for this nine-day journey through Provence.

We picked the trip because of its appealing destination, with a varied terrain, and its ranking by the tour operator we chose as a “moderate to fast ride.” It required intermediate to advanced riding skills; that meant we wouldn’t be impeded by novices.

The trip was organized by FITS Equestrian, a Solvang-based travel company that specializes in riding trips all over the world. The itinerary described a route beginning at Avignon, the former papal capital on the Rhone River, and terminating 160 miles later at the walled seacoast town of Aigues-Mortes. We would stay at country inns along the way, with trail-side picnics at lunchtime prepared by our own chef. Though there would be some time for sightseeing, we learned we would be spending as much as seven hours a day in an English saddle.

Seven hours. A sobering bit of information. To spend that long on the back of a horse without pain would require training, especially for Linda and me, since Carol had her own horse. So Linda and I began a program of private lessons to polish our skills and long weekend rides to build up our endurance.

Reaching Paris three days ahead of Carol, Linda and I felt confident and ready for anything. But as the ride loomed nearer and nearer, we started to develop butterflies. We both knew the risks: High speed riding over unfamiliar trails on an unfamiliar mount can be a recipe for a serious accident.

Needing a morale booster, and fast, we set out for Notre Dame Cathedral. Once inside the cavernous interior, however, we weren’t sure where to go. And then, through the dim light, I spotted an altar blazing with candles, illuminating the marble statue of a saint. It was the perfect choice, none other than that fearless equestrian herself, Joan of Arc. With hands slightly trembling, we lighted the largest candles we could find and beseeched her for protection and courage.

Two days later, we clambered off the train at Avignon, lugging duffel bags bulging with tall leather boots, bootjacks, steel helmets and saddle covers. One by one we discovered the other members of our party at the station. First there was our leader, Paul Bontemps, big and burly and sizing us up quickly. Then there was our chef, Andre Sessiecq, as short as Paul was tall and very round, with twinkly eyes and little English. And then the three other riders--all women and all American.

Each of the other women had formidable riding experience. One was a regular on the East Coast fox-hunting circuit. Another was mastering the challenging series of maneuvers called dressage that is practiced in an arena. And the third rode her own horse in competitions called “three-day eventing,” combining dressage, cross-country and stadium jumping.

Judico was to be my horse and friend, companion and confidant, for the entire ride. A bay gelding with a white blaze and some Arabian blood, he had a sweet, sturdy nature, but he wasn’t dull; given the opportunity, he could go like the wind.

It was a sparkling autumn morning, and as we headed out to the trail, my apprehensions melted away. Everyone in the group, even the aristocratic-looking fox hunter, Rebecca Brooks, turned out to be friendly and supportive.

It was like riding through a three-dimensional picture gallery of Provencal landscapes, complete with scent, sound and taste. Spreading out from both sides of the trail were purple and green fields of lavender and mint, rosemary and thyme. As we followed Paul on a shortcut through the fields northwest of Avignon, our horses’ hooves crunched the herbs and filled the air with a pungent aroma.

A local farmer in blue coveralls gave us a friendly wave; he didn’t seem at all concerned about us riding over his land. A little later, as we began to pass through vineyards and orchards, Paul encouraged us to sample the fruit, assuring us no one would mind.

Now, in the distance, I began to notice tiny villages perched on top of steep hills, the houses looking just like the reddish cubes in Cezanne’s paintings. It gave me a small shock to realize how much the artist’s Cubist abstractions resembled the real thing. Later that morning, Paul led us on a detour right into one of these villages to see the ruins of a medieval church. The name of this village and its ancient church we never did learn. Paul had many strengths, but this aspect of tour guiding wasn’t one of them.

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In any case, place names didn’t seem that important--what counted was the experience of traveling through a village like this on horseback. As we climbed up the steep, narrow street, Judico’s height gave me a perfect vantage point to admire the potted geraniums on the second story window sills and to peer over garden walls to see what the villagers were growing.

When we finally reached the very top, where the church was, we saw the real point of the detour--a stunning view of the vineyards far below. Our schedule the first day was much like the routine we were to follow for the rest of the ride.

I’d be up about seven for a typical French breakfast of coffee, bread, croissants and jam. As I ate, I’d always have Paul mark my map with the day’s route. Then it was time to groom and tack Judico and hit the trail.

Meanwhile, Andre would load up our duffel bags and drive them to that night’s inn. During the morning we might make a stop or two to stretch our legs. Sometimes we’d visit local tourist attractions, but many of our stops were unscheduled, such as the time we dismounted to see a grape-crushing operation.

About 1 o’clock, we’d catch sight of Andre standing beside his little kitchen-van, grinning proudly. Lunch was leisurely, starting with aperitifs and hors d’oeuvres, followed by a first course, then a hot main course (sauteed veal with cream and mushrooms was one fine miracle Andre produced on this tiny stove), pastries, cheeses and coffee. Often we drank the wine produced by the very vineyard where we were picnicking.

After lunch, we’d brush our horses, dig the dirt from their hooves and saddle up. We’d ride almost until dark, making a stop or two as we had in the morning. As soon as we’d taken care of our horses, there was a dash for hot baths. We’d have dinner at the inn or at a local restaurant, savoring the specialties of the area. If there was any night life to be enjoyed in Provence, we never found out--by the time dinner was over, around 10 or 11, we were too exhausted to think of anything but bed.

The schedule was rigorous, and had we not all loved horses as much as we did, we might have ended up resenting the hours we spent caring for them--time we might have spent sightseeing. Still, we were able to view a number of the major attractions along the route, even if there wasn’t much time to poke around them.

We picnicked one day on a hill looking out on Les Baux, a walled city perched on a steep spur of rock, and after lunch spent part of the afternoon exploring its medieval ruins and contemporary galleries. In Arles, once home to Vincent van Gogh, we rode our horses right up to the walls of the Roman arena in the center of town.

In the town of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, in the heart of the marshy Camargue region, we shopped in the open-air market and visited the church where Gypsies from all over Europe come to venerate their patron saint, Sarah. We even worked in a brief visit to the windmill near Fontvieille featured in the writings of the 19th century French author Alphonse Daudet.

But for me, many of the highlights were of a different nature, colored by the fact I was on horseback. To ride Judico over the towering Pont du Gard, the famed 2,000-year-old bridge and aqueduct built by the Romans, was a hair-raising, unforgettable experience. No rails, nothing between us and the Gardon River 80 feet below. As his hooves echoed over the old stones, tourists gaped and snapped our picture.

But even that paled in comparison to our grand galop over the beaches of the Camargue, on the shores of the Mediterranean. It was an event I’d been anticipating since the start of the ride, and it fell on our second to last day. It was to be a full-out gallop, as fast as our horses could go, and for as long and as far as we liked.

A full out gallop is an experience that even expert riders seldom indulge in. Once it’s underway, a horse may quickly get out of control and be almost impossible to stop. It’s risky, but intensely exciting.

At last Paul gave the signal, and off we flew! I stood in the stirrups, jockey style, stretched low over Judico’s neck. I felt the tremendous power of his legs as his hooves dug into the hard, wet, compacted sand. We melded into one racing creature, skimming over the wet beach. My fear vanished, replaced by elation. Judico’s mane whipped my face, and sand spattered me from my boots to my helmet. Everything was blotted out but the sand, the sea and the horse.

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That night before dinner we gathered around the huge stone fireplace of the ranch house where we were staying. It was chilly out, and the fire felt good. We were still all keyed up from our grand galop, and everyone was trading stories about the speed we’d achieved, the sand we’d swallowed, the accidents we’d narrowly avoided.

But as I sat there sipping my wine, it hit me that tomorrow would be the very last day of the ride, and I fell into a reflective mood. I groped to define for myself what had make the trip so special for me. Yes, the racing along the beach had been exhilarating, but I realized there was no one single event that accounted for its uniqueness.

Instead, it had been something Judico had given me every day, every hour of the ride. It was he who had provided me a living connection that bonded me to the magnificent landscape of Provence. Through Judico’s legs I experienced the slope of the hills, through his grace I jumped the little streams, and through his spirit I was linked to the powerful and haunting wildness so unique to this southern region of France.

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GUIDEBOOK: Hooves Across Provence

Getting there: A France Railpass, which allows for three days of train travel in a month, is the most economical way to get from Paris to Avignon by train. It must be purchased in the United States. Cost: about $160 second class, $198 first class, per person (less for two adults traveling together). There’s a $10 surcharge for the TVG (fast train) for each one-way trip. For more information, call Rail Europe at (800) 4-EURAIL.

Horseback tours: We booked through FITS Equestrian (685 Lateen Road, Solvang, CA 93463; telephone [805] 688-9494 or [800] 666-FITS, fax [805] 688-2943) a 14-year-old company that books horse treks throughout the world. A nine-day, eight-night tour of Provence, this year cost about $2,375 (depending on the rate of exchange), including all food and lodging, except drinks at dinner, but not including air fare or land travel to starting point. Itineraries and dates for 1997 will be available in December.

Another long-time specialist is Equitour (P.O. Box 807, Dubois, WY 82513; tel. [800] 545-0019 or [307] 455-3363, fax [307] 455-2354), which offers several horseback treks through France this fall. An 11-day, 10-night Provence-Camargue ride is scheduled for Oct. 14-24 and costs about $1,730 per person, double, including lodging, meals, horses, tack and guide. Air fare is extra.

For more information: French Government Tourist Office, 9454 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 715, Beverly Hills, CA 90212; tel. (900) 990-0040 (calls cost 95 cents per minute); fax (310) 276-2835.

--C.M.