Dateline Jerusalem – Just like riding a bicycle, allegedly once you know how to ride a horse, you never forget.  Considering my recent experience horseback riding along a river that feeds into the Mediterranean Sea in the city of Netanya, at my age I do not want to try riding a bike again. The scenery was spectacular. One side of the trail was a forest of trees, the other the narrow Alexander River, more like a stream, which supposedly is the home of giant turtles the size of children.  My expectation was to ride along the pristine white beaches of Israel, on the powdery sand dunes, galloping along the turquoise water’s edge while watching colorful kites flying in the sky. Instead, the trail was rocky and hard. All we did was walk and trot, jolting my back as I tried avoiding the tree branches hanging over the trail. It seems that riding on the beach only takes place in the early hours of the morning.  By the time we found our way to the horse ranch, in a nature preserve, we had missed the opportunity.

It Used to be Different

When I was a child, almost every weekend my parents took us horseback riding in Griffith Park or Burbank.  As a teenager, I rode whenever I could and dreamed of earning enough money to buy a horse of my own.  Even my children and grandchildren inherited my love for horses and riding.  When I became religious and wore skirts and dresses instead of jeans, horseback riding was only a beloved memory. Until this week.  I had the opportunity to join friends for a supposed ride on the beach.  They are also religious and dressed appropriately.  I wore two pairs of leggings underneath my ankle length skirt, a wide-brimmed hat over the snood on my head, topped by a seems like zillions of years go helmet. I thought of all those years I used to ride. Never once did I use a helmet or wear a skirt.  Seems like a zillion years ago.

First, I had trouble climbing on the horse.  I am in physical therapy for my left knee. I had difficulty bending it enough to stand in the stirrup while trying to get my other leg over the horse.  I hoped that I could maneuver my horse in my restrictive outfit. All the while I had to concentrate on keeping my skirt properly modest while attempting to accomplish this.  No wonder women in the olden days used to ride side saddle! 

Once in the saddle, I remembered how to hold the reins, how to sit, how to direct the horse.  As we rode, my the stirrups kept shifting position and my shoes kept slipping out of them.  The bouncing from trotting seemed like I was on a trampoline. A couple of times my body left the saddle, and I thought I would be flying off the horse.  Supposedly these horses were gentle and tired by the end of the day. My horse, El Nino, was pretty feisty.  It seemed so strange that most of the horses had Spanish rather than Israeli names.  I spoke to my horse in Spanish, not Hebrew. I told him I was an abuela, a grandmother.  Maybe I should have called myself savta, grandmother in Hebrew. He did not seem to be bilingual. He ignored me completely when I spoke English.

Getting on the horse was easy compared to getting off.  When I touched the ground, my legs felt like I was standing in quicksand. I started to sink into the sandy corral.  I could not keep my legs from collapsing.  I looked dazed and dizzy, and also experienced excruciating pains in my rib cage.  Needless to say, horseback riding in Israel as a senior citizen is quite different from the riding of my youth. 

Netanya, named for Nathan Straus, one of the original co-owners of Macy's department stores in the States, is 20 miles north of Tel Aviv.  Its stadium is an architectural masterpiece, and it has several neighborhoods of private villas, in addition to modern high rise apartment buildings overlooking the glistening Mediterranean Sea. 

A bit of trivia: In 1912 Nathan was on a trip to Israel, what was then called Palestine. He decided to stay instead of joining his brother on the maiden voyage of the Titanic. Therefore, he survived while his brother and sister-in-law died when the ship sank.  Nathan believed he had been spared by divine intervention. He donated two-thirds of his fortune to Israel.  So the city of Netanya was named for him.

L'hitraot.  Shachar