Adventures Astride

Bristol Fellowship Year Final Thoughts

2007-10-14T10:49:00.001-07:00

The following two posts are two documents I submitted to the Bristol Fellowship Committee at the conclusion of my fellowship year. The first is a nuts & bolts summary about my travels; the second is another of the creative non-fiction pieces resulting from the folks I've met. Warning: they are both long. Read allllllll the way to the end! (or just look at the pictures)

In total I spent USD 22,912.74 on the project. (The Fellowship is for $22,000.00) The total spent, including two side trips outside the scope of the project, was $24,966.35 to travel to 13 countries in 361 days. Surprisingly, I spent about the same amount per week in inexpensive countries (Argentina, Uruguay, Honduras, Mexico) as expensive ones (England, Germany*). However, I did much more traveling and sightseeing in Latin America whereas in Europe my expenses were just about exclusively lodging and transportation. *Germany is an exception where train fares increased the total significantly, but the day-to-day expenses were equivalent to those of England.

And I have circumnavigated the globe! Now the only continents left to see are Africa (which, yes, does have successful therapeutic riding facilities) and Antarctica. I wonder if I can start the first Therapeutic Ice-Horse Riding Facility for Penguins at the South Pole???????

Summary at Conclusion of Fellowship

2007-10-14T10:36:00.000-07:00

The meaning of life is not 42, it’s 268.57. As a scientist, I like to boil down complicated events into a single data point. In this case, that point is 268.57. Excluding Germany, a financial anomaly, it is the average amount, in U.S. dollars, I spent per week on living expenses while on my Bristol Fellowship. Including Germany, with their expensive train fares and poor exchange rate, that number is US$350.04. For comparison, I am currently making about $300 a week as an office temp.

I went overbudget by $912.74. I had planned to use some of my own savings for short trips to New Zealand and Portugal for personal reasons and so the total for the year was even beyond that total. I lived relatively frugally, but ended up spending more than planned on transportation, mostly change fees on flights pre-purchased and the cost of 3 long-haul flights. Europe and the U.K. were particularly expensive and unfortunately came at the end of the trip and when the dollar was falling against the pound. The majority of my overall budget went to airfare and lodging. The rest was split between food, short personal trips, miscellaneous entrance fees and event fees from concerts to riding competitions, a few souvenirs including riding boots from Argentina, and postal services to mail bulky items like books and pamphlets home.

Staying with my contacts was invaluable. The money I saved on accommodation allowed me to visit more countries and more riding facilities. More importantly, it let me live the lifestyle of my hosts alongside them when not at work and include outside influences on their lives on my perception of their therapeutic riding centers. It allowed those late-night conversations in which I heard the “off-the-record” thoughts on therapy or private debriefing sessions after a long day.
Transport was also fairly easy.

I initially purchased a Round-The-World ticket from a travel agent, of which I ended up using only one leg due to scheduling conflicts with some of my contacts. Having to reroute my ticket cost time and money that could have been avoided with either more concrete travel dates and plans, or by purchasing individual legs of the ticket as I went. Though it caused extra stress to change tickets, I am glad I changed my itinerary by adding four Latin American countries due to information gained at the FRDI Congress in August. I had set out to find the lesser-known programs which obviously do not have websites or listed contact information; I found them by word-of-mouth. The small programs added an extra dimension to my travels and a whole other side of therapy that I would otherwise never have known exists.

The rest of my budget went to food, public transportation, and miscellaneous souvenirs, postage, and entrance fees. I found it helpful to take a few days off to sightsee and travel alone at the end of each destination. It was during these breaks from the project I was able to consolidate all I had learned and experienced and recharge for the next assignment. I also enjoyed seeing something of interest on my own time, meet other travelers, and talk to the local shop and café owners. Each of these elements went into my analysis of the experiences I was having through therapeutic horseback riding.

A major consideration for me was being a single female traveler. I was surprised at how much concern people had for me, right from the start of the trip to the end. It is still uncommon for women to travel for so long by themselves but, while I had to take extra precautions, I believe it is important to challenge the perception that women cannot travel alone, especially in male-dominated cultures like Brazil and Mexico. I had to give up some experiences like going out at night if not in a large group or with a local host, stick to well-guarded tourist areas of cities like Buenos Aires, and be aware of my surroundings at all times. I had to sleep in the airport before leaving Germany in order to avoid standing on the corner by myself in Frankfurt’s red-light district at 3 a.m., whereas with a group I would have probably been able to get a few hours’ sleep in a bed. Still, I had no problems the entire year with safety. I gained confidence for it, and so recommend anyone to consider traveling alone.

The best way I could have prepared was taking Hamilton Campus Safety’s Rape Aggression Defense Course in the spring, before leaving. Luckily I never had to use it, but I was glad I felt prepared.

Traveling alone forced me to find temporary friends in hostels, speak to locals, and be entirely self-sufficient from carrying my pack to checking flight numbers before going to the airport. I was able to improve my social skills which ended up being helpful to find out the pertinent information from the riders and families.

I can realize now how much I had taken communication (e-mail, letters, phone) for granted. Constant access to internet, a private phone line, and a reliable postal system are luxuries I had come to expect, until I found myself without any of them. I had to use e-mail to contact my hosts in each country, easiest by far given the cost of international calls and time differences. I found a phone mostly unnecessary but helpful only when I was in a country long enough for the SIM-card to be worthwhile and mostly for making social plans. I found enough pay phones and pre-paid cards to call home every few weeks and relied on email when possible for all other correspondence. Flight and hostel reservations and minor research was all done online relatively inexpensively at an internet café or the public library, if not at my host’s house.

I was glad to have the support of people back in the US as well as being able to update friends abroad I had stayed with. I was able to contribute to a book on animal-assisted therapies for children with autism via email and begin an article for the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association’s newsletter after contact through email. Emails with Hamilton’s 2006-07 Watson Fellow, contributed to my psychological wellbeing (mostly through humor!) and helped me conceptualize all that was going on around me from someone also right off the Hill.

Now that I’m back, I am overwhelmed by the choices with which my clothes closet daily presents me. I traveled with two pairs of riding pants, one pair of riding boots, one pair of jeans, four t-shirts, one fleece, one pair of sneakers and one pair of sandals. The rest of the weight in my pack was books, a video camera, digital camera, music collected from each country, and photo-CDs. The most important thing I took was my Leatherman pocket knife, always in my checked baggage!!, a warm fleece, and comfortable, reliable shoes. I also had a few hundred U.S. dollars on me, either as cash or Traveler’s Checks, as back-up emergency funds which came in handy.

Anything I did not need I gave away, threw out, or sent home. I needed luxuries like knitting needles when I was in the wool capitols of Australia and New Zealand, but I can reassure travelers that these things are available in other countries. I picked up needles and wool and left the needles in Australia; I took T-Shirts that I was willing to give up and replaced them with the gift shirts I received. The most valuable thing in my bag was my collection of photos both for myself and so that I could show the next country what the previous ones looked like in the spirit of cultural exchange.

Having been back for two months now, I have been a bit disappointed in myself in not doing more volunteer work at my local therapy farm but I do know I will continue the momentum from this project. It has by no means stopped even though I am home. I was able to present my trip to a small group at a farm specializing in mental health in Chittenango, NY in September and am scheduled to speak again in May. I will continue in the therapeutic field generally with my sights on my original goals of a wilderness-based therapeutic riding program targeting young women. I am planning to work in Australia again, with whose environmental compassion I was impressed. The laid-back attitude I found fascinating in the ability to uphold first-world liability standards while utilizing volunteers with a “no worries!” attitude.

I recently received an email from my host of a year ago in Mexico describing how she reunited with two friends, also whom I had visited, and recounting stories of when I was there. They laughed until they were in stitches over the horse with chronic flatulence or both of us falling asleep during a community classical guitar concert, due to fatigue from a long, hot day. If I can spark any conversation, even among old friends, I’ve been successful.

Overall, the trip was great. I am pleased. It was not always easy and didn’t always go according to plan, but I would not change a thing. I was most impressed with the hospitality of my contacts and their desire to show me the best of their individual cities and their enthusiasm in my project. I have no lack of support to continue with the topic of international therapeutic riding. I think I could appreciate each place’s uniqueness without becoming overwhelmed. I found traveling increasingly accessible without being monotonous. It’s this balance I hope to maintain for each rider I work with in the future.

Some Interesting Folks

2007-10-14T10:01:00.000-07:00

** all names have been changed to protect confidentiality (except my own!)**

Marcos.

“People don’t think about us. We are supposed to be invisible.”

I looked hard at Marcos, wanting to be sure I understood his rapid Portugese.

“It’s a big responsibility,” he repeated. “If the horse sees something, it is our duty to calm it down. If it spooks, whose fault will it be?”

I stopped to think for a moment before answering a question which I thought unanswerable anyway. How could someone be responsible for an animal’s instinctive reaction? But blaming the horse was another way of making the leaders such as Marcos invisible. The question of culpability was interesting, alluding to the gradual infiltration of the liability-obsessed society of Brazil’s otherwise carefree culture.

Still, when he spoke of invisibility he could have been speaking about the hundred or so riders who turn up weekly for therapeutic riding sessions at ANDE-Brasil, the country’s National Association of Therapeutic Riding headquarters and therapeutic riding facility. The rehabilitation they provide is directed to developing skills that the riders can use outside of therapy, so that they will be able to participate more in the able-bodied society rather than remaining segregated in their own, adapted world. Through varying the horse’s speed, Marcos helped the rider loosen tight hip muscles that are used in walking. By riding in different environments, hypersensitivity to surroundings is diminished. By interacting with new helpers, social skills are practiced and the lung exercise from physical activity strengthens the speech systems and the ability to express themselves. I would say his role was pretty important, though he never asked for credit for it.

“I am responsible for the horse and, since the horse is responsible for the rider, for the rider too. And so I take my job very seriously. Some people say, ‘but it is just a laborer’s job, you don’t need any education to do it and the pay isn’t great,’ but to me it is important to do my job for the riders and to do it well.”

Susana.

“I couldn’t understand what was happening. The day before, this man’s horse that I was trying out before purchase was jumping so quietly and smoothly and today it was prancing around in the practice arena like a mad kangaroo. I finished the course but I knew something was wrong. As soon as I left the arena, I took the jumping boots off the horse’s lower legs. They had barbed wire planted on the insides, between the boot and the horse’s leg, so that it would pick its legs up higher over the poles in order to avoid hitting the jump and digging the barbs into its leg. I took the boots off and walked away. I never got on a competition horse again. I sold my entire farm and my horses and bought this place, just for therapy and for fun, and haven’t looked back once.”

Susana had always been in the down-to-earth subset of equestrians that had a partnership with the horse rather than a mastery of it. She told her story in a matter-of-fact tone over a bitter maté on her porch overlooking the riding arena, her ducks making a racket in the background. The sun was setting over the mountains in the distance and her pony meandered past, her roving lawnmower.

She was more knowledgeable about therapeutic riding than anyone I had met in the first three months of my trip. After her decision to dedicate her life to therapeutic riding, she had been to national, Pan-American and International Conferences, training courses around the world and read all the literature in Spanish and English she could find. She had friends around the Spanish speaking world with whom she chatted online about therapy and her latest clients, keeping names and details confidential but seeking advice from other practitioners – isolated in her rural quinta but not insulated.

She told me – after complimenting my ability to understand therapy terms bilingually - the biggest challenge to the Latin American therapy group is the lack of translated written material. Most of the literature comes from Western Europe and America, so they have to be able to read English or pay for a German to Spanish translator. Their own papers gained little recognition internationally unless they could afford translation services or presented at an International Congress. Professional Development often means traveling internationally for courses and workshops in the United States and Europe and is an out-of-pocket expense.

Susana was also industrious. When she was turned away by the private riding schools and polo club, she went to the police. The mounted police, that is, who helped her out with space, mules for riding, and personnel to help. She contacted schools in the community to come out once a week with their precious free time to ride for no charge and greeted the riders just as enthusiastically when they met in town.

“Best thing I ever did,” she said about buying the property. Though the comment was triggered by the placidly setting sun and the calm and happy animals, she could just as easily have meant giving up the fame and money of competition, ending her marriage, or leaving Buenos Aires for the small town in the West.

Her riders would undoubtedly agree, as corroborated by the ear-to-ear smiles on the class’s face that morning while helping each other groom their horse and socialize on her porch while waiting their turn to ride. Airing on the side of risk in favor of therapeutic benefit rather than conservative caution, she lets the riders lead one another on the horse to learn trust and has them prepare and retire the horse themselves to learn responsibility.

As one rider recited a five-minute long poem from memory for her, it seemed his way to thank her. And Susana realized that.

George.

The first time I saw George the rain poured from the eaves of the Riding for the Disabled of Singapore covered arena. The head instructor, Bee, put on a headset-microphone which radioed instructions to an earpiece attached to George’s helmet.

“Does he have a hearing disability?” I asked.

“No, but without this I will have a speech-disability.” I felt like we were at a rock concert, shouting into each other’s ear. The rain was deafening on the roof with no sign of letting up. It was the end of monsoon season.

George’s crutches lay resting against the warm-up barrel, the big blue rain barrel identical to the ones already overflowing under the downspouts, bolted to a wooden stand that 88 year old stable worker Ringo fashioned himself so that riders could stretch the adductor muscles before mounting. Instead George carried two long dressage whips which replaced the legs to communicate with the tall ex-racehorse, Elle.

I saw George and had a chat with his father twice a week for the ten weeks I volunteered during Singapore’s therapeutic riding semester. As with any young athlete, riding allowed him the rounded interests which provided a break from school and all the stresses of being a teenager, a concept to which I could relate.

Looking at George’s resume, you’d notice his goal-oriented personality. Highly achieving in school, with many interests, many friends, and competing at the international level in several sports. You’d never guess he may never walk but, talking to George, it doesn’t much matter. He is a competitive and highly achieving athlete. His disability just a part of who he is, as much his identity as his family’s Singaporean heritage.

Paula.

“No, no, no. She didn’t trot. Paula doesn’t trot.”

Frederica’s husband was able to look on the bright side of things. When it benefited him or was his own work, that is.

Aurelio countered. “Well, she did. I said, ‘Paula, do you want to walk?’ and she just giggled. So we kept going.” Aurelio was Paula's private driver and caregiver. She had her own minivan to get her from appointment to appointment and home, provided by her family, one of the city's wealthiest.

Aurelio was not “horsey” but was outgoing, friendly, and eager to help. His relationship with Paula was one of mutual respect and admiration. He was younger than Paula, with sparkling eyes and quick with a joke that often made him laugh more than his company. He was leading Paula's own horse in the Día de la Revolución parade through the town center. I was at Paula's side in my traditional Mexican sash which my host and I had made the previous night during our “risaterapia” – laughter therapy.

Paula, Aurelio and I had fallen behind the group in front of us and were holding the parade route up. The horse must have realized this and, following his instinct, sought to catch up with his herd. The horse also took care of Paula and adjusted to a slow and comfortable jog. As Aurelio said, Paula just giggled in her big Western saddle. She had never trotted before.

But at the parade, Paula did not have Down’s Syndrome. She was not the shy and scared rider that Frederica first met when she began her own practice some 5 years ago. Today, in the parade, Paula was a princess. Dressed in her Revolutionary finest she waved at the crowd, greeted the children, and never stopped smiling.

Come Monday, when Paula appeared for her daily lesson, she was trotting around the dusty field despite her trepidation. It was the critical moment – keeping that confidence from the parade to last into the daily riding lesson just as Frederica had to battle with all her riders to keep the skills learned on horseback to translate to their daily routine. It was for this that Frederica not only instructed the riders but their helpers or parents. Aurelio had to learn to expect Paula to be independent and not put on her shoes, scoop her ice cream, or pour a drink for her. That is, to use all the skills she had on her horse when she was on the ground as well.

So, when he insisted she could, and had, trotted during the parade, it was one of the small victories upon which Frederica depends for success in her riding therapy goals for her students. He had not submitted to the assumption that Paula is helpless, nor that she should be sheltered. Aurelio had arrived at that confidence in Paula to challenge her: to see only her ability.

Sophie.

Sophie is slow. She moves slowly, speaks slowly, thinks slowly. Slowness is a habit arising from her developmental delays resulting from her Mosaic Turner’s Syndrome, a genetic disorder in which females lack an X chromosome. Through practice she can move and think faster. She was able to respond to simple addition questions quicker after repetition and one could tell which physical patterns were performed often, like picking a horse’s hoof, and which were newer like organizing the debit and ID cards in her wallet.

Sophie teaches patience. She has the answers, it just takes her three times as long as her peers, also with some form of learning disability, to tell you. I can’t help but think, having felt like molasses while searching for words when I was speaking my second or third language a year ago, everyone could do with a little patience training. Cases like Sophie reminded me of how therapeutic riding is therapy for everyone, especially those with the privilege of ability.

She also has trouble understanding verbal instruction. Like speaking with those with autism, my words had to be clear, concise, and slow. The same request I had of my rapid-fire Spanish speaking hosts or the Brazilians with a thick accent and heavy use of colloquialisms.

But we had a desire to understand each other. So I spoke slowly. I used British phrases like “pick the stable” rather than the American “muck the stall.” She asked me to repeat myself when I spoke too fast or if the emphasis was on a different syllable from how she knew the word.

She was learning to be quick and clear in her commands with the horse. If she wasn’t, the horse would be either taking off or not moving. For the first time since leaving her parents’ house, she was responsible for herself through the horse; whining or throwing a tantrum, or slowing down, would not change that.

The program is about developing ability. Just as I had to learn to listen, think, and speak faster in Latin American Spanish in order to maneuver their society, Sophie had to rehearse her actions in order to function in the fast-paced modern British society which will not wait for her. At least learn some tricks, as I had in Spanish, to fake it if society as a whole would not change just for her.

Sarah.

I woke up, chilly in my makeshift sleeping bag in my one-person tent and went to roll over and curl up, piling clothing around me as insulation from the English night. I couldn’t move. I felt like a statue and panicked. My legs were frozen into their position, joints and muscles alike atrophied from sudden overuse.

I laughed out loud, wondering if the neighboring tent-dwellers and RV-campers could hear me. How silly I am, I thought. Many of the riders I’ve met in the past 11 months feel this every day of their life only instead of feeling spooky, this feeling of dead weight below the waist is normal for them.

It had taken 11 months, 15 countries, countless conversations and a 31-km walk carrying 20 kilograms on my back to even begin to contemplate what these riders actually feel. But contrasting this temporary paralysis with the hike across the New Forest that brought the sensation to bear I know I am only farther from understanding their worlds.

I had decided to walk from my final contact in Lymington, Hampshire on the southern coast of England, across the newest British National Park to Salisbury, from where I would travel by train to Gloucester to volunteer at the International Paradressage Championships. It would give me a chance to think and symbolize moving on. It did end up being a microcosm of my year-long Bristol journey. I met interesting folks along the way and, in learning about them I learned about myself.

It was not easy. I loaded myself down with expectation, anticipation, and self-importance but, burdened with the weight, dropped a lot of things along the way. Before leaving my house in Lymington I unloaded all but the essentials – my sense of adventure, curiosity, and secret desire to be an Explorer and set off to see what was out there. I had a map but I still got lost. I checked my compass often but not too much to miss the scenery.

There were things that weren’t marked on the map. A part of my course was fenced off for preservation. So I climbed over the 8’ fence, pack and all, rather than going some 10 extra kilometers out of my way. The road I had to cross, which looked on the map like the typical quiet country lanes of Southern England, turned out to be the 120+ km/hour main motorway, complete with guard rails and 5’ deep median ditch which had to be crossed. Some parts were easier than I had expected and some parts nearly killed me. But I was prepared mentally and physically and I finished what I set out to do.

Ten hours after I set out, I arrived at my campsite. I looked at the whole route which I had been marking on my map as I went along. When I could finally drop my bag in the final location (until the next day, at least) I very nearly broke into tears for satisfaction, accomplishment, pride, and exhaustion. I felt I had found something – I just didn’t yet know what it was. I still don’t quite know. Like atomic mass, the total is greater than the sum of the parts and though I can tally up the little bits I’ve learned along the way – what terminology is best practice in therapy, how to lead a horse using only my body language, creative ways to find funding for nonprofit endeavors, and how to clean a stall the British Horse Society approved way – it doesn’t add up to nearly as much as the sum of the 49 weeks’ experience.

So lying there in my tent, enduring a burst of pain in my pelvis to stretch my legs out and rotate my screaming hips, I felt like Louise when she said to Thelma, “I’ve never felt so…awake.” Aware of how little I really know and how deep the river is despite apparent placidity, I felt awake and alive. But whereas the times in the past when I’ve felt this it was because I felt good or healthy, this came from a dull, persistent pain like I’d rarely felt before and thought, everything has changed.

The first entry in my journal reads “Who will I be in a year? What will I learn/realize; how will I change? At the same time I don’t really expect any change in particular in me – I just know that I will.” With great effort I rolled over and fell asleep again thinking of the line from a Mexican pop song which became my motto for the trip: “Nada de esto fue un error” – None of this was a mistake.

2007-08-27T13:28:00.000-07:00

"I began to understand the difference between danger and difficulty. Danger can't be helped by technique or effort, only handled when it arises. But difficulties can be overcome with discipline, by scoffing at the laziness of heart which tries to escape the sweat and suffering that develop ability."

-Yuichiro Muira, The Man Who Skied Down Everest, Harper & Row Publishers, 1978 (p.146)

Back. Home?

2007-08-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Yep, I'm back.

I have been gone 370 days, visited 14 countries and 15 therapeutic riding centers, spent $22,000 and met countless people.

So now comes the Big Question that I've worked so hard to avoid answering - the one that is supposed to sum it all up, the one that at least looks on the outside like a polite bit of conversation.

What have I learned from all this?

uh, well, let's see, um....

It's a hard question because on one hand I could fill volumes with the things I've learned. I know about contraindications of therapeutic riding, how to select a suitable horse, how to train the horse from the ground, how to use "soft hands" and more perna (leg). I've learned when to ask more questions and when to listen. I've learned to converse in another language and that the Golden is the Queen of all Apples. I learned about dozens of medical conditions and how to make a mate. I learned how to operate a hydraulic mounting chair, cook cactus leaves, pick a stall the British Horse Society-approved way, play dominoes, speak to an autist, safely operate air brakes, outfit a surrey to accomodate a wheelchair, eat a mangosteen, and mount a moving horse from the ground.

But the grand, worldly things? The life-changing, book-selling, consciousness-raising things? I'm going to need more time on that one...

What I can say is that this trip was 100 percent about the people. If only I had recorded the voices of all the instructors, riders, EAT (equine-assisted therapy) enthusiasts, parents, carers, and employees of these programs it would be an incredible testament to the dedication, passion, joy, and wisdom that's floating around out there if you just take a moment to listen for it. But of course I was selfish and just kept all those words for myself. (Originally, that's what this blog was meant for. But I've also learned I'm really bad at updating my blog.)

I am immensely grateful to all the folks that hosted me in their homes, opened their facilities to a random stranger and showed me around their city. Some 14 horsepeople from four continents went out of their way to make me feel not just welcome but at home; how can I possibly be cynical about the world in general after that? Countless more took time from their lives to show me around, take me for a good vegetarian meal, and just have a conversation. I've been asked by other travelers how I found these people - just by asking around, sending random e-mails, and hoping for the best which, I believe, is precisely what I got.

My experiences would have been much poorer without my contacts. Though I traveled alone, I was never really by myself. I always had a network through the riding centers of interesting, funny, intelligent people. Without them, I would have just been a perpetual tourist looking at buildings. The vacation would have ended each time I left a place. But with friends around the world the connection lingers after I part ways.

I guess I did learn one thing, then: to look for more stories, more perspectives, more voices. I can only do this by starting conversations, looking for contacts rather than staying comfortable in my solitude, and listening to what those people have to say. I built up my own story from all the ones I had collected along the way both from pre-selected contacts and random strangers at the bus stop.

And so an eerie thing happens on this idyllic suburban street on which I grew up: nothing. It's quiet. Quieter than Singapore! Quieter than my solo-trek across the New Forest in Southern England. I don't know any of the neighbors and I don't even know many people in the area anymore. So I'm back, but not home.

And now? I'm looking for someplace to call my own home, to continue writing the story. To find more stories right here in the US with a new perspective of my own. To challenge myself again and, of course, watch as much trashy reality TV as possible. (just kidding on that one) I can hopefully be the one on the other side now and host friends old and new to repay that cosmic debt of hospitality. I owe a lot but it's a debt I'll be more than glad to pay back...even with interest.

Significant Surroundings

2007-07-09T12:43:00.000-07:00

The environment in which riding therapy takes place constitutes one of the major differences over traditional therapies.

Nature, the outdoors, and the farm setting provide unique, salutary and refreshing opportunities for those who stand to benefit from horses. Notably outside of the walls of clinics and hospitals and often in the fresh air of open country spaces, the change of scenery alone aids the psychological improvements in clients as well as breaking the routine of physiotherapists and psychiatrists who similarly stand to benefit from the outdoors.

The Fortune Centre, where I'm staying now, is further privileged by being located in Hampshire's New Forest in the south of England. The more than 90,000 acres of heath, bog, deciduous & conifer forest, streams and estuaries is also home to some 3,000 New Forest ponies allowed to roam among packets of land owned by commoners. Maintained by the council of verderers and agisters, the ponies are bred annually by registered stallions and the colts & foals rounded up for sale in order to monitor the number of ponies.

While the ponies are not wild in the strictest sense of the word, they nonetheless roam their respective areas with little human intervention. The herds have their most natural herd instincts still intact in a natural setting as opposed to a paddock or riding arena. The students at the Fortune Centre are able to witness what is as close to "wild herd" behavior as possible in this part of the world these days - right in their back yard, literally. Herd behavior is compared to the students' own interactions and used to discuss how one member may be harming another.

As a herd is interdependent on one another to fulfill the basic needs and therefore survive in the Forest, so must the students in the program depend on one another. They must communicate clearly when a peer is within their personal space, as a horse may bare its teeth, flatten its ears, and kick out, as well as help and assist one another, as mares will form a circle around babies to protect them from weather or predators. The students must similarly learn teamwork in order to accomplish a task impossible on their own.

Stallions are released into the forest for a three-month period in the late Spring/early summer to ensure the species' survival for the next year. This provides parallels and opportunities to discuss sexuality with the teenagers who, at times, resemble stallions and mares in heat themselves.

Perhaps most importantly, the Forest is a tranquil setting. Drawing thousands of tourists annually, the quiet, relatively remote location makes it ideal for this type of therapy. Away from distractions and full of natural beauty, the forest begs for introspection. Opportunities abound for walks, bike and horse rides on the miles of track, and trips to hundred-year old pubs. Idyllic, isn't it?

If only that meant that the students were lovely and well-behaved all the time. It is encouraging that the Centre utilizes their most valuable resource to a great extent, allowing the students to hack a horse in the forest and, weather-permitting, weekly activities in the forest. I have used it to fill my time and guard my sanity with long walks on the weekends and evenings. The only dangers are the rare adder and the omnipresent Stinging Nettle - no bear spray here! And it's flat and therefore more inviting to people who can tolerate only moderate physical exertion.

It's amazing how such a simple thing like getting outside can be so good. I guess that's what this project is about, after all. So get out!

are you serious

2007-06-22T02:00:00.000-07:00

As this project goes on and the weeks start looking more like the full year, I'm asked more and more about where I've been and where was "the best so far?" There is no easy answer to that question - each site is different and they are not playing on a level playing field - so I appease the polite question with a sincere and truthful "they are all so different, each is good at something else."

I think people are expecting a quick and repeatable answer, like "Brazil" or "they were all great, but you know, Australia's system just blew the rest out of the water." But firstly, I don't think any program is explicitly better than another, a statement I've been making since day one, and secondly the countries I have chosen were purposefully not equal to begin with in terms of economy, available land, and equestrian history. How can I compare rural Uruguay with sub-urban Germany? Even so, I dislike hierarchical comparisons because they serve little purpose towards global improvement, that is, they let the "better" facilities off the hook for growth and learning.

So towards the end of my year, it would seem that I've just confirmed my hypothesis, namely that programs around the world are, well, different.

When I look back over the places I've been, though, I must admit some do stand out in my mind. In terms of pure therapy, I learned more earlier on my trip as I was on the steepest rise of my learning curve. I also visited the most personally challenging locations (Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, Honduras) first and the most comfortable ones (Singapore, Australia, England) in the second half. Nonetheless, the first places I think about when reflecting are always Mexico, Brazil, Uruguay and Argentina. Why these places... for their outstanding dedication in adverse conditions? For their creative solutions to problems like lack of community or government support? For their innovative procedures given their newcomer status to therapeutic riding? Sure, these things were impressive, but mostly because the locations were fun.

In another year I won't be able to spit back memorized statistics, remember how to say "place the ball in the bucket" in Spanish, or speak intelligently about the situation of the population of Hondurans with Down's Syndrome. But I will remember learning samba steps in Brasilia, calling the Mariachi "ayayayayayayayiiii!" in Mexico, the having a secret midnight civilians' feast in the Cavalry barracks of Uruguay, and driving through vast expanses of pampas in Argentina. This fellowship is about collecting adventures and experiences, and in that sense I've received much more than expected.

I did have plenty of adventures in the latter countries and continue to do so in England, but the lively and outgoing culture of Latin America is unparalleled. I do not mean to say the others are not fun or I didn't enjoy them, nor that I enjoyed every minute of Latin America. But I doubt the jumping competitions of the quite serious UK often end up as all-night social occasions as did the one I saw at the Club Hipico de Porto Alegre, Brasil.

And the fun is not left outside the riding arena. If the therapy team enjoys life it is evident not only after hours, but during the session. In an alternative therapy, where the client has the right to simply stop coming if he/she doesn't like it, a sense of joy is essential to the program's own survival. No one is in therapeutic riding to make money or become famous (if you are, get out now!!) so it makes sense that those who have undertaken the challenge must necessarily be full of gratitude for the life they do have. Granted, some riders need a serious riding teacher, but riding need not be work. A challenge is good, but forcing someone just creates bitterness.

The other question I'm often asked is what I plan to do after I return to the US. I know I won't go into therapeutic riding full time. I don't want to get burned out and lose the passion for it, and it's not self-sustaining on its own. I do know that I'll continue to learn and be as involved as I can. I do want to run my own multidisciplinary program one day, involving riding as well as outdoor education to run multi-day trips for people with disabilities into the mountains. I'd like to specialize in women-only trips and focus on empowerment. But what I've learned from this is that it must be fun, or I'll go crazy. Well, crazier.

To close, I'm reminded of what a student at my current placement said to me yesterday while pushing a wheelbarrow across the stable-yard. I noted he was singing joyfully as he worked to which he replied "got to sing! Got to sing to get the job done!" and off he went, singing his song.

The Flying Circus

2007-05-15T06:22:00.000-07:00

Her cheek hit the rubber shavings topping the thick sandy footing surprisingly softly; her most hated part of that arena ended up being the one thing that softened her fall from grace.

Instinct and training took over in trying to roll out of the way of the Australian Sport Horse’s hoof as it innocently fell toward her face. The horse was not being malicious, just playful, but boys will be boys and the quantum leap he surprised the leader with resulted in putting three adults at risk. They would all forgive his equine prank. They’d say the things they were meant to say, analyze the event, and reiterate the standard-issue safety plans to avoid it in the future. But at that instant when she was unable to roll in her quicksand landing zone, she couldn’t know that conversation would ever occur.

Instead the visions came. That famed moment of clarity, accessible only to hallucinogen addicts and those convinced they are about to die, arrived at consciousness’s doorstep to liberate a stream of past events in a monumental Hippocampus Jailbreak. Expecting a somber, respectable series of images in the style of 1930s news reels, she was unapologetically disappointed. Instead a series of ridiculous, comedic follies came to mind, and no one fully understood why she got up from the ground laughing.

The visions began from how she got into this situation in the first place, running awkwardly over footing designed to build up mounted police horses’ rump muscle, not for geriatric humans leading geriatric horses, and being jerked to the ground by intellectually disabled Paul’s mount, Warrior, execute a tribal warrior’s agile leap into the trot. Blind Michael bounded into the vision from the lesson forty minutes earlier, lost in the arena, crying out “Where am I!? Where am I!?” as he had done for the past 20 years in the same venue. He didn’t bother to stop his gigantic half-Clydesdale mount, choosing rather to trot recklessly through the space. The horse, complicit in the blind maneuverings (or lack thereof), showed as little concern as the rider, trusting the helpers to dive out of the way if they wish to maintain their own full capacity of all their limbs. Next Martin, the truck driver who gives more of the jittery impression of a crack addict than a professional truck driver, arrived in a disjointed sort of hurried stroll, setting up arena games. He worried so much that one of the riders would be bored with the number or variety of toys available that he ended up filling the entire arena with cones, poles, groundrails, beanies and blocks so that no one could just walk in a straight line.

The autist from Canberra showed up in her own private magical theatre, looking at his photo in her camera and excitedly pointing in recognition of the subject: “it’s…it’s….it’s my jumper!” After which, the floodgates opened for a full-on parade of quirky characters: Terri and Gillian from Singapore carrying a life-sized plastic Ronald McDonald. Richard with a new outlandish story to pass off to the uninitiated volunteers as truths with a straight face and a cigarette from a delicate silver case. Ladies who describe themselves as “respectable” and “civilized” going ghostly pale as an audacious Singaporean autist informs them that they are boring, or generally act in a manner deemed by high society as “improper”. So fast that she almost missed him, Bryan raced through her mind’s stage. He couldn’t stop as he had to touch every car out in the parking lot, fast, fast, because then he would have to touch the shoulder of everyone in the waiting area. There was Fabiola imitating her horse’s backwards flight during the parade when spooked by the traditional Mexican banda right in front of the Governor of Chihuahua. She reenacted the event on foot with an animated salsa-influenced Moonwalk ending with a full-body flourish which showcased the tiny disabled rider in her arms and a Miss Chihuahua- worthy smile.

Argentinian Liliana showed up with a full-size Warmblood carrying an adult from the Psychiatric hospital (classified, she later disclosed, as dangerously psychotic) and being led by a poetry-reciting man with Down’s Syndrome and autism, the rider happily distracted by nature, the leader in the sixth minute of his recitation, and Liliana standing back, grinning in her disobedience to the doctors and Group Home administrators as she allowed the team to meander her farm unsupervised. Gustavo dos Santos was there in full formal military attire, introducing his horse GiftMinister in his best Uruguayan accent, a goofy grin of the utmost pride at his horse and respectable name which sounded like a sloppy sneeze. Regis (pronounced “hedges”) strolled in later in a sweater-vest, knee-high gumboots, a tweed cap and a whip, looking for anyone who would take a lesson from him but preferring, in the end, to drink a mate and smoke a hand-rolled cigarette on the porch. Finally in came the Brazilian guias. Bruno carried a domino set for when the rain came and Karlos, the self-appointed leader of the motley pack, had the criolo pony that had been stolen by a teenage gang and started dancing with it to get a smile out of his small, pigtailed rider.

As the images reeled back and back to the point of herself, standing in a Sao Paolo, Brazil airport having missed her connecting flight and with virtually no Portugese skills, a thunderclap just above the crown of her head broke the silly reverie. The horse’s hooves pounded past her uneventfully. The rider and the sidewalker were unharmed and only a bit shaken.

She would think later, during the ride home with Martin, of her late-night talks with Fabiola in Mexico about “risaterapia”, laughter therapy. Fabiola was right, she would think, it is the most important aspect of therapy, after safety. It’s maybe one of the most important things to carry anywhere– a good, infectious laugh and an ability to turn that laugh in on onesself, especially in therapy with people whose lives are all too serious and professionals who are expected to maintain confident solemnity. But in light of her newfound power to see events from a starry distance, the therapists, volunteers, riders, and support team who work in equine therapy became a three-ring circus.

Come one! Come all! People that doctors have told have little hope, people that physiotherapists recommend never playing sports, and children that parents wrap in cotton-wool, all are welcome in the Therapeutic Riding Show. The ringleaders perform their act daily – the Disappearing Wheelchair, the Flying Elective Mute, turning Cerebral Palsy rider’s calipers into Perseus’ Flying Sandals. They laugh in the face of the medical risk associated with riding and interpret insurance legislation, all for a bit of fun. Riders sway side to side like a highrise in a windstorm but it is of no concern to them, all part of the act, and the ensuing chaos of six horses careening around the arena all for the enjoyment of all.

Who are these crazy people, she thought, and what are they trying to tell me?

Brushing sand from her fleece and beginning the proper safety checks of horse and rider, she knew laughing was inappropriate but, like the visions, she could not dam the river overflowing its banks. A good infectious laugh erupted, until the hilarity of the single event had smoothed the wrinkles it caused in the session and kept everyone, at least for the moment, a bit sane.

Have therapy horses, Will Travel.

2007-05-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

OK, first let me apologize for letting the blog lapse for so long. I am hopeless, what can I say.

I just finished a 3-week run with Riding for the Disabled of Victoria's mobile unit, operating out of Officer, Vic., a suburb of Melbourne. The mobile unit is based on this farm where 23 horses currently live and truck up to 6 horses per day out to currently three different venues near the city. This allows therapy to be offered in places where it otherwise is impossible if there is no space nearby for horses.

Monday and Tuesday mornings I went with the truck out to Caulfield Racetrack where the horses are set up in the central carpark, a grassy little area with access to a club house, level pitch for riding, water and toilets, and the riders can drive right up to the gate. Three hour-long sessions were conducted between 10 am and 2 pm.

Wednesday and Thursday nights the truck goes out to South Melbourne's mounted police barracks. It's great because it's so accessible to inner-city dwellers including by train or tram and electric scooters can get there independently. Because lessons start at 6 pm and the truck arrives no sooner than 5.30 pm, adults who work during the day can volunteer or take lessons, or kids in mainstream schools without special permission to leave during the day.

The mobile unit comes self-contained with equipment, games, paperwork, and a driver that's also a certified O-level or level 1 coach (depending on the day!) so that volunteers and riders just show up at their designated center and are provided with therapy!

Friday a new site was just beginning at Lysterfield, another suburb. I only got to see the assessments, but it's a brand-new arena and clubhouse, so holds much promise. Sessions are also run in Officer at the farm on Tuesday mornings and all day Saturday.

So though there is less and less land available in Victoria as suburban sprawl sinks its claws into the state, the mobile unit is a creative way to provide this service for more riders at venues easier for them to reach. The problems? Though the horses are extremely well cared for by their manager Anne, who lives on the farm, going on the truck is pretty stressful for them. A horse will go on the truck no more than 3 days per week and do no more than 3 sessions per day, ideally. The cost of the truck eliminates costs of maintaining several properties, but is still expensive itself for fuel and maintenance. It adds another dimension to consideration for a therapy horse as well - in addition to the normal high standards for selecting a therapy horse, it must also truck well and deal with working quietly in an unfamiliar place away from its paddock-mates.

But from my experience, it was worth it. The truck creates community from virtually nothing, in places where therapy otherwise wouldn't be at all. Volunteers, riders, horses, and coach still bond for each day's site just as they do at separate centers, but with the mobile unit maybe it's a bit closer to home or school. The idea also involves community figures like the police department who loan the facility and the management of the racetrack, automatically increasing awareness and possible aid if needed.

I found the mobile unit as unique and interesting as I had expected and hoped. Not to mention some of the awesome people I met through my 3 short weeks there...and as always time flies and so must I...to Europe! The next adventure to finish up the journey (!) is Spain, Germany and England - I'll try to keep updating!

More quotes from B'wizc.

2007-03-23T04:01:00.000-07:00

From Aaron's account of his attempt to take the Postal Service exam last week.

"...the ticket said we could not bring bags bigger than 8in x 10in. This doesn't make sense to me because they are putting two-dimensional constraints on a three-dimensional object. They had 8 x 10 pieces of cardboard that said, "Your bag must be small than this." If I had held the base of my bag up to the cardboard, it would have been smaller than it, but the postal folks only noticed that the face of my bag was bigger than the cardboard. I tried to argue that my bag is only bigger than the cardboard when looking at it from certain angles, but they didn't understand me."

Marvels of Modern Travel!

2007-03-23T03:49:00.000-07:00

I love dozing off and waking up in another continent. I love the feeling of being a body in motion. I love that one can pop in on one's neighbors thousands of miles away!!!!!

To recap, I went from one little island in the South Indian Ocean to another little island in the Tasman Sea to pay a surprise visit on a friend there. I wish Blogger could do venn diagrams, but you'll have to imagine the circles yourself. Here is a chart to help you distinguish New Zealand from Singapore.

Singapore.

-Everything you could ever want or need can be found in a mall.
-One can visit floors greater than the average human life span but the one "hill" summit reaches a dizzying 162 meters. Yes, meters (531 ft)
-It is unacceptable to give knives or clocks as gifts
-a six-pack of Tiger Beer costs around US$10 in a supermarket

Both S'pore & NZ.
-are islands.
-have about 4 million people.
-have roads
-Have a port and trains that no one uses really.

NZ.
-is green and leafy
-has topological features
-Shoes are not required except perhaps in hospitals
-a six-pack of Tiger Beer costs around US$6 in supermarkets.

I hope this helps you keep your islands Straights (pun intended...)

Holding on...Letting Go

2007-03-01T04:18:00.000-08:00

I can do it myself!

The familiar phrase that any parent - especially mine - has heard again and again. The reaction tends to be protective and well-intentioned - yes, you can do it yourself, but I'll just help you so no one gets hurt.

But if the adult (or whoever is liable) ends up doing the task, the child does not buy the tagline "see, you did it yourself!" when in fact they have not. They DO buy what is implicit in the interaction: the adult not trusting the child, the child not learning the skill or to trust themselves.

In many cases, it's a minor occurrence - a book is carried to the shelf, a glass of milk is poured. Perhaps a glass is spilled. Perhaps a knee is scraped from a fall from a bike. Perhaps a horse turns a corner. The instructor does not want to see the child fail, especially if they are disabled (physically and/or mentally) and, more importantly, does not want to see the rider hurt. Thus, leaders and sidewalkers end up doing most of the work followed by the all-important "look what you did on your own!"

But in therapeutic riding, leaders and sidewalkers are responsible for a person who is told all the time "cannot" both explicitly and implicitly. They cannot walk on their own. They cannot ride the bus. Cannot scoop ice cream for themself. Cannot cross the street. In the lesson, they have additionally learned Cannot steer the horse, cannot pet the horse, cannot enter the stall, cannot get it moving.

But now eliminate the second half of the contraction and imagine the rider who, after fourteen fails, gets the horse to move on try number fifteen. They have learned "can." For someone in a world of cannots, that one hard-earned "can" is more important, I think, than all the cannots it took to get there. And the instructor does not have to say anything.

I have 5 independent riders in the morning session to my care and one in the afternoons. (Independent refers to the fact that they control the horse without aid of a leader. The terminology, note, differs for different organizations.) Today I had the comment from one sidewalker: "That's really great they can ride on their own. In my three years here I've never seen that." Granted, she's seen a very small cross-section of RDA riders, and the riders that show up to her particular sessions are very nearly random, that is, it is partially only coincidence that two riders capable of independence come on Thursday mornings during the Jan. - Mar. 2007 session. But the part that is not coincidence is that the leader has to take that huge leap off the bridge and unclip the lead rope and, well, see what happens.

The obligatory safety disclaimer: You must be an experienced leader as well as sidewalker, know what to do in an emergency, etc. and be especially sensitive to the rider's particular disability, psychological state, as well as the other horses in the arena ..... in other words, it's the teacher's (read: my) fault if anything happens to the rider, and I'm aware of that.

But in this risk analysis, I tend to take the plunge. If they have good control, I don't get caught up in my having the traditional job as "leader," I let the rider take over and let them know it. I try not to condescend to the rider. I want the rider to have fun firstly, but I don't let them just mess around for 45 minutes. In this sense, I don't think it's coincidence that allows two independent riders on the same horse in this session. I think there could be a lot more independent riders, actually, if the leader would just trust the bungee cord and the technicians who have tied it and jump off the platform of safety, security, control.

I do get feedback from the riders which is lucky, as some seem to have no idea whether they are on a horse or on Mars. They cannot write me a recommendation letter (though maybe I should ask, I'm looking for jobs now...anyone need a physicist/mathematician/riding instructor??) but they do spend a good five minutes looking to make eye contact with me once they've boarded the schoolbus, then persistently waving until I think, 'that little hand is going to fall off soon...hope it's not the writing hand.'

Finally, I don't think my leading/sidewalking any miracle. I just try to think about asking for more than I expect of the riders, a concept I learned from amazing women like Liliana (San Juan, AR), Fabiola (Chihuahua, MX), and Fatima (Brasilia, BR). They are not living their passions by giving pony rides to people they pity. They are making a difference by giving confidence and expecting effort in return. Fabiola used to say "Si se puede!" (Yes you can!) ... she'd never let out a "cannot la."

*****note. 'can' and 'cannot' are staple phrases of 'Singlish'... as in response to a question regarding ability to do something, "can la!" or "cannot la!" where "la" is used in the manner of the Canadian (Buffalo....) "eh."

The name is just so cool!*

2007-02-17T06:13:00.000-08:00

It starts by filling up your mouth and then rolling off the tongue. Forming on the roof of the mouth, it stretches the lips from an O to a long line and back, and ends (in American, anyway) in a throaty growl: Kuala Lumpur...say it slowly, Koo-aaah-lah-Lum-pooorrrr. One of my Spanish professors once said "cellar door" or "se lo da" was the most beautiful phrase to say, but I think Kuala Lumpur comes close. Too bad no one ever calls it more than a short and simple "KL."

Both KL and S'pore have tall buildings, highly nonlinear street grids, and something known as "vegetarian and non-vegetarian food." But KL is clearly different than my temporary-home IslandCityCountry. For one, it's not super-wealthy like S'pore. There is visible poverty in the form of shanty-towns whereas Singaporeans, like, oh, I don't know..Americans, don't appear to realize that there is an entire industry centered on trash-picking in many countries. Walking down the street in KL, one is called out to with not particularly polite catcalls, and today I even got to ride the chicken-bus (the rattley old public bus crammed with as many people as possibly fit in the volume enclosed). There are curb-side roving food vendors of questionable hygiene - but cheap - and my favorite: loiterers!

For many, these are the inconveniences and ugliness that Singapore has worked hard to eradicate in its own society. But for me it was a welcome reminder that there still does exist a world out there besides the bubble of comfort and safety created purposefully, paternally, artificially, on the Independent Island to the south. Singapore, in this sense, reminds me a lot of Hamilton with its bubble of idealism and opiate of security such that those inside forget about everything else or banish the reality of the third-world to something that happens in textbooks and intellectual debates and maybe the occasional Charity Ball. Never something real, visible, and tangible even if it's your own neighbor. Kind of like Brazilian favelas or the city of New Orleans.

I like knowing a little chaos exists. It reassures my faith in the second law of thermodynamics.
(all systems move, in time, toward increasing entropy or toward increased disorder)

Speaking of physics, I went up to the bridge/viewing deck between the Petronas Towers, the world's tallest twin-towers (Taipei 101 is taller) but quite possibly the world's largest Faraday Cage and damped oscillator. They have a bridge in the center linking the 41st stories of each tower, for stability and easy access. The engineer referred to this bridge as the "Door to Infinity." I like to think of it as a Spacetime Portal - if we humans could find such a Portal time travel would be sooo much easier. We wouldn't even need the flux capacitor.

And so tomorrow I get back in my bus, cross the Straight of Johor and back In Line. Don't worry. I'll continue with my little acts of Rebellion to amuse myself, like secretly slurping sips of coffee in the back of the bus, nipping across four lanes (and two bus lanes) 200 meters before the crosswalk, and standing outside the yellow box on the escalator. And like this post, I can always regress to physics to explain things. I've found that works much better in Singapore than a social-science approach; the buildings and the fast-moving mascroscopic bodies are much more accessible than the people.

*thanks to ma for the title inspiration

Spare some change...

2007-02-17T05:11:00.000-08:00

I knew all those hours logged closely observing the panhandling techniques of bums and children in South America would come in handy one day. I got my long-awaited chance to panhandle - legally! - in the most unlikely of places: Singapore.

The government of Singapore grants non-profit organizations exactly one day per year to solicit pedestrians for small donations (coins, small notes) placed in cans on the street. The org. is not guaranteed its own day and may have to share with another organization, and they cannot choose when their day is, so it may occur during vacations or particularly sluggish pedestrian days. The "flagging" is typically performed by school children looking for hours to fulfill their community service requirement. For places like RDA with high operating costs and which does not charge the riders for lessons, it's one of (if not THE) most important fundraisers for the entire year.

Now, Americans may think of the image of the Salvation Army Bell-ringers or the bums in the streets of NY or Philly: just grab a pot and go. Done. Use a cup if you can't find anything else, stand there and look cold or hungry. Worry about it a day or two in advance. But this is Singapore, so it becomes a full-time operation for a few months beforehand and several weeks after the actual Day.

First, RDA must get the tins. Thousands of tins. The tins must be clearly labeled with the organization and the sponsors. The tins must then be counted, sorted and bagged according to location. Students must be recruited to flag and briefed on their duty. Licenses must be obtained for the students. Stickers must be purchased to exchange for donations (because once you've donated, you receive a sticker so you are not asked again. This is Singapore). Centers must be contacted. Tables and chairs for coordinators must be provided. Center coordinators must be recruited and briefed. Tin runners must be organized. Police forces must be notified.

The day before the event, tin runners pick up their bags of tins and center managers pick up the "official Clipboard" with student rosters and acceptable flag locations.

I was a Center Manager for Plaza Singapura along with Terri and Jayne.

The day of the event, center managers arrive around 8:30 am (or 1/2 an hour before the students are due to arrive). They are to notify security they have arrived and will be conducting flagging that day. They either set up the table and chairs they've brought or make sure they can obtain one from security. The tins are then organized for when the students come to pick them up.

When the students arrive, they must find their name on the list, sign out a specific tin - each one has a four-digit serial number - leave their ID number, cell phone number, time out, and signature.

On receiving their tin, the students are reminded of the places around their region they can go - a radius of a few blocks from their check-in point, no more, as students are stationed all over the island. They cannot go inside the subway stations, inside shopping malls, around places of worship, into the intersections, or in restaurants to beg. They are then shipped off to panhandle like the best of the bums! In a densely populated, consumer-centric culture, places like Plaza Singapura in the center of the main shopping district are packed with mall-goers. On the weekends, also, people go out to Kopitiams (food courts) to eat and inevitably go shopping, so there is no shortage of passers-by.

When the students' shift has expired, they are to return with a full tin of money, the center manager checks that it's the same tin they signed out, and the student's debt to society has been paid. When all tins have returned, center managers ship them off with a driver, whose identity has been checked and recorded, to take the tins to RDA overnight. The center managers confirm they have finished with Security for their location and are free to go. Should a tin go missing (note: a tin, not a student), it is the center manager's job to report it to the police, for it's now stolen property.

This account, of course, is how it should go. This is my account, as a center manager, of how things actually DO go on Flag Day:

You set everything up nice and organized, ready for the students to filter through. The first students come in and get a tin, going off merrily. Ten minutes after their shift starts, the horde of students rushes the table in the manner of Vikings storming the castle walls. Shortly thereafter, the frazzled ex-pats begin screaming at them. Order in the form of fear of these crazy white women is temporarily restored while the first hundred are processed. Fifteen minutes later they have left the area to finally go panhandle. One manager is elected to yell at the students sitting on the ground or in Starbuck's, just around the corner. Another mans the table while the third kicks out the kids who've come from two MRT stops away, who thought they'd have a better shot on Orchard than at Toa Payoh.

Repeat for the second shift of students, though this is combined with simultaneous retrieval of morning-shift students. Students who return with an unsatisfactory amount of money get a verbal notice of their disappointing behavior and an "x" under the Comments Section.

If time permits, one may go panhandling onesself. However, as you are not allowed in the MRT stations or to ride around on the bus or train, one can only get a few coins and dollars. Shamelessly use pity, "disabled children" and confront people face to face.

DAY TWO: COUNTING DAY!

Once the tins from each center has been returned to RDA and guarded overnight, the task remains to count the coins. All the tins are opened and the coins dumped into colanders and mixing bowls, the empty tins sent to be recycled. Bills get piled out of the wind to be ordered and counted. The coins are moved to sorting tables where volunteers (me!) sort endless piles of coins into $1, 0.5, 0.2, 0.1, 0.5, 0.1, old coins, and foreign coins. The 100 through 5 cents then go into entirely useless counting machines which are meant to put specific numbers of coins into bags, but really just break down, jam, and effectively torture the operator. The bags, finally loaded, are labeled and lined up in another room. The 1 cent, old, and foreign coins must be further sorted by hand, as pennies aren't actually used anymore but there are still old and new pennies. The old coins can be redeemed at the bank but as are a different size (therefore weight), they jam the counting machines. Then the foreign coins sorted by country. This job looked more like a scene from 'I Love Lucy' with 6-12 English Speakers trying to figure out which coins go to which Asian country. Malaysia and European places were easy, but for comic relief as much as utility one could hear cries of "This one has a guy with a hat!" and "Dude with glasses....dude with glasses...anyone seen a dude with glasses..." to find the coins' clansmen. One had a "ganja leaf" and we found a good dozen coins from Fun Zone!!!

And if you know why people are carrying around obsolete European currency in Singapore, I'd love to know. Apparently a few years ago someone donated a farthing....????? We found two watch batteries as well.

All in all, RDA made over S$140,000 in one day. Not bad for an island of 4 million when the citizens are asked every weekend for their spare change. Maybe I will just start a program to send the children in the Buenos Aires subte stations to Singapore for one day. I'll give them a license and a uniform and no one will be the wiser!!!

(that's a joke, Singapore government. I won't do it.)

Flag day is quite the experience. Not only for the typically Singaporean over-oderliness but the opportunity to see over S$100,000 in coins!!!!! I was surprised they allow begging at all, but the idea of allowing just about anything as long as the government can control it is typical. Take that prostitution is legal and there is a specific, monitored space for youths to rebelliously graffiti the walls and sidewalks - but only with acceptable graffiti.

As for "My Project" this ties into the Volunteering Theme I'm developing in Singapore. To me, it illustrates the failure of Mandatory Voluntarism. A contradiction itself, the term connotes failure from the start. Some students were enthusiastic, dedicated, and hard-working. But many were uninterested, apathetic, lazy. We found them sitting in clumps, taking lots of "breaks," checking in late, asking to leave early. One tin came back without one cent in it. One group of kids got their tins and proceeded to sit under a tree RIGHT IN FRONT OF US! So not only are they apathetic, this group was just stupid too! We took their tins back and informed them they would not get credit. So next weekend they'll go out again and this time sit out of sight of the collectors and still get their points for graduation. Students stick their tins in bags and go to the movies. Stories like this abound, implying also the general apathy of teens to everything, which clearly is not being affected by this service requirement. They are multi-taskers -while flagging they are apathetic AND active, all at once!

Students also come to RDA on a weekly basis to do their hours. Points corresponding to community service hours are graded, so these students who put in more time over the year earn more points and higher honors or something of the like. But we've had to cancel an entire class because the school cannot guarantee a sufficient number of students reliably. By sufficient number here, I am talking about a maximum of 18 students - 6 leaders and 12 sidewalkers, but really they'd only need 3 or 4 leaders and 4 to 6 sidewalkers, yet 7-10 people cannot be counted on to show up every week. So those riders cannot ride.

More on volunteers to come. But for now, try to think about four thousand quarters all stacked up.

"Hippotherapy, a proven method"

2007-01-16T02:23:00.000-08:00

The OSIM iGallop product website reads:

"iGallop is inspired by hippotherapy, a long established tehrapy based on the belief that the rhythmic movements of riding a horse is benficial in improving the cognitive skills, blanace, posture and strength in the rider.It is especially effective for mobilising joints, building muscles and improving balance as the gallop of a horse closely resembles the human stride."

(copied & pasted from http://www.osim.com/SG/product/igallop.aspx)

I was astounded when I saw this gyrating stool in one of the many electronics stores in Singapore. I literally had to stand there a few minutes in complete awe and disbelief.

My astonishment was a mixture of shock that someone would actually shell out nearly S$1000 (US$660) for this product and the acceptance of riding as a genuine physical & medical activity while simultaneously removing the horse - the vital element of the team - from the picture entirely!

It seems there are two sides to this invention. The first is quite beneficial to the hippotherapy cause. It acknowledges the health benefits of riding, something that has been long known by the horse world, but not the "mall-going" crowd. It has now made its way into high-tech, high-priced boutique stores like Brookstone. This is actually not too surprising. Golf and tennis appeared not long ago in these stores in the form of virtual reality, this is just another Country-Club sport made "easier" by actually bringing it into your own home. It also has the potential to increase awareness of the sport and its therapies by reaching a crowd who otherwise may not see a farm. It could be an alternative to riding for those with an intense fear of horses, or allergies.

On the other hand, there are quite a few problems with iGallop. I couldn't resist sitting on the mechanism, reminiscent of a mechanical bull, myself. It has four settings - "trot," "gallop," "race," and "circuit." Notably there is no walk, the gait most used in therapy. (I must add here, this device is certainly NOT for therapy. It is marketed as, and intended for, exercise only. However, I have never been on a treadmill that forces you to start out at a brisk jog right off the bat.) The trot was a bumpy, almost TOO rhythmic gait, and the gallop was a wobbly, swinging motion kind of like what you might feel on an old horse with bad joints (in my humble opinion. But according to the clerk, I wasn't sitting right, that is why it was so uncomfortable). It did have a tridimensional movement, but maintaining my balance I found extremely awkward. Perhaps this was because I am used to the barrel of a horse, whereas this is no more than a cushion the size of a small chair's seat and the rider's legs are either pulled up beneath the curved stand, extended in front of the body, or pulled behind, depending on which muscles one wishes to work. It is not intended to sit in proper riding position, with a straight line from the ear to the hip to the heel. The classic position is what improves the posture, strengthens muscles from the neck to the lumbar and opens the chest and the diaphragm.

The iGallop clearly does not look like a horse. It is not supposed to. This means only the rocking motion of the horse's gait is stimulated, not the lengthening of the legs and the upward impulsion on the trunk. Without the heat of the horse, the hip and thigh muscles are not relaxed in order to elongate and build the muscles. The arms are left to ... twirl your lasso???

The most notable difference, of course, is the loss of the actual living creature. The psychological benefits of hippotherapy (and riding in general!) are absent, which makes me think the thing, like so many treadmills and stationary bikes sold in the '80s and '90s, will end up as a clothes-hanger or modern art in some apartment, when one loses interest and the machine loses novelty. With a constantly responding and evolving being, as well as exposure to nature and new people, riding perpetuates interest in itself.

You can watch the commercial on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwocdImA6Z8

I recommend it, it's pretty amazing.

pics

2007-01-12T20:50:00.000-08:00

Signs, signs, everywhere signs - do this, don't do that, can't you read the signs?

<---This is the kind of thing you see everywhere. And people actually follow the signs because they will actually be fined for disobedience.

My favorite is getting on the bus or the subway (MRT):

I am so smart...SMRT...

My happy family in Costa Rica :-)

Unto us all a little rain must fall...

2007-01-12T19:39:00.000-08:00

Just a little rain ...???? I found out this week that by "rainy season" they really mean Monsoon Season.

We aren't talking a drizzle, or a shower. The thing is, we are used to heavy rain in the northeast for short periods of time, not hours on end. I missed the Chuva de Caju in Brazil, but got to experience this sort of rain here in Singapore.

It's the density of a showerhead, drenching the streets for hours at a time. The intensity varies over this period, but may not fully stop all afternoon. A raincoat alone doesn't cut it. I had to buy an umbrella yesterday, but I have pretty much resigned to accepting the fact I will be soaked by the time I go home.

RDA is located in a lowlying floodplain. Last month when they had record-breaking rains, the most shocking photos were from the plant nurseries at the top of the road that RDA is on, and every time it starts to rain the road outside turns into a river. The drains become whirlpools and yesterday I witnessed a tree crashed through the metal rail into the storm drain canal.

I would not be so amazed if it were snow - that I am used to. But this is an apocalyptic amount of water. It is incredible. I hope the photo gives some idea of what it is like. Luckily the arena is covered so lessons aren't canceled every day!

SINGAPORE! - Finally...

2007-01-10T03:24:00.000-08:00

Throughout Latin America, my hosts and friends have asked about Singapore and to email when I arrive. The distance and its exotic image were intriguing to me, too.

So after some 24 hours on a plane over 3 days - minus one I lost somewhere over the Pacific - I FINALLY made it to Singapore.

The last line in the screen in the pic to the right is "flying time to destination" when we were pulling out of Chicago. It reads 15:22.

OK. At this point admit it. You don't actually know what/where Singapore is.

S'pore is a small island at the southern tip of Malaysia. It is 1 degree north of the equator, neighbor also to Indonesia. Singapore is the country as well as the city, home to some 3 million people. English is the business language though most people still speak Mandarin in the homes. The population is comprised of Malay, Indian, Chinese, Indonesian, and "other."

The city can be walked in a day (though definitely NOT seen in a day), and someplace a 30 minute bus ride away is considered "far." Despite the size of the country/city, there is a well-organized infrastructure for EVERYTHING. Gum IS outlawed but smoking is OK - just not inside or in public places or the subway. The main difference is that in other places, there are signs warning not to do something, but everyone does it anyway. Not in Singapore, thanks to their heavy fines, rigid enforcement, and harsh punishments (e.g. death for serious drug charges). So people ACTUALLY walk their bikes over the overpasses, wait for the "walk" light, and do not eat on the bus or the metro.

This structure extends to the Riding for the Disabled Association, just northwest of downtown next to the polo club. I was impressed not only with the immaculate facilities but the organization of the program. It is largely dependent on volunteers, all of whom get trained to be leaders or sidewalkers, much like programs in the US. Leaders are responsible for preparing the horse and walking it around the arena before lessons start at 9:30 sharp, and untacking and retiring the horse afterwards. Sidewalkers are responsible for the kids from the time they leave the waiting-area until the time they return after their lessons.

17 horses live at the facility and are used for 2-45 minute sessions in the morning and another 2 sessions most afternoons, 6 days a week. Most impressive is the pivotal covered arena, especially now that it is the Rainy Season, but something most places in Latin America are lacking.

Any program in the world will tell you the demand is higher than the center can handle for therapeutic riding. Singapore, in response, has created a ten-week Session system. Riders are accepted for these semesters, and at the end a new group is admitted for riding lessons. Some riders repeat sessions and attend for longer periods, could be years. But most just come for those 10 weeks. This applies to volunteers also (like me!)

As time goes on, the volunteers will be able to see a change in the riders - I hope. They specifically have volunteers stay with the same horse/rider team not only for consistent companionship but to monitor progress better. Sidewalkers also complete a report at the end of each lesson on the kid's ride that day, so are forced to notice the subtle differences in their rider.

I will try to update on those revelations, that is, if I don't get myself arrested or lose the rest of my fellowship to fines.

Exercise 1. Smile, Sing, Dance, Laugh.

2006-12-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

While in Chihuahua I read this book on the connection between physical movement and learning. It included some 25 exercises to do which apparently increase one´s concentration and memory. While it was more theory than I enjoy in a "scientific" text, it brought up some interesting questions. At the end were the actual exercises. One of them was called "Sonrie, Canta, Baila," or Smile, Sing, Dance (I am adding laugh to my list), the principle being that you can manipulate the physical manifestations of happiness and contentment, and the brain will follow. The depressing or sad feelings are given 5 or 10 minutes of attention, then one continues with the exercise. This way the feelings are not denied, but they are not allowed to govern the conscious thought processes.

As I said, I have yet to research any peer-reviewed, journal-published papers on this idea, but it describes succinctly the basic idea upon which I fixated in Chihuahua. The idea being that if the rider has fun, if they enjoy their half-hour session twice a week, then the job is done. THe therapy has been successful. So how to make the sessions fun? For one by realizing that every rider truly is different. While you can learn everything about Down´s Syndrome, all your down´s riders will not respond to the same exercises. Every single class, both between riders and between classes for the same rider, was different, unique, and very much intuitively conducted. Thus instead of doing the same exact exercises for everyone and risking them becoming monotonous, try different exercises, change them, make the movement into a game, give the rider a task. One rider is bored just reaching to the mane, and so is given the job of placing colored clothespins in a specified order on the mane. Another rider doesn´t have fine motor skills, and so enjoys just reaching forwards and behind.

But what really makes the difference is the personality and the attitude of whomever is conducting the therapy. Do THEY want to be there? Is he/she smiling, laughing, enjoying the afternoon? And of course, not every rider should be treated the same emotionally either. While some need jokes and laughter, like Aron, who would spend the entire time in a fit of laughter, others dont understand or don´t appreciate silliness. What they will realize, though, is an atmosphere which everyone enjoys.

This idea extends not only to the therapist, but the leader of the horse, the side-aids, and anyone else in attendance at the session. The first rule of volunteer (or employee) retention is to keep them happy and make them feel appreciated. What better way than by making therapy a diversion for them as well, instead of a chore they have to do after school, after work, etc.?

To return to the theory of singing and dancing to learn, the application to equinoterapia is that the rider doesn´t "Feel" like they are in therapy. Even if the rider never crosses over into the Sportive division of therapy, the psychological power of riding makes the sessions a diversion, rather than an obligation (well, hopefully!). If their mind is removed from the actual therapy the horse provides naturally, the muscles can also relax and receive greater benefits from the motion of the horse. And if they are having fun, they will want to come back.

Next to the hope that the riders have fun in the sessions, a therapist hopes that the benefits from riding will transfer into daily life. Sometimes the changes are notable, and parents are always forthcoming with a Miraculous Improvement in their child´s gait, their personality, etc. Most places that have been around for a while have seen a rider go from wheelchair to walker to independence. That was a fact that astonished me at first and fueled my interest in this project, but now I see it is acutally pretty commonplace in equinoterapia worldwide. I think it is great that I am no longer surprised that wheelchair-bound people walk on their own after utilizing mounted therapy. Things don´t always transfer, though, or at least not right away. Mary, a super-dedicated rider with Down´s Syndrome, is learning to steer her horse with both hands, on her own; the other day she learned to stop her horse on her own and navigate various obstacles in the ring with two hands. But when her driver saw me ask her to turn right, he ran out of the car and started yelling to me, "she can´t, she doesn´t use that hand." Once I understood what he meant, I told him, "no entiendo!" The irony being that she was, at that very moment, using her right hand. He explained later that at home, Mary will try to scoop ice cream with one hand, resulting in no more than pushing the carton across the counter, and reaches for things exclusively with the left side digits. But she will brush Pajarera with a brush in each hand, grab the saddle with the right, etc.

So what if the therapist can get the fun, the enjoyment, the laughter to proceed outside of the arena? Sometimes it does not work, like Mary´s right hand function. But sometimes it does. Riders become more outgoing, arrive already smiling or with a joke to tell, at home become more cooperative and lose a bit of attitude or so the parents say. Isn´t that the whole idea??

Like any theory, the time came to test it out by putting it in action. Just before I left the family I was staying with had their annual Christmas Posada - like a Christmas party basically that remembers Joe, Mary, and the Donkey looking for shelter and being denied at every turn. The guests were 15 aunts, sisters, and cousins - only the women - and me. Of course I felt out of place being the only one not in the family, not from the country, eating only the rice (everything else was meat), and being one of the youngest. The great thing about these women, though, is they seriously practice "Smile, Sing, Dance." When the musicians arrived, they hadn´t even set up the equipment when the women started calling out requests, moving tables for a dance floor, and letting out the classic Mariachi yell (aaaaaiiiiiiiii-hahahahaaaaa!!!!). I thought, wow, this is definitely NOT a Proper English Christmas Party. No tea cups here. I should note at this point the most alcohol anyone drank was the flute of sparkling wine we all drank before dinner. Someone brought a bottle of tequila, and when it left at the end of the night it lacked maybe 2 or 3 shots.

So the band begins to play some mariachi tune. EVERYONE is up dancing, and before I know it one of the aunts is beckoning me to come out to the dance floor. I dont need much coercing when it comes to dancing, so out I went, modestly practicing the basic steps until I was told by the aunts to START DANCING! THey were out there shaking and moving like pro´s, it was amazing and wonderful. Soon everyone was dancing like crazy, singing at the top of their lungs, stealing the microphone in a sort of makeshift karaoke manner, and generally laughing and enjoying themselves.

It was powerful not only for the room of fifteen women thoroughly taking pleasure in the company, but because it confirmed the idea, for me at least, that if everyone around me - no matter how different - is being silly without regard to any kind of vanities, I can relax, physically de-tense my muscles, and have a good time too. I said later, "well, it is impossible NOT to have a good time with those women, they don´t allow it."

So while riding inherently involves a significant amount of concentration, challenge, and safety concerns, that does not by any means signify that it must be a serious endeavour. In fact, perhaps it is better sometimes if it is not, at least in the warm up, cool down, and interactions with the family off the horse. It not only provides a release for the riders, but keeps the volunteers (ME) happy too. If you are doing therapeutic riding, it is for the passion of it. Why make it a chore????

----------------------------------------- Colligan´s reply (rejected by blogger)

Hey Griffmaster,

There is actually a body of psychology that talks about what you were reading about, where people read an identical story and were asked to record their emotions afterwards. 1/3 of the group was told to smile the entire time, 1/3 to frown and 1/3 controls. The smiling group reported feeling significantly happier at the end of the story than the other two. Basically the brain works top-down and bottom-up, which is SO cool. I love the insightfulness you're giving these posts. I like the point about how it's important that volunteers enjoy what they're doing and feel appreciated. I need to work on making people feel like that in my volunteer "job."

Colligan

Talk about putting yourself in Their Shoes...

2006-11-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

Common Difficulties of Autistics include:
-Inability to discriminate sounds, such as in a large crowd
-Inability to detect unstated meaning in words
-Lack of understanding of body language
-Vocabulary inappropriate to age

It is really amazing how much we left unsaid and expect people to understand, but it seems to me that even in one´s own language, the assumptions we refuse to articulate leave a huge gap open for deviant interpretations, not to mention the fact it signals that we are probably saying something we should´t. I like the Ani DiFranco quote "we don´t say everything that we should so that we can say later, Oh you misunderstood"

Though it is kind of fun not understanding folks -- when someone makes a face or gesture apparently replete with unspoken significance, and says, "you know?," the expression of surprise and terror that follows my reply, "no. what do you mean?" is quite amusing!

So why the title of this entry? Part of this project is breaking down the "Otherness" of disabled groups. I am not saying, of course, that I have much in common with a carrier of a lifelong genetic abnormality, but rather that there are ways to relate to their experience, nothing more. By viewing these kids as not really so different from me, it automatically addresses the discrimination that is masked in pauses in the conversation and phrases like "you know what I mean..."

Random fact for the day: the WHO officially changed the term "mongoloid" to "Down´s Syndrome" in 1965. The same year in which the Voting Rights Act was passed, 575 Civil Rights Activists were attacked with a fire hose in Selma, the United States began bombing North Vietnam, and the Pope officially declared the Jews not responsible for the murder of christ.

Not quite as civilized as the Mayans, but...

2006-11-09T09:11:00.000-08:00

My guidebook to the ruins of the Mayan civilization at Copan reads:

"Archaeological investigations indicate that during its final decades, the city of Copán saw an unprecedented demographic growth. This brought with it a great intensification of the agricultural system, which in turn caused a spiraling rate of environmental degradation.

The expanding population was forced to spread into areas that were hardly apt for settlement, let alone agriculture, on the steep slopes of the hills and mountains that surround the valley. There they deforested wide areas, which were already only sparsely covered with trees due to the demands for wood for construction and more particularly for firewood for food preparation, lighting in the homes, and the production of lime for plaster floors and building facades. Samples obtained by paleoecologists provide dramatic evidence for the disappearance of the forest.

Similarly, archaeologists working in the valley have found indications of massive erosion of the soils in the foothills and mountains. It is also believed that there were marked climatic changes: intense droughts, with river and stream levels going even lower, disastrous floods during the rainy season caused by lack of vegetation cover to slow down the flow, etc."

sound familiar? Virtually all of the 27,500 inhabitants of Copán valley at its peak disappeared. The population would not be that large again until the 1980s, almost 1200 years later. And yet, favelas are growing around Tegucigalpa; entire mountains in the Copán and Sula valleys are clear-cut for agriculture, while water is harder and harder to find. Whereas farmers used to be able to find groundwater at 200-300 ft, now they are digging some 1200 ft to reach the water table. Hurricane Mitch destroyed an entire country 8 years ago, and bridges and cities in Honduras are still being rebuilt.

But global warming can´t be a problem, that would be too inconvenient. We still treat major irregularities in the environment like the Gods are angry, and the only thing to do is build more temples and hope our problems disappear. Hope someone else (or something else) takes care of it for us. I discussed all this with my host while we drove some 25 kilometers in his Diesel-engined truck, noting how people just throw their garbage along the roadside. It is easy to discuss the problem, but everyone has to take responsibility for their own personal contributions. I drove over 10,000 miles in six weeks this year and used over 1,000 gallons of gas or approximately 250 barrels of crude oil at 42 gals per barrel. I have spent a total of 3 and a half days on a bus so far. I have planted no trees, I don´t go out of my way to recycle, and I drink only bottled water (though that is for a much more important reason!!) I dont eat any sort of meat, which uses 25,000 liters of water to produce each 8 ounces of beef. In the US, the meat industry´s land devoted to growing cattle food uses 14 times the land used to produce vegetables for human consumption.

The mayans didnt have internet yet, but we do! Go to http://www.myfootprint.org/ to see what your ecological footprint is...and how to reduce it. If everyone lived like me, we would need 8.4 planets. But hey, that would make the cosmological dynamics of our solar system more interesting...and chaotic. (haha, get the physics joke?)

Love, your favorite tree-hugger

The Power of Tourist-Man

2006-11-08T08:26:00.000-08:00

The following is an excerpt from an informational leaflet given to tourists upon purchasing Tunu, a Honduran tree bark fiber used to make traditional clothing, but more recently only artwork and various souvenirs:

"After making the naturally cream colored tunu cloth, the women then dye it. Previously, they used natural dyes and the colors have special significance. Tourists complained these colors were too dull, and now commercial dyes are used."

Proof that Tourist-Man does, in fact, rule the world.

2006-10-30T08:07:00.000-08:00

¨

¨La Instructora Internacional¨

I gave this 5 year old kid and his two older siblings a riding lesson in San Juan, Argentina (note the pre Cordillera in the background!!!). They were awesome, riding just to ride and have fun.

On the riding in south america: most hipicos (riding clubs) have horses and plenty of trainers from which you can choose to do jumping or dressage. When I start explaining that you can jump but ask your horse to be slow, consistent, and balanced the general reaction is ¨que?¨ ... huh? You can have fun and practice equestrian sports without entirely dehabilitating the horse´s legs by the time it is 17? But why would you want to go slow? Then you can´t jump as high, and if you dont jump as high you are not as manly...

No, english riding doesnt exist here yet, so I generally say I did sort of, dressage without the patterns. It sounds really boring that way. So I say, yeah, i jumped, somewhat reluctantly because it isn´t ¨Jumping.¨ It seems to appease my audience and is true.

I even explain that the horses that never stop at the fence, that hit fewer rails, that don´t fall down in their turns, are the ones that have a firm basis in groundwork- and likewise with the riders. The riders that have a good seat, light hands, and feel minute changes in their horse´s rhythm are the ones that don´t come off when the horse refuses. The idea of working at the walk first, then the trot, then the canter seems incredibly patient, more so than argentinians or brazilians have. Though they do have beautiful horses.

Fortunately this doesn´t translate to the therapy arena. Everyone I have seen has worked with their kids and adults on the basics first, and understand the significance of small victories - relaxing a fist, grabbing a ring, uttering a sound. By enforcing basic balance, trunk control, and gross motor skills the rider will automatically gain futher benefits - without having to do anything! Riding in circles and extending both arms (together or one at a time) works muscles on both sides of the torso. Suddenly the rider can sit up at home, walks more easily, in many cases abandons a wheelchair or walker, has more energy because they are able to breathe more efficiently, and speech patterns improve. Why? Because they worked on something basic first. Patiently.

OK, I can apply my patience to riding and all things horses. Now i just have to learn to apply it to airport security and the omnipresent dude who leisurely rolls his Lacoste Rolling Carry-On Accessory across the entire airplane exit ramp, because neither he nor anyone in the 37 rows behind him, has a connecting flight leaving in 32 minutes.

probably wont write for another 3 months now

2006-10-28T17:44:00.000-07:00

The following is what i sent to the Fellowships Coordinator after nearly 3 months into the project. it´s true, i probably won´t write in this blog until the halfway review. i would rather spend my time with the horses.....

enjoy.

“Equinoterapia is pretty much the same everywhere; one may use more games or different toys, but basically it is the same. You will come to realize that on your trip.”

This was told to me by one of the riding instructors who built a therapeutic riding program in Uruguay after having gone to school for therapeutic riding in Italy and Argentina. At the time I was 10 weeks into the year-long journey to note the differences, or lack thereof, of therapeutic riding centers around the world. If this woman was right, would the 52 weeks and $22000 be wasted? For a while I was worried that at the end I would find nothing I couldn´t have learned about therapeutic riding at the center I worked for at home in Pennsylvania. I would have good stories, but little new about therapeutic riding.

Then I realized that she just meant that all centers use the horse as a therapeutic facilitator. In that case, of course all centers are the same, that principle allows the community to have national and international associations, hold conferences, and exchange ideas under the common name of therapeutic riding, or equoterapia, or equinoterapia. But the differences from one center to another are important. Compare these centers to doctors. All doctors can evaluate your health and prescribe medicines, but not all are equal. One must feel comfortable with the doctor, the office location, the office staff, and his or her qualifications, or you don´t return to that doctor. Now imagine there is only one doctor in the county, or even the state. If you don’t have a choice, the differences are less important as getting healthcare, but the doctor should not take that fact for granted.

Likewise with therapeutic riding. Though it is new and there are few centers, those who choose to supplement therapies for riders with cerebral palsy, autism, multiple sclerosis, Down´s Syndrome, paralysis, or any of the other disabilities served by therapeutic riding, deserve the best possible experience. Thus the games one plays, the setting, the staff, and the philosophy of the center does matter, apart from the horse itself.

This is what I have been thinking about while in Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina. Though my original proposal was to stay in Brazil for this period, I met people from centers throughout South America in the International Congress of Therapeutic Riding and it became clear that other countries would be as important, if not more, to visit than seeing only ANDE (Asociacao Nacional de Equoterapia) affiliated centers in Brazil. Before the Congress, there was no way of knowing this as both in Uruguay and Argentina, there is very little internationally published literature for the small and new programs. However, they proved invaluable contrasts to the military-run structure of the Brazilian program. For example, I was surprised at how many South American programs are run by or aided by the government. In Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina, the cavalry is a long standing tradition that has become obsolete with the mechanization of armies worldwide. However socially they are prestigious and not eliminated. Many have given space and three or four horses for a therapy program as a social responsibility. Other private centers provide jobs by employing people to lead the horses and act as auxiliars for more highly compromised riders. In both cases, though, the rider must not be going to therapy, but rather for riding lessons. Making it sportive increases the quality of life of the rider by providing an escape from their disability, where they are just practicing a sport with other riders.

A very brief summary of my travels thus far is as follows:
August 4 – Sept 4 – ANDE-Brasil (Brasilia, Brasil)
Sept 10-24 – Centro de Equoterapia de Porto Alegre, Porto Alegre, Brasil
Sept 28-30 – Equinoterapia, Buenos Aires, Argentina
Oct 2 – 7 – Equinoterapia “Sin Limites” Montevideo, Uruguay
Oct 9 – 14 - Escuela de Equitación del Ejercito, Montevideo, Uruguay
Oct 15-21 – Fundación de Equinoterapia San Juan, San Juan, Argentina
Oct 22-24 – “Chicos y Caballos,” Mendoza, Argentina
Oct 27 – Nov. 5 – Asociación Hondureña de Equitación Terapeutica

The Federation of Riding for the Disabled International Congress in August was a convenient way to begin the project, as I was able to make plenty of contacts who assured me I could go visit their centres and fully support the project. It also introduced all of the scientific work that had not been published before the congress. I learned much more about the work and the different schools of thought than had been available before the Congress occurred. One in particular was Mexico and the Central American association of therapeutic riding. Mexico is one of the strongest associations of therapeutic riding, and had a large contingency in the Congress. They are working to integrate other alternative therapies such as music, as well as quantify the benefits of riding with neurochemicals released by riding. One problem for therapeutic riding programs is a lack of acceptance in the medical community due to the largely anecdotal benefits of a riding program, with little quantified results. Several centers in Mexico are working to change this. For this reason, I would also like to revise my proposal to include Central America. I will spend November and December, before the vacations, in Mexico, in addition to visiting Honduras where issues of poverty also are included. I have several contacts in central Mexico that have agreed to host me, though I plan to stay with one center and travel briefly to others nearby.

Finally, I am struck by how excited my contacts have been about the project. Everyone has requested frequent emails, particularly once I reach the exotic locations like Singapore and Germany. They want to know not just what works these places present at conferences, but what the lessons are like day-to-day. Do they play the same games, do the same exercises, use the same horses, have the same professionals? These area all questions I have been asked about equinoterapia in the United States. They have just as many questions for me as I do for them! Furthermore, that someone from the first world has come all the way to South America – to their center – to learn about therapeutic riding is special and fulfilling for them. I received Official recognition from the government of San Juan, Argentina, for the project, and was received by Colonels and Commandants of the Brazilian and Uruguayan army. The more people I meet, the more I realize the fact that I am interested in them is as important for their work, that they continue to grow and to realize the difference they are making. Sometimes it just takes someone from the outside to point those things out.

I know all centers are not the same, I have already realized that. They all are built from the basic principles of therapeutic riding, namely the tridimensional motion of the horse and the warmth transmitted from the horse´s back. Yet each director of a program imbeds a different personality in the center. For that reason, they are not equal. In Montevideo, riders can choose between riding in the country´s finest polo club with three women who do nothing but therapy, or in the country´s finest riding school with soldiers conducting the horses. Neither is better, but providing an option of different styles allows the rider to find one that best suits their own personality. Providing a comfortable, enjoyable, and fun experience is essential to this therapy which is not clinical but sport; this is the only way to improve the quality of life, physically as well as mentally. I look forward to many more unique programs, not only to learn more myself but to share methods and techniques that I have seen elsewhere, help make appropriate contacts, and even more promises to return or at least meet in the next International Congress in Germany in 2009.

Equoterapia

2006-09-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

So, turns out I am pretty bad at updating. This is due only to the lack of internet access in the places I am going, and I doubt it will improve anytime soon.

But to get to the stories. So I went to the 12th International Therapeutic Riding Conference in Brasília, Brazil, from August 8-12. It was awesome and very informative, though definitely academic. It was what I was used to, but I just spent 4 years in lectures and reading abstracts, so I was glad afterwards to begin the Hands-On learning that this fellowship is all about.

I stayed in Brasília with the Asociacão Nacional de Equoterapia (ANDE) where I got to ride the horses and observe lessons during the week, and hang out on the weekends. ANDE-Brasil oversees therapeutic riding centers for the country and is subsidized in personnel through the Brazilian military. The center has a therapeutic riding facility, the ANDE offices, and an equitation school. It is interesting that the equitation school´s revenue pays for the equotherapy, and the practicants pay only a minimal amount like 10 reais (about 5 bucks) per month for therapy. ANDE centers are based on a multidisciplinary philosophy. Each equoterapia center has a team of therapists - fisio (physical), pedagoga (learning), psicologa (psychologist), and fonoaudiologista (speech-hearing), as well as the riding instructor and doctor(sometimes). These people all convene daily or weekly to discuss each individual case and devise a treatment program. though they won´t all work directly with the client - who wants 5 to 7 people just to conduct a freaking pony ride!?! - they are all complicit in the progress of the rider and contribute their individual knowledge. It makes for a much more complete therapy, and also requires each member of the team to have a little knowledge of every area.

I left Brasília, the lovely planned capitol of Brazil, a week ago and traveled to Rio to visit Catherine. We hung out with Cristo on Brazilian Independence Day, then went south to Curitiba, Brazil´s model city. It is very clean and has a lot of old buildings.

We chose Curitiba because it was half way to my next destination, Porto Alegre. I am staying with a psychologist I met in the Congresso who works at two different centers here. One is private and has 4 horses for therapy. The other is in the Cavalry facility and has I think 3 or 4 horses as well. Family members of the military don´t pay for the therapy since it is part of the cavalry, and others pay very little. Several military sites in Brazil have equoterapia, because they have the horses and the space...might as well do something good for society with it!!

The thing that strikes me in my first stop about equoterapia here is the lack of political correctness - in a good way - and lack of pretension. In teh US I felt like there was a physical distance between the therapists and volunteers (the able-bodied) and the practicants, which translates to an emotional distance as well. Mostly this is law-mandated by sexual abuse laws. But in our culture, when we greet someone we shake their hand or wave or for good friends we might hug them. Then we return to our comfort zone with 3-4 feet of air around us at all times. In the therapy arena, the rider is in contact with the horse and only the therapist, and the volunteer´s arm. When they dismount, the horse gets a pat and that may be it. Several papers have been published proving the therapeutic benefit to the rider of the sensation of touch, which is a founding principle of therapeutic riding. But if the people around the child aren´t allowed to touch the child SAFELY and APPROPRIATELY, how is the child going to learn physical contact or that he/she is cared for? Here, in most cases, the practicant hugs the volunteers and the horse, holds the hand of the therapist, and voluntarily sits with the leaders. Brazilians greet each other with a kiss on each cheek and are generally less distant. This translates to therapeutic riding with much more contact-oriented therapies. Of course they are more comfortable with it socially and I am not saying we should start hugging everyone in teh US, which is definitely not acceptable, but I am advocating thinking critically about ways we show affection. If you can´t tell someone you care for them, how? With some of these practicants you can say as much as you like and they wont understand a word. But you can convey that message very clearly with simple ´contact between friends´, the theme of the Congress.

I will be in Porto Alegre until the 24th, then I am going to Uruguay and Buenos Aires. I will try to update when I can!!!

Hippotherapy...Equoterapia...Therapeutisches Reiten

2006-08-04T09:18:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you combine a quadrupedal animal, a therapist, a rider living with some mental or physical impairment, and lots of smiley volunteers?

That's what I'm trying to figure out.

There's something about horses that seems to make folks happier, a little more self-aware, and even heal faster. It's been documented over and over in a few scientific studies, but mostly in client testimonials. The papers' results sections are unbelievable, and there's plenty of criticism within the scientific community about the validity of methods, data collection and analysis. But I suspect the critics have never stood alongside a horse when a nonverbal rider learns a new sign to get her horse to trot, and the huge grin that results, or a wheelchair-bound child get to fly, or a teen classified as "troubled" finally have someone trust him or her. For me, the scientific evidence and sentimental testimonial support and compliment each other. They are both saying the same thing: horses have the ability to heal.

I'm going to four countries to work at therapeutic riding facilities and live in the culture in which the riders live. Though I can't enter their psychosocially atypical world, I can try to observe it. The first stop is Brasilia, Brazil for the Federation of Riding for the Disabled International Conference. After the week of conference events, I'll stay on with the national organization of Therapeutic Riding, also in Brasilia, and move about the country visiting farms. After that I go to Australia, Singapore, and Germany and try to be good about updating!

Be a responsible citizen - Educate yourself!
www.frdi.net - FEderation of Riding for the Disabled International
www.narha.org - North American RIding for the Handicapped Association

there are a ton of therapeutic riding facilities and smaller associations too - check them out!!

Therapeutic riding is used for riders with mental and/or physical disabilities as part of a therapeutic program. Hippotherapy is a specialized fraction which involves a trained therapist in the riding arena. These programs are used for riders with autism, cerebral palsy, ADHD, grief and emotional trauma, etc. Riders are not just kids, either, they are anyone able to sit atop a horse.

I'm interested not only in how therapeutic farms function internally, but their place within a society. How does it fit into treatment programs? How do riders feel about their lessons? How do traditional farms interact with therapeutic farms? How are horses trained specifically for this purpose? What do the doctors think about sending clients to a smelly barn instead of a sterile room? How do families pay for the therapy? Why does the staff keep doing what they're doing?

The first stop is Brasilia, Brazil where I'll be working with ANDE-Brasil, the National Therapeutic Riding association, then traveling around. Maybe I'll even get to hop on a horse sometime!