My new friend Javier not only trailered Andariega to Eduardo’s home for me, he also rode out of Durazno by my side.
“I can’t let you ride out of my hometown alone,” he said as we made our way out of town.
Riding his blue roan Viejo and ponying another blue roan colt, he kept me laughing the entire time. Telling me tales of his youth chasing wild skirts and riding crazy broncos. In a matter of minutes, the saddle made old friends out of Javier and I.
When we arrived at the farm Mario had lunch ready for us, and Javier got a serious look in his eyes.
“Filipe the truth is, I wish I could continue on with you, this is a dream for me, but unfortunately I have my family and work to care for. But it would be an honour for me if you would take my horse Viejo with you until your mare (Andariega) is recovered,” he said.
“Oh my god, thank you so much Javier, are you sure,” I asked.
“Yes I’m sure, when you arrive in Florida, call me and I will trailer your mare there for you and pick up Viejo.”
I didn’t even know what to say. Here was yet another man, I had just met a day ago, lending me his favourite horse and helping me with the logistics of the journey. I felt blessed. And for the first time since leaving Canada, I would be riding a Criollo south.
During lunch Mario and I cooked pasta at a milk farm while the kids hung around us in wonder. One of the boys, a 4-year-old, had a runny nose and a bad cough. He was standing outside with no shirt on and bare foot. With a cool wind blowing, Mario, a medical student, couldn’t hold back and jumped into action.
“You need to cover him up because if this turns into pneumonia, if could be extremely dangerous for your baby,” he said to the children’s mother while she held her newborn.
This simple family, one of many I have met along the way, told me about how far the closest hospital is – over an hour. And how when they arrive, usually they wait for hours for medical attention and when they receive it, it’s terrible.
“One time my son had broken his arm and they made us wait all day in the emergency room while he cried in pain. It was only when I rushed past the door and started yelling that they finally treated him,” the father told us.
Under the shade of a tall tree, Mario and I spoke to them about the early signs of childhood cancer and the importance of an early diagnosis. For a second, watching Mario examine the children, I felt as if I was in a page of Che Guevara’s book, “Motorcycle Diaries.”
