paradi des cheveaus

The super quick un-edited, un-refined blog of yesterday’s adventures, driving 5 minutes into the Tiaret countryside, up a rolling hillside and into the largest stables in the country.  I was told that Zofrah (rose), worked here, and people’s eyes lit up when they told me.  

The stables were built by the French in 1877, it now has 250 horses which they've carefully bred and cared for. Great old almond trees line the courses and towering cedars, right out of a Bernard painting cluster at its edges.  We walked in and asked for Zofrah.  A man burst into smiles.  Djelloul!!!  an old elementary school chum.  He led us to the last stable where Zophrah was elbow-deep in a mare, taking a sonogram, which she enthusiastically shared with us.  

She’s the vet of the place, deeply respected and admired.  She takes us on a tour., explaining the difference between the Arabian and the Berberian, and the qualities of each, and how the stables worked, how old they were -- how the water had to be the freshest for them, piped from deep under ground to the individual stalls and into troughs in the fields.  How the feed was something they developed that is shipped over the world, how they care for the moms and the babies in the nursery stalls, and then separate the foals from the mothers at 6 months, how they begin the dressage, the training at one year, how at two years they are auctioned to buyers from around the world.  Their prize stallion had the head pasture all to himself, so spirited, so beautiful, this horse.  She loved them all.  There was the sound of galloping, and a whole herd of thorough breds rounded the bend on their way to the paddocks, the great beautiful rolling hills, where even the grass was nurtured for their feed.  

A paradise for horses, she said.  She said that most horses live into their twenties.  Most of her horses lived past 30, healthy to the last, because they were so tenderly cared for in the beginning.

I saw a man squished between a concerned mom and her 3-day-old, who he was grappling,  holding the struggling young thing. He let it go in the little park where they could graze under his watchful care. The mare would not let that baby out of her sight.  

Sounds of the neighing, the galloping, the sun was warm, it was maybe 70", the almond trees in bloom, the of all who were there, including two university students.

My skills need improving -- the pictures are mixed up and refuse to be sorted, so read the captions.

 Their most prized stallion, the father of many champions.  I loved watching him move.

 The paddocks. Acres and acres and acres mountain to montain.  A breath-taking view.

 Zofrah describing how even the grass is planted for their nourishment.

 The water comes up fresh.

 Almond trees planted by the French.

 Sweet sight for two snow-bound New-Yorkers.

 The buildings have not changed from the time of the French.

 Zofrah in front of her office.

 Describing their blacksmith shop.

 An old carriage, needing some riders.

 Zofrah and her dear husband, Moktar, our skilled driver through the mountains.

 A last view of the nursery area, right outside of their stalls.  This is the mare and her 3-day old.

 The view riding to the stables.

 Rock and his Algerian jacket, opening the garage door at Djelloul's home.  That's our noble stallion, a Leon made by Seat, by Spain and Germany.

 The entry to the stables

 Past the guard.

 And greeted by the residents.

 This guy shook his head back and forth, back and forth, dancing to his own drum.

 Fresh water coming straitht to the stall.