OTOMI LAND, MEXICO
A lovelier setting cannot be imagined. The morning is exquisite, as is the slice of Mexican society on display.
The sky is colored what should be nominated as the next “Pantone Color of the Year”: San Miguel de Allende Blue. Glistening stone fountains, lawns lush as Irish heather, towering cactus plants, and well-tended ornamental beds make this few hundred acres a horticulturalist’s dream. A soft breeze has been whispering magical canticles all morning.
I’ve found myself at the Otomi Lakes & Villas, an exclusive residential community and equestrian center set along the Presa Allende, a pleasant five-minute drive from our fair city. The Otomi Indians were the original inhabitants of these parts, and I doubt they ever dreamed of a legacy so grand.
It’s the first day of the Otomi Grand Prix Horse Show. This painstakingly manicured event features the best Mexican riders vying for top honors during three days of horse jumping competitions. Horse-owners, riders, families, and friends (and at least one plebeian interloper like me) have convened from all parts of Mexico for what promises to be an unforgettable experience.
Riders of all ages—nine to forty-nine--are set to test their horse hurdling skills against each other. Neat assemblages of designer trophies, to be presented to top performers, gleam on tables in the Trojan sunlight. Awards go to the riders only.
Otomi Lakes & Villas really is something special. Houses sell for millions of U.S. dollars and feature every amenity the average drug lord’s family covets (there have been rumors but, then again, in Mexico there are always rumors). Even with their swimming pools and Roman fountains and Spanish gardens, built-in theaters and exercise rooms, and 24-hour security guards, these elegant domiciles don’t have much over the horse stables (part of the equestrian center).
That’s an exaggeration, of course. But in fact the stables are way more luxurious than the rustic adobe hutches most of Mexico’s 56 million rural poor inhabit. The stables have clean, running water, electric lighting, and land line phone service for starters.
Everyone’s waiting for the competition to begin.
Those gathered here today are youngish, urbane, vibrant, and… well, damned beautiful.
I could be sitting on the film set of “The Rich and Famous of Latin America.” Worse yet, I’m the only one wearing gym shorts and sneakers!
Everybody else is dressed in their best equestrian attire: dark vests, white pants, black leather boots, leather gloves, and riding helmets that look sharp but offer as much protection as a paper napkin. Some of the higher ranking men wear formal club jackets, cream shirts, and bold neckties.
Many parade around as if they’re posing for photographs, which they are since a bevy of hired photographers scurry about the different venues, attempting to immortalize every moment. Everyone’s a potential focal point for tomorrow’s El Universal or next year’s club brochure.
Stirring “We are the Champions”-style music—played in their original English versions—blares from loudspeakers planted atop the judges’ stands. You can’t help but be inspired, even if you normally don’t like being within kicking distance of any horse’s hooves.
At one point while the competitions are going full-throttle, a bright-yellow helicopter swooshes by overhead like an angry wasp. It settles down in a nearby field. After discharging some VIPs the machine buzzes off in a cloud of dust, making the return trip to--where? Guanajuato, Guadalajara, the D.F? Nobody else in the crowd even seems to notice.
In the first arena, a stunning Arabian stallion and young rider have just earned a near-perfect score by navigating all the jumps within the time limit and without a stumble. In response, there’s only scattered applause. It’s a tough crowd.
Under voluminous white canvas hospitality tents, uniformed staff busily serves gourmet hot dogs and hamburgers and skinny glasses of champagne. Other servers, white towels draped over a forearm, portage trays of lesser fair like sweets and salted crisps and energy drinks to those of us seated in the covered grandstands.
As well configured as the competitors and their families and friends are, they actually pale in comparison to the beauty of the horses themselves. These sleek Arabian, Appaloosa, and Iberian breeds are so mannerly, so noble-looking, and so handsome it occurred to me that any one of them would make an amusing dinner companion for an evening at Hank’s New Orleans Café and Oyster Bar. (I’m sure nobody’ll mind.)
Even I can appreciate these creatures’ ageless beauty and grace. I bet you that most horse owners envy the truly august lineages of their animals, wishing they were similarly endowed.
The kids—young male and female riders—start to fascinate me. Anxious parents watch as their teenage sons and daughters--atop full-grown stallions, for God’s sake, with nothing but a paper napkin for head protection--negotiate the challenging hurdles. Weirdly, it reminds me of my former days as a Little League coach in Philly. Like my fellow parents, I cheered our kids’ every pitch, hit, or catch with unhinged fervor--just like the parents of the young riders at the Otomi Grand Prix today.
Sure, these kids come from super-wealthy families. But all are natural beauties like most kids anywhere, and many of the youngest are really just children: painfully self-conscious and shy and quick to heed their parents’ calls to behave. They even act like kids much of the time, giggling and taunting each other playfully and eating too many candies and drinking too much Coca-Cola.
Still, it doesn’t take long before any keen observer notes that most are already beginning to be molded in their parents’ images. They are assuming the most well-turned-out and urbane features of their progenitors. In time, for sure, they’ll take on the same cool, calm, and deadly superior looks as their parents. Attitudes and values will soon follow. But for now, they’re just like kids anywhere. And I like them best for it.
Later, as I head on back to town, following an exquisitely tailored two-lane road inlaid with cobblestones, lined with rail fencing, and comforted by an unbroken canopy of trees, I had this evil thought: Whether they win or lose at the jumping competitions this weekend, the competitors and their families and friends at the Otomi Grand Prix are and always will be standing in Mexico’s winners’ circle.
And yet, and yet…. I still had much to learn. I would be reminded of my short encounter with these children of wealthy families a few days later when I ventured a bit farther out into the countryside to visit a poor Mexican campo. An important lesson waited for me there, too.
Please continue with "2 Days in the Country (Day Two)," available online next week.
© 2014 Tony DeCrosta
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com
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