Into the Suitcase

I digress I realize, but digression is one of life's greatest pleasures. Try it sometime... I digress. But it's going to be loads of fun. Promise.

For years now people always say to us, "We want to come with you on your Horsefly adventures! Take us with you in your suitcase!" So now we proudly, nay boldly whisk you into the suitcase with Horsefly Films via the miles and miles (and miles) of behind the scenes footage we've shot on all these said adventures with our handy little ever-present flipcam.

To celebrate our cinematic shenanigans we're launching a brand new peek into that world via something we call, appropriately enough, INTO THE SUITCASE with Horsefly Films. This first trip into the suitcase reveals an Olympic Race that NBC didn't want you to see (and frankly--shockingly-- didn't cover, seeing as it took place in Poland 2012 rather than London). It features many of your favorite people from the world of the Arabian Horse.

So I say unto you-- pack your socks and undies and get ready to wear jeans that could walk away by themselves after 2 weeks of filming horses all day and climb into the suitcase with Horsefly Films!

See the Horsefly Films Olympic Race here!

A Date with a Wonder of the World

So as sad as we were to leave Poland until next year, Sophie and I were incredibly excited to jet off to our next filming adventure in Greece. We rolled off the tarmac in Warsaw under cloudy gray skies and were whisked away a soda and magazine later to touch down in hot sun-drenched Greece. Even before we left the plane the sheer "Greekness" everywhere hit us-- rows of airplanes from Olympic Air, complete with a bastardized Olympic Rings logo (how did they EVER manage that legally?) on their tails, a heat haze shimmering off the dusty nearby hills. Stepping into the Greek air, my lungs heaved with the heat. It was then we realized the word of the day-- every day-- for the next 2 weeks-- would be rivulet. As in try and ignore the rivulet of sweat running down my back and focus on the task at hand... We were only staying in Athens one night before flying off to the small little-known island of Skyros at 7AM but Sophie and I made the most of it. We checked in (great hotel right at the airport) and then got down to studying the subway map. Sophie and I have collectively and individually travelled all over the world and we both agree that there's just nothing like taking mass transit in a city to make you feel a part of a place. It gives you the panache and vernacular of a local. From "Gophertown", the underground world of stores selling everything from cigars to wigs to bras to tomatoes in Warsaw's central subway station, to the efficient cool of minding the Gap with the rest of the Brits on London's Underground-- nothing beats heading down into the bowels of a city and emerging one train ride later like curious mole people... So we studied our map, loaded up our backpacks with gear and went off to the Acropolis. To say that hiking up the hills of the Acropolis and passing through the temple gates to gaze upon the Parthenon is a life-transforming experience, well, that's just an understatement of god-knows-what magnitude. We filmed and photographed for a couple hours, breathed in the wonder, walked on ancient stones of the cradle of Western Civilization. All in our creative quest for our new documentary film on an ancient rare breed of horse. The Skyrian Horse. The Horse of the Parthenon. Of course most of the Parthenon friezes are long gone-- worn away by time and war or taken by Lord Elgin a few centuries ago to reside in that most wonderful of human cultural repositories, the British Museum. But the well-worn fragments that remain are awe-inspiring. And as we climbed back down in the dusk through the olive trees and returned to the subway tunnels, we lamented that the friezes weren't here to film or photograph. Or see. And then-- directly across from us on the subway platform-- the Parthenon friezes. Okay okay, so they were a copy but a damn good one. And in the dim oily light of the tunnel Sophie and I high-fived each other and thanked our lucky stars and our wisdom that we always explore by subway. Tomorrow we would be off to Skyros in search of horses...

The Unsung Quiet Moments

Here's the thing about Poland. I could write about LOTS of superstars, classes chock filled with rows of some of the greatest Arabians on the planet. Crisp white tents sprawling under wide blue skies and perfect sunshine. More tents groaning with delicious food and enough beverages of every possible persuasion.  I do particularly love the palpable thrill in the hour just before the annual Pride of Poland auction, the air thick and heavy with excitement and hope and the unknown x factor. All of that is well, incredible beyond belief. But the real magic is always in the quiet moments spent with my best friends and my favorite horses. This year's prize for best moment of beautiful solitude has to be the last morning at Michalow, walking the mare pastures with my besties Sophie and Anette. (We do that a lot. In May, when no one else is around. In August, after the crowds have gone and we say our farewells until Spring).
The weather had turned blustery and cold, the wind whipping around us. The mares warmed us as we embraced them, their foals dashing about and nuzzling us with trademark curiosity.

It is one thing to see my favorite mare of all time Emandoria winning at US Nationals-- a night engraved into my memory forever, her steel dapple gray perfection giving rise to our cheers of E-man-doria!-- but it is quite another to see her now flea-bitten gray form-- still perfect-- grazing happily and haughtily among her friends. Away from the spotlights and trophies. Unclipped, unsung and glorious at home. That thought never cease to make my heart ridiculously singingly happy.