Meridian Meadows Stories, by Dave Jones

The Adventures & The Search Continue!
Part Five of A Series
By Dave Jones, Monticello, Florida
Credit: Paso Fino Horse World January 1996

At the Varques Finca (or "farm") where we found Hilachas and his fantastic harem, I noticed some really well built horses with "roached" manes. I whistled to myself and said, Holy Toledo! when I saw them run, slide and turn back as they were worked through the corrals. I asked about them ...

They are Criollos and are used for cattle work. The manes are roached so we can tell them from the Pasos at a glance. After looking them over, I told myself there wasn't a cowboy in the world who wouldn't be pleased as punch to have a string of such horses for daily use. If a horse could be called "cat like", these Criollos filled the bill! Yet we were after Pasos, not trotters, so I brought my thoughts back to the true objects of the trip. Eventually, we purchased just under 30 Pasos from Senior Vargas.

I saw no real reason to continue the trip, but my orders were to go down to Cali. On the way, we saw a beautiful mare, Rosada, by Resorte III, and asked about her. The story was the same; she "crumpled up" in the show ring. At Cali, we saw a young stallion, Cola Cola, also by Resorte III, who had the same rear end problem.
We talked to Ruben Brion. He'd owned La Guala when she foaled Resorte III. He sneered at both of them and said they were worthless. This was natural and to be expected. Don Ruben wanted us to buy his horses or those on which he could collect a commission.

We had hotel reservations in Cali, but a mix-up ensued and we had no place to stay. Blas Cardoni was engaged to a girl from this area. Her father's partner, Mario Jaramillo, met us at the airport and found excellent accommodations for us. This hotel had air conditioning, which pleased us, for Cali is pretty warm.
Next day, Don Mario and Blas spent some time talking about cattle and ranching, so Alfredo Jaramillo took us to a very special place, La Finca Capri. It was the home of Desvelo and the owner was Arcicio Nichols. Don Alfredo cautioned me to say nothing about other horses and to lavishly praise Desvelo. The tale was that I was a magazine writer doing stories about famous Pasos. Later I found that Sr. Nichols knew who I was and what I was about.

At that time, Desvelo was 16 years old. Senora Nichols rode him and I saw a show Paso at his best. He stopped, turned, twisted and rolled back, all the while maintaining a very pure gait. I did notice that the muscles in Senora Nichols arms bulged as she rode, for she held the stallion in with great force. After the ride was over, I noticed that Desvelo's natural gait was the trot and that all his offspring trotted. I photographed one colt, Botofogo, on the line, doing a hard, showy trot. The worst thing about these colts were their heads though.

I was ready to come back to Florida but Blas said we ought to see Mario Jaramillo's Pasos. The trip to the finca (farm) was unbelievable; Mario drove very fast, but kept turning his head around to address us. All sorts of peons were walking along the side of the road, many with pack mules. Mario made them dive for safety and nearly hit some mules! When we finally arrived at the ranch, Don Mario slammed on the brakes and dashed for the house, all the while screaming at his help to bring Pasos for our inspection. They led them right up onto the porch.

When you're high in the Andes Mountains, you won't find many flies. Cali is only a couple thousand feet above sea level, and there were flies a'plenty. I remember looking for my camera; it was on the porch, totally covered with flies! Long ago, I made a vow to never drink in the daytime, but this was different. Everyone there was drinking aguardiente, so I joined in. Even Mac, my wife, was imbibing; she said she had to in order to tolerate the flies!

Blas had been, and still was, impressed with my knowledge of horses. He wanted me to fault the horses for his and Mario's benefit so they could learn from the "great North American ambassador." I didn't want to fault these horses, for I had sensed that Mario was sort of mean when he was drinking. You just don't blow into a horse outfit and tell them what's wrong with their horses.

But Blas insisted, and even asked Mario if he'd like me to do this. Mario's eyes turned to slits as he glared at me and said he'd really enjoy listening to me knock his prize Pasos. I had no place to hide, so I had to comply. I'd say something like Well, she's a wonderful filly, but her neck could be more refined, and she's a little too crooked-legged behind.

Mario would puff on his cigarette, toss down a shot of aguardiente, and glare at me. He showed La Chunga's mother to us and waited to hear how I'd bad-mouth her (La Chunga was the top fino mare of the whole country).
I said, She's magnificent! Blas said, Oh come on now. Surely she's not perfect! Mario wants to know what faults she has." And I had to fault her.
Mario had a young stallion, Gaucho Segundo. He asked if I'd like to ride him. I did so, and found him to be an ideal horse. When I was asked to fault him, I told them that he was a little fat, out of condition, but otherwise impossible to fault.
We'd seen a lot of horses when Blas asked Mario to price some of those I had favored. He said he wanted 4000 Dolares for a nice filly. Blas said, Not bad, huh? I said it was way too much money. Blas said, Heck, 4000 Pesos sounds okay to me. I retorted, Blas, he said Dolares, not Pesos. Blas countered that my Spanish was lousy, so I said, Ask him.

Blas asked and found that Mario did, indeed, say dollars, not Pesos. Blas said, in Spanish, Mario, you're crazy! Why are you asking such prices from these people? Don't you want to sell your horses?

Mario replied, They have just purchased Resorte and nine mares from Fabio Ochoa for $100,000. My horses are twice as good and I'm only asking half as much.
Blas said, They didn't buy anything from Fabio Ochoa. They bought some horses in Bogota, fine ones, at a cheap price. But Mario wouldn't back off. He was sure we'd bought Resorte and his pride wouldn't let him lower prices one bit. Actually, I didn't care, for we had more than enough Pasos purchased already.

We saw Mario's stallion, Revuelo, a brother to Desvelo. The horse was in poor flesh, a condition caused by a hoof infection. It was doubtful he could survive this infection.
The day was nearly over. At mealtime, we ate yucca soup, a meat dish, fruit, panela (candy), and finished it off with coffee. There was a gash in the screen door and the place was full of huge flies. Mac and I fought them off but the locals seemed to abide with them. Food was on a lazy susan and when it was turned, a black mass of flies arose to allow the food to be seen.

Mario hadn't eaten. He sat on the porch, steadily drinking the aguardiente and playing with a wooden ball on a stick (boleros). The ball had a little hole in it and would be flipped in the air. The object was to catch the ball on the stick. Even drunk, Mario was expert with this toy. Plop, plop, plot - pause to drink - plop, plop, plot, with never a miss!

Two stallions were tacked up and ready to ride. A man held each horse. I was told that I was to ride one horse while Mario rode the other. We were to ride and drink aguardiente until we fell off in a drunken stupor. This was a local custom.

I was leery of Mario, for I'd been around crazy drinkers before and these previous drunkards seemed pretty tame when compared to him, so at about 8pm, I told him that I was very sleepy. He understood that, so the wife and I were shown to a bedroom where I propped a chair tightly under the doorknob.

Mario was supposed to take us to the airport the next day and I feared we'd all be killed with him at the wheel. There was no way that he could possibly be sober for the trip, since I knew he'd polished off a couple bottles of aguardiente.

Mac and I talked over the problem. We decided that we'd hire a taxi to take us all the way north to Medellin. Mac could see the country and we'd escape Mario's driving. We asked Blas about this the next morning. He then told Mario that my wife wanted to motor back to Medellin.

We caught Don Mario in a good mood - or passive from a huge hangover. He loaned us a jeep and sent a man along to show us the way. Blas drove. After we'd driven for an hour or so, Blas said, Right about here, last month, a friend of mine was robbed and killed.

WHADAYAMEAN?, I asked slightly less than calmly. Blas replied, We're right now in the worst bandit country in Colombia. I wanted to know what we'd do if they caught us. Just give them our money, said Blas, you can't outrun no bullets!"
I started paying closer attention. We saw no other cars until we neared Medellin, just trucks and buses, so the trip was uneventful after all.

We settled into the Nuta Bara Hotel, scheduled for a flight the next day. Then Mac, my wife, became very ill. I called Jaime Molica who got a fine doctor to check her out. He thought she was a dope addict trying to go straight, for she acted like one. He even checked her arms for needle marks!

Next day, we got Mac through immigration in a wheelchair since she was too weak to stand. She said she'd get on that plane if she had to crawl up the ramp, and furthermore, that Colombia would never again enjoy her presence. She said she felt much better when we got to the Miami airport.

Later, we found the problem to be the medicine we took to fend off amoebic dysentery. A friend had obtained our medicine without a prescription, which was common practice. Purchased this way, the pills came with no literature regarding its use. A friend in the States showed us the warnings which came with her medication, purchased for a trip to Mexico. Among the contraindications was the fact that mixing them with alcohol could prove fatal!
Whew! Live and learn!

To be continued ... part 6