Belgium

My time in London was amazing. But every day, I saw my savings dwindle, and I would not have much of an adventure with no money. I was staying at a hostel by the Gloucester Station, and I picked up a TNT magazine. There was an ad for Grooms. There are few things that I know well, and one of them is horses. I called, did a phone interview, was hired, and what seemed like the next day, I was on the ferry to Belgium.

After a night in 17th century estate of a Rider/Nobleman - he had converted the estate's chapel into a riding ring, how could I not have a crush of the Marquis? My Agent, a South African from Euro Groom worked for him. Grooming is a great gig, but a lot of work. Grooming in Europe was going to be a great adventure for me. I was traveling with a backpack and an IBM laptop, I planned on writing and working for a year. Staying overnight in a 17th century estate just outside of Liege was a good start to the adventure.

The next day, I was brought to my post in Kinrooi Belgium, on the borders of Holland and Germany. I was working in the barn of a German Rider, Dunja Banken. She boarded, sold and trained sport horses, Jumpers. Two of the horses were spectacular, Money Boy "Codexco"; and Milan d'or "Milan". The rest were nice stock, and I learned a lot about bloodlines there. Dunja was mainly a trainer/saleswoman, and my job was to clean, feed, exercise and tack/untack the horses.

It was an easy, healthy job, where I spent hours alone with these equine athletes - listening to Belgian radio, and just working through my day in a quiet zen-like transition. Even now, I'll play Der Grootste hits CD I bough, and years later, I am transported back to that summer. I realized that music defines me, that is a language that I understand, and am comfortable with.

It was a good respite for me. I was in great shape, I understood the subtle nuances of equine personality, and I worked on my dutch language skills. Unfortunately, Dunja never paid me, and well, the quietness ended one day when I realized that being an immigrant laborer was not something I was prepared to do for free - no matter how zen like it was. I called my agent, and was promptly moved to another farm.

The next farm was a total change. It was a multi million dollar stud farm in the south of Belgium. There was a full staff of three Grooms, one professional rider, and beautiful dorms for us to live in. To get to the farm, you drove up a slowly ascending tree lined road that led to the impressive farm. My first night, I was given a tour of the barns, and then brought to my room (that even had weekly maid service) - you know that adage that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is? BINGO. The next morning, on my way to breakfast in the dining room, I was told that this was also an institution for mentally disabled boys, and we were to have breakfast with them - and we needed to walk through their dormitory hallways to get to the dining room. By the time I got to the breakfast table, I had three new "friends" all before I had my coffee and nutella. I lasted a month.

By now, I was giving up on grooming, but I thought, maybe the third time would be a charm. My agent placed me with a top notch rider, Sven Laevers at his family's barn, Stal Laevers in Diest, a beautiful, ancient walled Belgian city in Flanders. They kept 11 horses in training and one race horse at stud, Duc. Duc was an amazing champion, who had manners and was absolutely beautiful. But, Sven was a professional touring rider, with a high standard of turn out, and high expectations for their barn's one groom.

By then, I realized that I had learned some bad habits while working at Dunja's barn. I wasn't up to World Cup standard - it was exhausting, and even though the money was great, the housing was, well... interesting. At first, as it was the Fall, I stayed in a beautiful trailer at the barn. It was just me and the horses, and I loved it. But, it was November, and there was no heat, and no water once it froze. I moved into town to live in an apartment on the first floor of the family home, and I was given a bicycle to get back and forth to the barn, a mile away. The beauty of the city was detracted by the fact that each morning and evening, I had to ride past an arbittoir, that factory of death was ominous. I didn't like it.

In December, Sven was jumping at a three day intensive international show held at the indoor arena at Meppel, Holland. We loaded two horses, Giamba (my favorite) and the horses of two other riders who would be competing as the Belgian National Team.and another who's name is lost to history, and made the journey to Holland.

Wow. My first international event was amazing. I quickly made frineds with a girl named Cherry, a girl from Englands who was the groom for the rider for Greece. We both soon realized that we had crushes on each other's boss. We had a great couple of days, hard work, winning (always a plus) and 2am visits to check up on the horses. The Dutch Barn night Security guard insisted on telling me every time that I flashed my security pass "I Love you, Marry me!" Cherry would laugh and remind me that I had been promised to the Bartender. We had run out of money for drinking, and Cherry had a boyfriend at home, so we weren't comfortable flirting for drinks, so we sat there nursing our drinks - until the bartender told me that he would exchange beer for kisses - who am I to turn down a business deal???

Then Cherry & I (still holding our Rider's hard hats and crops from the Puissance) stole a couple of bicycles and rode them through the sand of the jump course. The crowd cheered us on, we brought back the bikes, the Bartender told me that he was off duty, and we quickly escaped to the barn to check on the horses (where the Bartender could not follow). While we were convulsed with laughter staggering down the hall to the stalls, we heard people. (which was strange,as it was 2am) Sven and one of the other riders were also drunkenly "checking on the horses" I panicked, I was smashed in front of my boss, and I had though that he was back at his hotel. We just started laughing speaking in broken English and fractured Dutch. Sven walked me back to the truck, and we both passed out. It was a bonding moment. And I am proud to say that I was up four hours later to feed and prep the horses for the days final rounds.

The trip back to Diest was fun, Sven was excited about touring the Costa del Sol for the jumping season. I was starting to think that this adventure would be bad for my liver, but great for my memories. But it was not to be. When we finally got to Diest, unloaded the horses, and went to dinner at Sven's home, I realized that I was having dinner with my replacement. An older, professional Irish Groom - I couldn't fell bad, he had been a groom for over 10 years. I was an American on vacation who was having a good time. I knew that I was in over my head. The next day, Lennert, Sven's younger brother gave me a ride to Liege, where I met my agent, and spent the night at the Chateau -then she and I drove to London. She was on a trip scouting farms for her rider to train at for the season. It was Christmas time, and my six month career as a Groom was over. It was good to be back in London, and I arranged to stay at Montpelier Square for two weeks over Christmas - little did I know that those two weeks would turn into me forever calling Montpelier Square home.