The Best Things in Life Are Viewed Between a Horse’s Ears
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Solana in a deel (traditional Mongolian garment) gifted to her by one of the families that sheltered her for an evening. (Photo by Feliz Lim Perez)
I spent an absolutely gluttonous lunch and afternoon with her, indulging in hot pot and matcha sweets and gorging ourselves on delicious tsismis (gossip) about her time on the Steppes.
They trained for years for the race – four, in Sol’s case, her entry meant to be in 2020. We all know what happened that year. So they had more time to train. But nothing prepared them for the brutality of the race.
The contestants are made to catch and saddle their half feral mounts, chosen through a raffle, before navigating to the various stations to check in at designated locations. Race organizers set up Stations along the route where competitors can change horses, get a warm meal, and spend the night. Missing a check-in at the stations means a relatively small penalty and sleeping outside, as none of the riders are allowed to move past 7 p.m. The competitors are at the mercy of harsh terrain, unforgiving weather, and the whims of Lady Luck; the horse they pull from the lottery can be a reliable old work horse, or a powder keg with legs.
While Solana completed the race, she didn’t bag a trophy. She was up against veteran horsemen and athletes with resources far surpassing those available to her, which is a common drawback in any sport when it comes to the Philippines.
The first time a Filipino represents the country in the hardest horse race in the world! (Photo by Feliz Lim Perez)
The English had kilometers of forest trails, the Americans miles of fields, and the Pakistanis purebred pedigree Arabians to carry them across endless leagues of sand during their training.
Solana had Raincloud. A 13hh Itogon mountain pony she wrangled, broke, and trained herself.
She had crowded, rocky Baguio trails to train herself on while battling traffic, catcallers, and pollution. With no mentor, or instructor, the odds were already stacked against her.
Can you imagine the grit it takes, to ride six-to-seven hours a day, every day of the week, and then hike for eight hours every weekend?
Most people barely survive waking up early after a night out partying.
“Solana built and slowly cemented the reputation of the Filipinos as sunny, outgoing, and personable individuals. ”
Make no mistake, the Mongol Derby is soul-crushingly difficult, physically and mentally. Its challenging, and it’s dangerous, and the danger of bodily harm is pervasive. Imagine having to navigate a tiny, often angry “motorcycle” over 1,000 km of open desert, when you’re used to driving smooth, easy sedans on paved roads. All contestants are required to wear a GPS tracker, with SOS buttons to alert the organizers in the event of an emergency
The race spans the Mongolian Steppes, an unending dry ocean of grass and wind. There is no shade, riders are only allowed five kilograms of gear, there are gopher holes hidden in the short grass, and during certain stretches, there isn’t a soul around for miles. Oh, and your mount has a mind of its own, would rather spend most of its time eating, and has absolutely no qualms kicking you off its back and running away with all your things. All five kilograms of it.
A spate of bad luck and a catastrophic gear failure meant that Solana had to drop out of the running, but she was allowed to complete the race in her own time, which turned out to be a win in its own way. She rode 600 out of the 1,000 kilometers, and crossed the finish line on horseback.
Taking a step back from the cutthroat competition allowed her to immerse herself in the culture and rich tradition of the local people. Enchanted by the hospitality and friendliness of her many Mongolian host families, and mesmerized by the humbling, breathtaking beauty of the steppes, Sol allowed herself to truly savor the once-in-a-lifetime experience and literally “enjoy the ride.”
Solana with one of the families that housed her for a night (Photo by Feliz Lim Perez)
She made friends with likeminded, outgoing people, who were accomplished individuals in their own fields. There was Isabella De Santis, a firefighter and qualified Alpine SAR personnel, off grid farmer, and all-around superwoman.
She met Sam Fielding, a riding coach, ski patroller, and a wildland firefighter; and finally, Randy Carr, the tough Texan rancher, who passed himself off as a grizzled old curmudgeon, but was, in fact, a secret softie who kept an eye out for Solana throughout the race.
Solana with Sam Fielding and Isabella De Santis (Photo by Feliz Lim Perez)
Elimination from the competition allowed Solana to make friends, linger a little longer with her host families to ask about their lives, connect with herdsmen and horsemen in a way that the other competitors didn't and couldn’t as they raced between stations.
That, I think, won her an award more precious than a trophy, with far more value than bragging rights. It won her the love of the people.
From one host family gifting her a richly brocaded Deel, a traditional Mongolian garment, to the herdsmen teaching her the Mongolian horse version of summoning a cat with a “pspspsps,” Solana built and slowly cemented the reputation of the Filipinos as sunny, outgoing, and personable individuals.
They cheered for her, cared for her, and bonded with her in a way that left the other foreign competitors wondering if the locals had known her all their lives. For me, at least, that is a win more precious than a podium finish.
There were so many wonderful stories told over a bubbling hotpot, but you should really chat with her yourself, if you get the time, and dare I say, get it “straight from the horse’s mouth.” Congratulations Solana!
From the author’s Facebook page.
Mikeli Mapua is a dog loving, bird watching foodie who writes for fun.
