Horsing around

The travel agent glanced up from her computer screen where she was inputting my details for holiday insurance cover. What activities would I be doing? she inquired. “Horse-riding and wine-tasting,” came the reply.

“At the same time?” she asked. Recalling awful headlines of insurance companies refusing to pay out when alcohol-fuelled holidaymakers had accidents, I decided to come clean. “Er, yes,” I said, adding, “Is there a problem?” She didn’t think so but to be sure, she put in a call to the underwriters.

I wasn’t surprised at her reaction – I’d had similar from friends when they heard of my plans to ride from vineyard to vineyard around Bordeaux, tasting the local wine on the hoof. I have done plenty of horse-riding in my time and, come to think of it, plenty of wine-drinking. But I have never combined the two.

So, armed with my insurance and a £70 British Kitemark Standard no-nonsense hard hat (don’t be fooled by the cheaper EU hats, or your insurance may be invalid if you have the misfortune to fall off and land on your head), I set off for Bordeaux, where a blissful week of riding while happily under the influence beckoned.

On arrival at Bordeaux rail station I was met by Pierrot Chemineau, my guide and owner of the horses I was to ride for the next six days. A small man with twinkling eyes and rarely without a smile on his face, Pierrot was a jockey at 14 and, later, a racehorse trainer, before giving up at 30 to run a riding school outside Bordeaux with his wife, Nicole. Twenty years ago, Pierre (as we came to know him) started horse-riding holidays and now runs weekly breaks for most of the year.

After my long train journey, I was keen to meet the horses, and I didn’t have to wait long. On our way to the hotel in the minibus, we stopped off to see our equine friends, who were spending the night in a field nearby.

Dozing in the sun, each with a back leg hooked up at rest, lower lips drooping, ears flopping back and forth and tails swishing away flies, the horses pricked up their ears at our approach. Pierre introduced each animal one by one; their names, ages, and character.

At 5ft 6in, I am not particularly tall. So to be given the biggest horse on the trip was a bit of a challenge – a long way up – and down. I need not have worried, however; Héve, a 17hh Selle-Français breed, was a gentle giant, the queen of the trip, and never put a hoof wrong. And lifting her saddle every day way over my head gave my arms a good workout too. There were eight of us on the trip – Anders and his wife Carina from Sweden; Dutch friends Jessica and Hanneke from Amsterdam; Mandana from Washington, DC, Parisian Thierry, and his niece, Edwina, also from Paris.

Rolling hills

Each day we rode for between four and six hours, covering an average 30 kilometres a day, riding a circular route around Bordeaux from Castelnau-de- Médoc clockwise to Sauternes, and visiting historic towns along the way including Blaye, Saint-Émilion and Cadillac.

We trotted and cantered our way through vineyard after vineyard, where all around us row after row of vines stretched as far as the eye could see over gently rolling blue hills. On the back of a horse we could experience the vastness of the vines and see the soil change underfoot, from the well-drained gravelly soils of the Médoc to the limestone plateau of Saint-Émilion, that gives the wines of Bordeaux their distinct characters. Lunch was always a long affair, up to four hours, and always outside – we had perfect weather all week. Pierre’s assistant, Sarah, would drive the minibus and horsebox ahead of us to the lunch-stop so that when we arrived everything was prepared: water and feed for the horses and a roped-off area to turn them out.

Under the awning attached to the minibus our picnic would be laid out – typically a selection of cold meats, cheeses, various salads and bread, followed by yoghurts, chocolate mousse, fruit and coffee. Of course, pastis to start, whiskey or Cinzano, plus red and white wine, fruit juices, beers, and always water. On one occasion our lunch was prepared by Bulgarians working at the vineyard where we stopped, while we were kept entertained by the wine-maker who, as we set off, gave us each a bottle of wine from his daughter’s wedding.

Evening meals too, were a sumptuous event; we were treated to traditional French cuisine including snails, chickenliver salads, entrecôte and fish. The horses’ welfare came first: we had to attend to their needs before our own. This meant watering, brushing and feeding before we could sit down to our lunch. We were shown how to tie the leading rein around our horse’s neck; how to secure the reins when leading the horse; how to tighten the girth and then stretch their forelegs to make sure the delicate skin on their belly wasn’t pinched; how to put on their nosebags and how to brush them.

Our first day’s ride was an easy 25 kilometre-trip from Castelnau-de-Médoc to Port de Lamarque, where we were to board the ferry to Blaye. After lunch outside the port, we left the horses resting while we clambered into the minibus to be taken to our first wine-tasting, at Château Maucaillou. Here we sampled the 2003 Moulis, a good year – dry and hot – with temperatures of 40ºC. Because of these high temperatures, the wine matured quickly – it normally takes ten years. Maucaillou means ‘bad pebbles’ and refers to the stony soil, which was no good for agriculture but ideal for vines.

We returned to the horses and a half-hour ride on a car ferry across the Garonne to Blaye. This was obviously a highlight for Héve who, having done this trip before, muscled her way to the front of the ship and stuck her head over the bow, ears pricked and mane blowing in the wind as she took in the sea air. It was almost as if she was saying, ‘it’s my holiday, too’. Disembarking at Blaye, we remounted and were soon clattering up the stone entrance to the 17th-century citadel that was once used to keep out the English and joined tourists strolling along the grasscovered ramparts.

After settling the horses in a paddock in the shadow of the citadel for the night, we went for a winetasting at Château Frédignac, a small, traditional vineyard and bed and breakfast at Saint-Martin-Lacaussade, run by Nicole and Michel L’Amouller. Already, we could taste the difference in the wines across the river and a few bottles found their way into the minibus on our departure. Our second day saw us picnicking on the village green at Lansac, just outside Bourg.

The sun was shining and ahead of us was row upon row of merlot vines, their plump, black grapes glistening in the sun. The horses, having finished their nosebags, dozed in tree-dappled shade. Amid lively conversation between my fellow horse-riders, I suddenly became aware that I was being offered a drop more wine. “Sorry,” I said, holding up my glass, “I was daydreaming”. “We’re living the daydream, aren’t we?” replied Mandana, a veteran of four of Pierre’s riding holidays. “This is what you dream about when you are sitting in your office,” she added. Leaving the horses to rest awhile, we strolled across the road for a tour around the Cooperative de Vinification.

Small vineyards without winemaking equipment bring their harvest of grapes – merlot and cabernet sauvignon – here. Situated just where the Garonne and Dordogne meet, the soil is clay-limestone and the wine fruity and medium-bodied. Growers are paid not for the quantity of their grapes, but for their quality: the higher the sugar level, the more valuable the crop. Twenty years ago, we learned, Côtes de Bourg was considered a man’s wine – it was very strong. Now matured in oak barrels, the cooperative has made it much smoother. Here, a 2004 bottle of Les Moulins du Haut-Lansac would set you back €4.40.

Eat like a horse

A couple of glasses of wine later, we saddled up and headed off to the Domaine de la Gravette, a small vineyard and bed and breakfast where we, and the horses, were to spend the night. After settling the horses into their field, and a quick wash-and-scrub-up for ourselves, we were soon seated around the giant dining-room table of our hosts, Jean-Bernard Bertet and his wife, Martine.

Although he owns only eight hectares, M. Bertet produces red, white and rosé wine – all of which went down heartily with our meal of home-made goat’s cheese and tomato tart. At €3 a bottle, I couldn’t resist stocking up when we left. We travelled on through the hilltop village of Saint-Émilion, where merlot is king, clattering through streets crowded with tourists; here, we were in for a rare treat and one of the most delicious meals of the trip.

After the usual watering, brushing and feeding of horses, we sat down to a lunch of côte de boeuf, beautifully cooked by wine-maker Jean- Francois Carille over a fire of vines. By the time we rode up the driveway of the charmingly elegant Château Belles- Graves, five kilometres from Libourne in Néac, where we sampled several vintages of Lalande-de-Pomerol. We were becoming experts at wine-tasting; swilling the deep red liquid around in fat glasses, carefully studying its ‘legs’ and sticking our noses into the glass before finally tasting the wine and admiring its layers of flavour.

Our trip drew to an end in Sauternes, where luscious, sweet white dessert wines are made from the noble rot-affected sauvignon and sémillon grapes. Here, we were lunch guests of Comte Xavier de Pontac at Château de Myrat. And so, with a last photo-call outside the comte’s grand château, we set off at 6pm for a 90-minute ride to our final overnight stop and a sad farewell to our patient mounts, who, it has to be said, were far more interested in their supper than saying goodbye to us. Our last night was spent in the sumptuous surroundings of the 17th-century charterhouse Relais du Château d’Arche hotel – a truly memorable way to end an unforgettable holiday.