The six hour flight from Doha to Amsterdam passed quickly. When I woke up from my nap on the cold floor of the cargo plane, much to my surprise the silence did not instantly break. Tim had a headache and had stopped talking. He even asked for some aspirin, then sat in the corner with his headphones on, watching a movie on his iPhone. I went and fed the horses some apples and carrots, gave them some more water, and counted manure piles. All systems were a go: eating, drinking, and pooping away. When they stop manure production at 30,000 feet, its a real mess; a clogged system can lead to sharp pains that can make them tear the pallet apart, or worse, just die.) But all was well. They enjoyed their carrots, drank the water, and other than a few flirtatious nickers from Jas at the mare, they were quiet.
When the aspirin kicked in, and after the copilot made coffee for us and told us to stay in the seats during some turbulence, twenty questions resumed, but thankfully this time it was about the horses, not me. I told him the story of Jas coming to choose me as an owner, how the mare had nearly died several times in Qatar, and how no one thought the foal would be born after a serious illness during the mare's pregnancy. They were all, in their own way, rescue cases, horses that otherwise would have had painful lives staying behind in Qatar. Jas had chosen me by deciding I was the one person he wasn't going to run away with, buck off, and bite in the stable (at least most of the time). It was his way of telling me that he was going to be unhappy with anyone else, which I knew meant he'd probably get beaten and abused by another owner. The mare needed a cooler climate to stay healthy given her vulnerabilities, and the foal would grow up that much stronger and faster in France. But for Avril and I it was never about the money the horses would make us, either Jas as a breeding stallion or the foal as a future race horse, or how much it would cost us to get them out. It was about doing the right thing for vulnerable creatures who had become part of the family.
Landing proceeded as did take-off, with me in the cockpit and Tim with the horses. When they opened the door and the horses and flowers came out, the sky was blue and the runway was surrounded by green grass. It was 14 degrees C, about 60 F.
After I told Tim the story of the horses and started laughing at his jokes, the manically over-the-top tone gave way to a much more human discussion, that is, until it came time to plan our arrival into Amsterdam customs. As we discussed sequence and procedures, including how to dispose of the monster suitcase in my hotel room before anyone noticed (yes, he managed it...), he made a point of explaining to me that he was "loved like syphilis is loved" at the Amsterdam animal import center. It was the 2008 Olympics, when Amsterdam was the main transport hub for horses en route to Hong Kong, and he was the operations manager. The Dutch were more concerned about their coffee breaks and cigarette breaks, apparently, than they were concerned about processing transit horses through customs any faster than 45 minutes per horse. When twenty horses arrived at once, this had been the bane of Tim's existence. He had managed to get them to speed processing to 20 minutes each, but it hadn't been pretty. There was some incident involving a undercover CNN reporter, the embarrassment of some high government officials, and a threat to move operations to Germany. And he loved having someone to tell the story to again. Each punch line had been carefully worked out, a testament to a career where meeting new people is a chance to tell good old stories again, to humorous perfection.
Here he is (below) grinning to one of the customs vets who loved him like syphilis, and who had, five minutes before this picture was taken, held up a spool of wire he was sealing the transport truck with and said to Tim that it might also be useful for his mouth.
There was indeed lots of evidence of coffee, (below) and it took much longer than 45 minutes to get our three horses through, a problem Tim blamed on KLM favoritism. He insisted the horses flying on KLM got processed a lot faster than horses on other airlines.
The real hold-up, however, was the presence of a 40 million dollar racehorse that had just flown in from Japan, on his way to Newmarket, in the UK. The Emirati sheik's private airplane that was going to fly him to Stansted airport hadn't been cleared for loading. Until the racehorse left the unloading area at customs, our horses had to stay on the other side of the wall from him because he'd been in Japan, a different quarantine status. We weren't allowed on the other side of the wall, even with yellow jackets. I spent half an hour wondering how many times they'd pooped, and chatting with a vet from Newmarket who had been flown to Japan to accompany the expensive racehorse back to the UK, and who, like me, was getting too tired to stand on two feet at this point, after spending 30 of the last 48 hours in the air, the last 15 sitting in the pallet with the horse. Eventually everyone's attention turned to a loud rant about how all vets are stupid and who, moreover, don't have a social life. Then the tired vet's eyes popped out of his head when Tim asked him how many women he'd had in the last month, in order to back up his argument. I can't remember how it got deflected, but once Tim wasn't paying any more attention to us, the vet looked at me and said: "You must have had a long day." A little better than syphilis, I thought, (but didn't say!) I just laughed and told him it had started at 4 am, and I'd met Tim at 9 am. Eventually the vet and his racehorse were carted away to their private plane.
Our horses came out of the pallet, had their vet inspection, and were loaded onto a truck to go to a nearby horse motel. The truck was sealed with official stamps and wires, procedures followed to abide by US quarantine laws.
Jas looks out of the back of the truck and enjoys the cool breeze.
Tim bid us farewell at his point, leaving to fly back home (to his wife and kids I'd learned about sometime during the headache), and handed us over to the people at the horse motel. I got a business card, a handshake, and after he took a few steps away, a kiss blown at me. When was the day going to be over? I laughed and thanked him.
At the horse motel I served the horses a dinner of carrots, bran mash, molasses and oats. They were dressed in their warm blankets and tucked into their stalls for the night. The driver from France had arrived for the mare and foal, and informed us of his 4 am departure plans. Oui? Really? When I announced I'd be there, the director of the horse motel looked me up and down and implored that my presence really wasn't necessary. Did I look that bad, really? We made strategic loading plans to ensure the foal's safety, and then I conceded to let her handle it. The barn was spotless and the competence level had just increased exponentially from Qatar. And I wanted to be in bed at 4 am. And I was.
**Day Two**
The next day, Jas had a play in the indoor arena, admiring that handsome horse on the other side of the glass.
I then went to have a play in the Dutch grocery store at the Schipol airport, reveling in European-ness, coming back to my room with brie, bordeaux, bananas, and bon bons, among other things.
So my second night in Amsterdam I fell asleep watching the tally come in for the Eurovision song contest, out cold before I knew the result. I only remember that Serbia voted for Bosnia and Bosnia voted for Serbia, a delightful fact--which I think led me to have a strange dream about giving a lecture on how Eurovision symbolizes trends in EU politics, but to kindergarten students. Weird, but thank goodness it wasn't about horses!
Hi from Italy - so glad you and your cayuses have left the sands of Qatar and are on your way to cliche' greener pastures but truly
new adventures and safety. As a volunteer for a reno animal rescue center (we have cheetahs,tigers,coyotes , bears, falcons etc) I really love your rescue spirit too. Jas is a remarkable animal who will be your friend for many years to come but will never be able to articulate his affection. Boy is he going to love his new home and family!
Keep us posted on your journey.
Posted by: Holly | June 02, 2010 at 12:08 PM