While the rainforest was certainly beautiful—there were certainly El Yunque which marvels to behold.
The sun was particularly hot at the base of El Yunque near the Hacienda Carabali in Luquillo, Puerto Rico. We had decided to take a day trip to another side of the island for some horseback riding and a red snapper lunch. It was my first time horseback riding, and I was particularly nervous since the trail lasted far longer than the pony rides I had done as a child.
The stable boy came, reins in hand, as he introduced a beautiful Palomino to me. Meanwhile, my little brother was given an old, pot-bellied horse of no particular breed named “Rodney.” As it later turned out, Rodney was ill tempered and would haphazardly run off the trail to chew grasses when the fancy took him. He used the bathroom when and where it pleased him. He burped and charged forward to bite other horses, all while my uncoordinated brother flailed on top of him. He was an inconsiderate thing, and I didn’t like him. But I adored my horse, Tequila. While her beauty and grace deserved her a better name than that of an often-clear alcohol, I could see how her golden coating reflected the hues of certain brands.
Tequila gently took me through the rainforest’s rainbows and pastures. She could sense my anxiety and I could feel her looking up to check on me every now and then. We plodded under thick canopies chockfull of brightly-colored birds and past grazing cows. There were gnarled trees that had seen armored conquistadors muster through new lands. There were churning streams that cooled the air.
But while the rainforest was certainly beautiful—while there were certainly El Yunque’s marvels to behold—I felt greater pleasure connecting with my horse. I was amazed by her intelligence and ability to sense my vulnerability and treat me well, but then again, I cannot say that I know anything about horses. Perhaps I was just grateful that I didn’t have Rodney.
