My cruise-mate Edrie Royals and Jackson companions Margaret Vise, Ann Barksdale, Carole Kirkland and I were on a Danube River cruise and our boat had docked near Kalosca, Hungary.
The tour Edrie and I had picked out for this stop was the cowboy rodeo in Kalosca.
When Edrie and I unloaded from our bus, for some reason I didn’t feel exactly hunky dory. Then I vaguely remembered another tour here many years ago with my husband Willard and our friends, Jane and Ed Draper.
Today our group settled into a stadium that probably held several hundred people, the air smelled of sweaty socks, hay and horse dander, odors I was familiar with from being a horseback rider from way back. The aromas were so strong, Edrie had an allergic reaction and had to walk away from the stadium and the dusty field.
Several horsemen clad in billowy, blue-and-black costumes rode bareback on chestnut colored horses. As the cowboys galloped onto the field, they fiercely flipped their whips, creating a unique cracking noise caused by breaking the sound barrier. The sound, which imitated guns and rifles had been created to make enemies believe the riders carried ammunition.
The riders showed us many ways to flick a bullwhip as they rode around the ring, never striking the horses. The horses, highly intelligent animals, were not disturbed. Even with the whips lashing around their heads and bodies, they continued their pounding gallop.
The cowboys had trained their horses in other ways; to sit like a dog, then to lie down on command. In the past, these skills had been crucial for rider and horse during battle. If the horses obeyed these orders they would be a smaller target and could protect their rider. I couldn’t imagine what it took to teach a horse to sit or lie down. Even with bribes and treats it’s hard enough to teach a dog to sit.
What these cowboys did was amazing. They were horsemen like I could never imagine. Just standing bareback on a horse would take great balance, strength and courage. One man drove nine attached horses; they were linked four abreast, then three, then two. He stood barefooted with one foot on each of the last two.
Close to the end of the show, a call was put out; three onlookers from the crowd would be selected to participate in the whip-cracking grand finale.
My heart beating like a trip hammer, I dropped my head. The last thing I wanted to do was to walk onto a field with thundering horses and lashing whips. Surprise, surprise. Along with two other people who were seated higher up in the stadium, yours truly was escorted from the front row.
Weak-kneed I stood in a field out from Kalosca, Hungary.
Horse hooves rumbled behind me.
An odd feeling came to mind, like a dream remembered - had I been here once before, on this same field?
But if so, that was years ago, and this was today.
“Born to Lose,” I sang to myself.
A lash snapped around my body. Snap. Crackle.
The tune changed. “One day at a time - that’s all I’m asking.”
Whack! Muscles clenched, I was ready to jump.
My brain took over.
Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch.
Thwack! The whip fluffed my hair. Heart pounding, I stood stock still and concentrated on the corns on my big toe, not the fact that I might lose one of my ears, the slight protrusion between my neck and waist or the tip of my nose.
The leather lash flicked across my shoulders, crackled around my hips and legs.
Pop.
At long last, I heard a loud rumble. The cowboys galloped to a halt and tipped their hats. The horses bowed then thundered away, Hungarian dust covering my body.
Back on the bus and headed to our ship, I began to scratch my legs. Then, an all over body itch brought back more memories.
***
A Mississippi lady on a Balkan Cruise had made this same horseshow in 2003. Back then, wonder of wonders, she was selected to ride an ass around the field.
That night, returned to the ship, the lady’s nose tingled and began to run. Although she itched from head to toe, she found no fleas or donkey hairs. Instead of going to the dining room for dinner, she stayed in her cabin. She dipped Q-tips in Cortisone Scalpe Itch Formula and dug them in her ears. She washed her hair with Pantene mixed with Cortisone Scalpe Itch Formula.
Just at dusk, the river thrusters on the cruise boat had turned away from Kalosca. The motors made as much racket as a bunch of cowboys roping a herd of bawling calves, but the lady was oblivious. She had just found exquisite relief by picking at her legs with the sharp end of a metal nail file dipped in Cortisone Scalpe Itch Formula.
***
Now, 15 years later, although the same southern lady had not ridden an ass this time around, once again her body began a head-to-toe itch. Back on their riverboat, she told cruise-mate Edrie to enjoy her dinner and to tell our Jackson friends hello, but she would take a pass on dinner tonight.
I had no Pantene mixed with Cortisone Scalp Itch Formula. I did have a nail file, Benadryl and some cold cream though.
Goodbye to Kalosca.
