Goodbye comfort zone, hello hospitality.

You often hear about how hospitable various nationalities are, but it's not until you experience it that you truly understand how enriching it is meeting people from different parts of the world.

You may know that Amélie is very keen, some would say obsessed, with: horses, mermaids, unicorns, princesses and Tinkerbell.  Looking through the list, there is only one thing that we can get her regular contact with, hence we take her horse riding when we can.  The first time we did that over here we went to a very impressive and professional stables, an Arabic dude ranch.  It was huge and clearly catered for a lot of horses that belonged to ex-pats and other wealthy people.  It had a walk-through pool for rehabilitation of the pampered mounts and an arena with an impressive VIP lounge containing seating in the Louis XV style, rather than the dusty plastic benches we were used to in the riding school we went to in the UK.

The problem was that they didn't do group lessons for her and she got a bit bored being on her own.  One of Domi's students then mentioned that her father runs a stables and we could go along with Amélie if we liked?  So up we rocked, and suffice to say it was the complete opposite of our first experience of riding schools out here.  For a start it was at the end of an unmade road, the sort I'd only seen before in Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman documentaries.  The kind of track with holes big enough to swallow a Toyota Yaris, in fact if they're still looking for Lord Lucan and Amelia Earheart...?  Anyway, at the end of which appeared our destination. 

This was not a dude ranch with pampered ex-pats posing about in their Burberry outfits.  It had a far more rustic appearance (read between the lines, I used to be an estate agent, I can only apologise...) and was a hive of activity with large numbers of local children and their parents obviously getting very involved with every aspect of the goings on.  Domi and Amélie felt at home straight away with the informality of the place, while I was (in my English way..) thinking 'but who's in charge, where is the health and safety, are there not strict start times to the classes, why are there people seemingly riding around all over the place, why is the car park not clearly signed,  where is the order????'.  You see I come from an environment where you turn up to attend a class at a certain time, where you are assessed to see what level you are, where there are lists, rules, regulations & systems for everything?  

This was far more organic.  It transpired that there was order, there were people in charge, there are systems, they're just hidden below a thin surface of informality.  Informality, we English don't do that very well.  Have these people not seen Downton Abbey?  We didn't build the Empire on informality, we did it with a stiff upper lip, a starched collar and a complete disregard for the opinions of anyone who had the temerity to already live there.

To the untrained eye kids were turning up, being given a helmet and then plonked on the nearest thing with four legs before allowed to roam willy-nilly inside a corral.  But after a little time you realised that the participants were quite happy about this and the Captain (the guy in charge) was actually being very efficient in matching the horses with the riders.  After introductions Amélie was helmeted, given a steed then led round.  She clearly enjoyed the fact that there was a lot of children doing the same thing, she felt part of the group rather than being on her lonesome.

We were the only non-Emerati family there, so would have fully understood if everyone had just left us to our own devices, but his is where the hospitality began.  While the place is owned by our host Salem, it is more of a co-operative than profit making organisation.  People started coming up to us to make conversation, offer us food and drink, to find out where we are from, to be friendly and interested.  My stiff upper lip was quivering, my in-built reserve assaulted like French cavalry attacking my regimental squares at Waterloo, 'why are these strangers talking to me?  Don't they know we don't do that?'.  I was Michael Caine in the Middle East version of Zulu but instead of throwing spears, the locals are sauntering up to my barricades and asking 'where are you from?  How nice to meet you, would you like some cake?'.   Maybe that's what the Zulus were trying to do when the first volley cut them down?  Perhaps they were using their shields to protect the scones they had made from the dust?  'Don't bother sending in the second wave with the jam and cream boys, I don't think the redcoats are interested.  Are you sure they didn't order Battenburg?'.  I know people in the UK who commute to work on the same bus/train every day and never speak to the person who sits next to them, even though it is the same person day in, day out.

It turns out people take along food and drink to share, and quite a selection it was.  'Try this drink, we call it custard, it contains saffron'.  'It can't be the same as custard at home' I thought so gratefully took a small cup, it was custard like at home but thin enough to drink and very nice.   We had dates, cake, coffee, and when you tried to politely refuse (I hadn't drank coffee for 25 years until two weeks ago when I had a small cup foisted upon me on a boat trip, but that's another story..) they were equally polite in their insistence.  They desperately wanted to share with you and be hospitable, to make you feel welcome.

Suffice to say we've been back a couple of times since and the reception has been the same and we're grateful for the opportunity that fate has given us to see this side of local life.  I guess it's the same for lots of things.  Saying 'yes' opens you up to a world of possibilities, saying 'no' leaves the door closed.  My recommendation would be to say 'yes' as often as you can, even if it means braving the custard.  After all if that's the worst thing that happens how bad can it be?