The Horse Club
Istanbul Atli Spor Kulubu
Mihran's grandfather gave him the legacy of the horse club. When Mihran was small the club was a place out of his dreams. He'd rise early on Saturdays and take the bus across the city to this hidden spot tucked between skyscrapers. When he arrived at the club he would take lessons from his grandfather's best friend, Javit Bayer, a retired cavalry officer. Mihran would get so bored with Javit's attempts to teach him dressage. All he wanted to do was jump. His horse typically had a necklace - beads to fend off evil eyes, much like the ones we bring back each time we visit. The riders then used Indian cavalry saddles so when they had the chance to sit on a European horse that came with its own forward seat or dressage saddle, they were amazed at the comfort.
Times have definitely changed at the horse club. Cutting edge footing in the many rings and frequent FEI competition have placed Atli Spor on the map of international competition. Mihran misses the old days - less politics, but the club remains a horse sport lovers dream come true. We visited this year on a Saturday. The small ring was set up for junior competition and even though the jumps were low, the tricky course would have challenged most of us American hunter riders. The large outdoor was being set for an afternoon grand prix competition while we walked around the multiple clubs that make up the complex. The facility photographer, an older man with a flock of admirers went through old shots with those gathered around him and eyed my camera suspiciously.
We had tea and breakfast on a terrace overlooking the small ring and we couldn't help but compare and create more wish lists for our own barn. Professionals with a string of horses schooled for ten minutes, maybe popping over a jump before a groom arrived to take one mount and give them another. The horses were amazing - the riders more or less pilots - lots of counter bending and walk trot canter in each direction. One junior rider really caught our eye. Mounted on a massive warmblood, this tiny thing really knew her stuff. You'll see a photo of her below.
The horse club is one of the rare places in Istanbul that I don't feel like a stranger. I understand the clothing. I know the language the grooms speak with their horses. As we wandered down a partially filled temporary stabling set up for the show that afternoon, Mihran noticed a horse who had pulled its water bucket from the wall. He found a hose and I manned the spigot. It felt like home. We stopped by the lounge above the large indoor to have a tea just in time to see a rider down in front of a jump. Her family and friends hovered around her as she waited for the ambulance to arrive. Riders continued to school their horses on the rail. I watched the expressions of the onlookers through the glass and knew the smiles and banter of her friends waiting with her. Despite the risk we love these creatures - and we all find a family at the barn who support us when we're down. Comfort is comfort in any language. I didn't need to know Turkish to understand what the injured rider's friends were saying.
