June 7, 2025 
It is a truth universally acknowledged that one can be brilliant at riding a horse or brilliant at love-making, but not both.
“And I don’t ride,” I often add suggestively when I share that observation.
Because the truth is, I made that saying up and am the main source of its promulgation. But that doesn’t make it any less true. In fact, I’m sure it makes it MORE true, being as I am an astute observer of human behavior.
Whenever I alight in France, I am always treated to explicit and detailed gossip regarding euro riders’ sex lives.
As a journalist, I must listen intently, although reporting on it is impossible. (I am nothing if not discreet.) I feel that this sort of gossip is not something we engage in much in North America. We seem to be mostly indifferent, unless you do something egregious with your groom behind the bar at the Gallery, that notorious party place that lights itself up on Saturday nights at WEF.
Or maybe it is I that am mostly indifferent, knowing the truth of the afore-mentioned aphorism.
But it is interesting for me to be in a place where riders are something of celebrity athletes, and not just participants in a rich man’s niche sport no one knows anything about.
Here you have things like packed stands, spectators that are members of the general public, fans that line up for autographs, and yes, sex gossip.
But enough of that non sequitor. This is an article on Friday’s Nations Cup at the CSIO5* here in La Baule, France.
This is my second time at La Baule, something of a perfect show. The show everyone in France will tell you to attend if you are to attend only one show. It began here in 1960, in this small town by the sea. The grounds are a postcard—one large, beautiful grass ring, surrounded by boxes and stadium seating, and attended enthusiastically by the community, who bring delightful atmosphere, but admittedly make parking difficult.
I find a place of marginal legality on the side of the road, only partially blocking a truck. (I’m sure he can get out if he ABSOLUTELY needs to.) And even though I’m in France, whose people are known for being overly fastidious in such matters, no one objects, because everyone knows we have top horse sport to watch!
I, as usual, am over-credentialed.
I have the press wristband for my journalistic activities and an owner’s lanyard, acquired through my membership in the FEI Jumping Owners Club. The latter affords me access to the Rider’s Restaurant, where I can confront members of the World’s Top 10 with promises that one day they’ll be riding a horse of mine. Yes, one day. If they live to be 95 and are still riding…
It’s going to happen, I assure them, their future careers are safe with me. I only just need to get these blessed animals I’ve been breeding to an age that will interest them…
And then there I am, at the edge of the arena, raising my camera to take photos of other people’s horses—quelle horreur!—utilizing whatever talents I have to stay in the game until the horses take over from me.
I’ve already studied the start list, and left the enormous American flag at home because I judged our chances dim and only wanted to wave the flag in victory or near so. I judged Ireland and Belgium as having the best chance, though the French with me say “Bahhh!” or whatever that sound is they make when they disapprove of what you say.
But of course I am right. (I am, as I said, an astute observer.) Although Great Britain makes a valiant effort in the first round that I frankly did not see coming.
The first round puts Belgium on the top, followed by Ireland, with the UK in the third spot. Team USA ended 9th, eliminated from contending the second round.
One thing I love to see is an improvement from the first to second round, which is routine with some riders, students of the game and the course, and less routine for most. Tom Wachman of Ireland improved from an 8-fault first round to a perfect clear in the second, eliminating the need for Cian O’Connor as the anchor rider to go, as Ireland clinched it up with an overall zero score.
We also had improved rounds from two of the Brazilian riders, Luciana Diniz and Pedro Veniss, whose first round 8-fault total was transformed into a zero for round two, again eliminating the need for the anchor rider to go. The result catapulted them from fifth into third-place podium territory.
Belgium foolishly chose to knock two rails from two different riders in round two, ceding the win to Ireland.
Here are the other riders who improved from imperfect first rounds to clear ones, mentioned because, as I say, I admire it. We had Henrik von Eckermann with Minute Man, Scott Brash with Hello Folie (full sister to the über-popular stallion Candy de Nantuel), Adrian Schmid of Switzerland with Chicharito 11, Richard Vogel with Cloudio, and crowd favorite Nina Malleavaey, riding for France, with Dynastie de Beaufour.
I’m not going to say I was not somewhat distracted. Not only by the sex gossip, but also by my presence at the “public restaurant,” a place where normal, non-credentialed people can pay for a very nice table ringside and be served loads of champagne and delicately cooked sea bass and something for dessert that was flakey and filled with chocolate and cream and absolutely delicious, but—
I did take some notice of the course, whose most tricky line came with the old, tried-and-true delicate vertical after the water—on this track, part of a double. The double was a famous jump from La Baule, town by the sea, city of boats and beaches, whose standards are those old-fashioned beach huts where people in times of yore changed into their bathing costumes.
Based on my travels in Europe, now they change just right out there on the beach, an inducement for always carrying binoculars, even if you aren’t a birdwatcher. (But it’s best to claim you are.)
This jump was used once in the European Championships. That’s why it’s famous. You should also know that Friday night there is a party at the rider’s hotel, the famous Barrière l’Hermitage, on the beach, and at precisely 10 PM a cake was served and all the riders must be there for photos and to eat it. There’s no getting out of it.
This I learned at the press conference, the very first one I’ve ever attended as a journalist. (I have attended as a winning owner, in days lost to the long-ago misty past.)
But worry about word count restrictions (of which there are none, I am told by my editor scoldingly) prevented me from attending the party, and satisfaction from the previously mentioned flaky pastry prevented me from eating the cake.
Also, my French friend pointed out to me, “You don’t have an invite.”
“Um,” I replied, assured of my enthusiastic welcome had I chosen to attend. “It’s for VIPs.”
Follow Erica Hatfield’s European #destinationhorseshow tour on Eye Candy Jumpers Instagram.
