New Zealand: WWOOFING & Black Pudding

New Zealand Olympic dressage qualifier during a flying lead change at the Hawke's Bay Regional Dressage Championship.

As I sit here eating the same chow mein for the third meal in a row and sipping tea in order to medicate my coffee addiction, I can reflect on my final experiences in Clive Hawke’s Bay. Two words come to mind: black pudding and dressage. You may be wondering why Chardonnay, or Malbec, or Pino Gris were left out of the mix. They weren’t. They simply were present at all occasions, and therefore, irrelevant to mention.

Black pudding (also known as “blood pudding”): I came about this delicacy at the Hawkes Bay Farmers Market when curiously inquired to a Santa Claus looking man, all but wearing the hat, about the contents of the black pudding. You see, I thought that Black pudding sounded like a chocolate dish, and since every stand had amazing little free samples, I was ready for my chocolate fix. I failed to notice the rows of meat spread out on the tables before him.

This was a bit of a boobie trap, I think. He began with the history of the pudding, then moved onto the contents, and finally offered me a sample. It’s a delicacy in all regions governed by the Queen, it’s made of blood and ground up pig organs (the ones they didn’t use for the sausage), and it was currently warm and jiggly, right under my nose.

So I ate it. And it still was warm and it still was jiggly, except it seemed a deeper red when it was closer to my mouth. So I smiled at him and decided that I would never eat black pudding again.

The second word is the exact opposite of black pudding. It is cold, rigid, and black/white.

Dressage: To those who do not know what it is, it reminds me of ballet on horseback. Not just because of the dances that the horses do and the series of complicated steps and the music, but because it is a sport where pain does not exist. Fatigue does not exist. Competitions are watched in stony and tense silence while a horse/human pair bares all efforts to complete intricate and difficult motions. It is not a sport for the faint of heart.

Two judges sit in a car on the outside of the arena and do not even come in contact with the horse/rider. They ring a bell and the competition starts. All you can hear, as a spectator, is the labored breathing of the horse and the beat by which it moves. Most of the time, the horse’s hooves never touch the ground, making the horse and rider float through the air. Foam sputters from the horse’s mouth and the rider remains stone cold, pressing her mouth together into a flat line. Everything is still except for the massive lift of the horses legs and the warm air, steaming up from the horse flesh.

Afterthought: You’re welcome for not posting an image of black pudding.

My role as a WWOOFer was to take care of this horse, Neo, and make him look good for his dressage competition.

Final bow of a competitor at the dressage competition.