Horses

From northern to soutern China I’m often reminded of how much the Chinese prize ceramic horses. There’s an art shop cum café called Sancai in the modern art museum in Guangzhou named after the Sancai glaze used to cast the horses of the Tang period (618-907). These fine beasts (they look even more so in pottery) were brought in from Central Asia – the Fergana valley in today’s Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan – to add some strength to the imperial cavalry.

Central Asian bloodstock was depicted as the “blood sweating” horse. The Song and the Jin (1115-1234 AD and 960-1279 AD respectively) both spent treasure to build up their stables. A modern generation of Chinese blockbuster films glorify the period, putting national pin ups and pop stars into period battle dress to show off the skills of mounted warriors armed with crossbows.

Most people though will go back earlier, to the Qin dynasty (221-210 BC) for an even more impressive – and life-size – depiction of Chinese horses in clay: The life-size terracotta horses in the Qin royal tombs, unearthed and on display today in Xi’an city.

Chinese emperors and artists have for centuries been depicting horses in jade, marble, clay, bamboo and paint. The best works however died out when between the Ming and Qing dysnasties that cover the period 1368 to 1912, since horses were gradually being replaced with imported western guns.

The horse came to symbolize hope and courage in Japanese-occupied and civil war-torn China (not so often given the big-screen treatment) a place racked by war and hunger. Painters Li Gonglin, Han Gan and Zhang Ma became masters of mixing traditional Chinese ink painting and western oil effects. Chinese brush and ink artists prefer to paint bamboos and foggy mountains but Zhang Mu’s Horse Under a Tree, meant to convey the loneliness of war-ravaged China of the 1930s, is one of the finest examples of equine painting anywhere.

Zhou Xun and Zhao Mengfu both mastered the equine bodyline, though it’s not sure where they found the horses to paint: their studies don’t look like the rough Mongol and Yili breeds that were mostly all China had at the time.

Beijing will have the mother of all Chinese polo clubs in September, when Reignwood opens near Pine Valley golf club in Changping district to the city’s north. Its number two in China for Hussars, the cooperative of polo professionals which builds and runs clubs around the world. Hussars man in China is Briton Steve Wyatt, and his Nine Dragon Hills club near Shanghai, written about earlier on this site, has been two years in operation already.

Wyatt tells me that he difference between the two clubs is that Nine Dragon Hills is mainly for people “who like the polo life style,” in an exclusive environment in the lush countryside.” It’s more about being a member of the club in other words, rather than necessarily playing polo, though “quite a few of them (members) do actually wish to be riding or to try their hand at playing polo.”

But is there room for another polo club in Beijing in the doom and gloom of 2009? Yes, says Wyatt, the key is exclusivity: the two, admittedly low key polo, clubs in the capital are not of Reignwood’s international standard, he says. “The options currently available will appeal only to dedicated enthusiasts. I’m confident that when the facilities are available to attract a wider audience that the sport will develop much further in Beijing.”

Below is a photo of Steve Wyatt in the saddle at Nine Dragon Hills.

I’m amazed at how many clubs there are in China now. A man with a club of his own, Fenglei Lin has opened the Fondlay Riding Club on the western outskirts of this northern coastal city, with 35 mostly local horses. What’s interesting about his stable is the Russian Trotter, a breed brought into the region when it was part of the Russian empire and today the hardy staple of Lin’s stable.

There’s unfortunately less of the horses around, says Fenglei: breeding know how died out and the horses used as simple beasts of burden. The race was diluted into a mish mash of local breeds but the steed I was given to ride, a real perky mover called Hunter Puma, is described by as directly decended from the first two purebreds given Mao in the 1950s.

Growing the market in Dalian is his top priority though: there’s not a lot of activity in the club outside the summer months. A customs officer by day Fenglei is full of equestrian ideas: he’s thinking about a polo club and he’s considering a line of ornamental carriages for export. As director of the China Horse Industry Association the young looking 40 year old traces his interest in horses to the tales of his father, a general and horseman in Mao’s Red Army, who saddled up for the Long March. Continuing the military theme: the Fenglei was opened on a hilltop facility once occupied by the Japanese military, which occupied Dalian up to the end of the Second World War.

After some emailing between us I had the pleasure lately to meet in Beijing with Megan Lewis, the woman behind the Long Horse Ride between Beijing and London in the period between the Olympics in the former and latter city (2008-2012). Here’s a note from her on her progress: “In spite of bumbling bureaucrats, pedantic police, tiresome traffic, hobbling horses and bad backs, we have now successfully completed the first trial stage of The Long Horse Ride, from Laolongtou where the Great Wall of China reaches the sea, to the Wall at Badaling in Beijing district.”

For details, diary and photos – and how she mananged to stable her horses in some Chinese villages that wouldn’t have seen a foreigner on a horse since the Opium Wars, go to www.thelonghorseride.com. Megan will be returning to China in March 2009 for the next leg to the other end of the Wall at Jiayuguan. The ride is raising money for www.schoolchildrenforchildren.org, donators can follow the link below http://justgiving.com/meganlonghorseride. Call Megan on 01558-650582 (Home) 07523654958 (mobile)

Plenty of Europe’s most respected stud farms want to sell or train horses in China. The target is obviouslly the wave of new riding clubs, polo clubs and breeding farms which have sprung up in the country’s wealthier cities. Horses, like Mercedes cars, have become a status symbol of local businessmen.

From Germany, Ismer Stud is searching for partners in China because it sees “huge potential” in the country as a future market, says the stud’s director, Dr. Nils Ismer. There’s potential “in any kind of horse industry” here he says.

He sees Chinese interest in the Arabian horses, a speciality of the Strohen-based Ismer stud. On a 2007 trip to China Ismer representatives “recognized that there may be a big potential for the future,” says Ismer. They came back this year for Equestrian China expo in Beijing, looking for contacts to establish some partnerships or cooperation. “We see our position as a partner to follow up any development or business with any kind of support like advise concerning food, vet and blacksmith matters, registration work and for sure trainng of horses and people.”

Says Ismer: “The big potential I see, because there is not a lot of horses there yet and china is a country where the interest in horses and in riding is growing enormously. In 2007 we made already good contacts which gave us the feeling that there will be a future market.” The German horseman travelled to Beijing and Shanghai, says he believes “in every bigger city in China will be people or companies who can affford horses or build a business on horses.” Isme, he says, is in cooperation talks with different chinese partners “which I can not specify yet.”

There’s been a proliferation of equestrian magazines in China but top of the pile seems to be Horsemanship. Published by the China Railway Publishing House the magazine is edited by local horse enthusiast Li Yanyang and paid for by adverts for cars, interiors and jewellery. The magazine fills half its pages with content translated from American and European equestrian magazines.

Li says he started publishing the magazine in 2006 out of his own passion for horses. The magazine is distributed mostly in Beijing, free, “high class” leisure clubs and at equestrian clubs around China, says Li. Glossy, A4-size Horsemanship runs snippets of news from local equestrian clubs and competitions. But, not unlike hundreds of other glossy magazines battling for China’s middle class readers, it takes the lifestyle approach: content sways towards celebrities, travel and good living.

In the recent edition there’s a spread on local actress/model Ma Yangli – “The Beauty and the Horse” – whose spotless riding wear suggests this is a model casting some poses for the camera rather than any accomplished horsewoman. Another six pages of text and colour photos on Cai Meng, “the Bugler On the Horseback”: a local tycoon with a penchant for western style riding. Cai changes cowboy hats and chequered shirts a lot for the piece and also shows off his impressive collection of miniature horses.

There’s the practical too: “The Manufacturing Technicque of Riding Breeches And How to Distinguish the Fine” is an article perfectly pitched to draw advertising from the ever-numerous local manufacturers of breeches and other equestrian wear. Several equestrian clubs have their own inhouse magazines but the most ambitious publication is Equestrio, published monthly out of Hong Kong.

Most of the world’s equestrian gear is now made in China, was the number of booths at the recent Equestrian China expo in Beijing. The attendance was noticeably down on last year that may be because most of the makers of brushes, breeches, boots and whips are located in the industrial belt around Shanghai, which hosted last year’s show.

Two of the stalls this year: Yang Guo Feng, owner of Changzhou Yuyang Saddlery (the name is al little misleading given he only makes brushes) an export-focused firm in southeasterly Jiangsu province. Business is booming, reported Yang.

Professionalism has gotten him the orders: Guo honed his managerial skills at a state-owned brush maker until, seeing a niche in the equestrian business, he set up his own firm, Changzhou Saddlery. “I saw some European equestrian goods companies coming to our firm looking for a production contract and thought that was an opening for me.” He’s done well doing original enterprise manufacturing (OEM) – making goods for well known brands under their logos. And, increasingly, he’s making his own brand products – brushes, sponges and sweat scrapers.

Changzhou brushes are much cheaper than the famous brands, 10-20% what European brands charge. The firm does so by skinning its margins, down to 20%. “We want large volume in sales, rather than the huge margins better known brands seek,” says Yang.

He wants 50% of the European market for equestrian brushes and thinks he’ll get it “already 80% of EU brush retailers come to me.” Guo is more ambitious: there’s 5 staff working full time on a RMB1 million per year R&D budget, coming up with new brush fibres and designs.

I was at China’s – maybe Asia’s – poshest polo club lately and from what I saw business seems to be fairly good. A 90 minute drive south of Shanghai, the Nine Dragon Hills (named for the forested hills in which the complex is located) Polo Club is part of a huge gated community a local textiles tycoon is building for uber-rich locals and expatriates with the money to afford the EUR45,000 membership. My taxi driver took 20 minutes to get me from the local town, the manufacturing hamlet of Zhapu, to the club house – so long is the leafy driveway and so thorough the two security checks at Nine Dragon Hills. I was lucky to be there for a polo competition paid for by Mercedes to entertain local car dealers and auto journalists. After a half hour of jousting (lunging for a water melon atop a stake) and bicycle polo (grooms on mountain bikes) we got an hour of the real thing, played by a mix of hired Australian and Argentinean hands and a few of their local students. Both were pretty hand, despite the wet-slippery grounds. I watched from the balcony of the luxurious club houses, roped off from the seafood-fed Mercedes liggers.

The bulk of the traffic seemed to be going to the riding club attached to the facility. A solidly expatriate crew, European families, had driven down from Shanghai for an hour with an excellent English coach, Manuela. This was the first time in several years of riding at Asian clubs that I’ve had someone take a structured, technical approach to a lesson: she spotted a problem and worked on that problem with us for 20 minutes whereas other instructors just do the same trot, canter, jump routine lesson-in-lesson-out without spotting and fixing particular problems. I was asked for RMB1,500 to participate in this 40 minute lesson (with three other riders) but insisted I’d only pay RMB300, the maximum I’ve ever paid for a riding lesson in any country and because I was also partly here on reporting duties. The club had told me the facilities would be worth it. I don’t agree. Manuela was an excellent tutor, but this was a group lesson and I’d been promised private; and I was on a Chinese horse (I’m fine with that, but the club boasts about its imported bloodstock in its promotional material). Worse though was having to wait 30 minutes at reception for Rainbow, the liaison officer who was supposed to take me to the changing rooms and horses. A five star price but hardly five star service. Perhaps it’d be different if I go back for polo lessons.