mule jam
the domestic minx
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μαρμελάδα μουλαριών
Mule Jam!
No, it's not a mucilaginous concoction of feral horsemeat boiled down to a gelatinous sugary spread.
It's a cry heard when three or more mules, while making their way up a mountainside, attempt to round a corner simultaneously, wreaking havoc for downward moving traffic as well as for their own pack. Confusion is usually accompanied by braying, a frantic tinkling of multitudinous bells, the cracking of a whip and the gruff and pointed derision of the muleteer.
It was a cry heard many times in Santorini.
Days spent in this island paradise were a delirious blur of sunshine, ouzo, fetta, grilled octopus and Mythos beer. A mule ride was the only sensible way up the mountain after an afternoon of decadence by the beach and certainly the most fun. With little more than a bikini to protect me from the worn leather hide of the saddle and the coarse hair of the mule, there would be an intoxicating swaying and swaggering upon the back of the accomodating beast from bottom to top.
Hands grasping the reins firmly, I would stroke his mane and feel the velvet of his ears as he brayed and grunted up the hill side, occasionally nipping and biting the flanks of the mule before him.
There exists a deliriously bohemian patchwork of this moment, looking over my shoulder at the crystal aquamarine of the Aegean Sea, camera slung and bouncing over my bare back, the throaty laugh of my friend behind me, the broad white splash of smile from my son ahead, the 'chick a chick a heeeyy' of the mule driver guiding his troupe up the steep slope as the glorious Grecian sunshine beats down on my shoulders.
And the sweetly, deeply earthy, manger smell of the mule.
I've always been partial to the mule.
My first recollection of little Neddy GeeGee Poppo is at Brighton Beach in my formative English years followed by a rather daunting donkeyless gap extending to the mid 90's when our family boarded a rogue band of Javanese mules to transport us to Mt Bromo.
Even now I laugh out loud at the memory of my heavily built husband who decided against riding his own beast home, its poor legs splayed almost to breaking point on the trip there. As my husband contemplated a gentle stroll back to base alongside his muleborne family, our Indonesian muleteer was struck suddenly by rabid spontaneity, giving our mules a quick flick with his whip which sent us hurtling towards the horizon.
Galloping uncontrollably, I looked back towards where my husband had been, only to see the now distant figure of a man running at killing pace for what would be the next 3 miles at almost 3000 metres above sea level.
Perhaps he should have chanced the mule.
Strong, sturdy and capable of bearing the heaviest loads, they are infinitely dependable, infinitely competent. And quite swift too, even at ludicrous heights above sea level.
When next we chanced upon each other, the mule and I, almost a decade later, it was under rather desperate circumstances. Given my state of intoxication, the sharp incline of the cliff face before me, an imminent sunset of spectacular proportions awaiting us at Oia, and the comely collection of riderless mules, our reacquaintance was inevitable.
"Oh madama, they willa notta bite," bragged the mule driver "they is veeeery good donkey."
"And they isa veeery strong," he said directing his comment to the large, unaccompanied fellow lurking behind us.
"Theysa go up anda downs a thisa hill every day, for ohso many many timesa, notta tired."
I looked at their long, tired, beleaguered little faces, their whimsical local headpieces and well worn saddles. How many corpulent bottoms had been plonked on those carriages with subsequent portage to the top of the hill?
How many intoxicated ones?
I happily plonked my elegantly light but inelegantly soused arse upon the ancient, dirty saddle and began enacting an age old ritual with the hapless mule.
And fell in love with it.
I actually think the mule liked it too. He was so excited he nipped his friend four times on the flank and lurched out of position on the bend so badly that the ensuing mule jam almost took out three hefty German tourists on the way down.
A bit of grunting, braying, bell tinkling and posturing by the muleteer and peace was restored.
Ah, Santorini. If only the traffic here was half the fun.
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Reader Comments (14)
Those mules have to be the most beautiful mules in the world! They look like they've been brushed over with that white stuff everyone used to use on their tennis shoes in the olden days.....is that you in the bikini on the mule? Didn't you get a horrible rash on the inside of your legs from riding bare legged. I used to get a dreadful rash if i rode bareback in a bikini or shorts.....it was a long time ago, in my teens so I did it anyway.........wonderful writing Minx
Thank you Thinista x
Everything in Santorini is beautiful, so beautiful - and mostly white too!
Including these adorable mules xx
Oh yes, that's me, possibly too inebriated (again) to have entertained the idea of inner thigh rash...
Never did get a rash though...someone was smiling at me for a change..
Dear Minx what a wonderful figure you have and a brave soul for wearing a bikini! my hats off to you, I only wear shorts with bikini tops...there something foul afoot in Xangaland right now, the comment section I think the techs are constantly working on it :) hopefully it will be fixed soon :)
So jealous! Santorini has long been one of my vacation spots I've been dying to visit. I'm sure its even spicier with a saucy little Minx there to liven things up!
I watched a documentary not long ago where an anthropologist conjectured that the Atlantis myth was based on Santorini.
If you see any flying saucers, send them my way, please!
Thank you Lady Terri x,
Brave and beyond caring!! It was easy to be bold in such a beautiful place - sunshine, the delicious smell of ancient history in everything we did...beer..
I usually wore my white sarong about my waist but chose to dirty my bikinis on the saddle instead (don't even try to apply logic here) and the sarong around my neck...
Curiously, no chafing, no grubbiness!
But the beginning of many mule rides!!
Oh Kitty,
You would ADORE Santorini!!! It is FABULOUS and filled to the brim with delicious men!!
It is also abounding with history - which I LOVE!!
When the monstrous earthquake decimated the island and created the caldera in 1645BC, it is thought to have taken the civilization of Atlantis with it.
I can fully believe it.
Sitting on the mountain, overlooking the caldera, there was a truly deep, disturbing and mesmerizing pull from the water. Unexplainable. (perhaps it was the ouzo)...
It is magical. You MUST visit.
I will definitely return!!
Madam, you attracted me to your post by a headline that promised much to an afficionado of shoes, then led me up the side of a mountain on an ass. Nice though the ass looks (and the mule isn't bad, either), I can't help thinking I have been conned.
Beautiful suntanned goddess minx,
You constructed a story that reminded me of an old movie that I once saw called "Summer Lovers" a cheesey 80's movie with Darrell Hannah and another girl and guy that spent the summer in a place that looked exactly like Santorini. I thought then and still think now that it looks like a beautiful place to be. You my dear looked very fetching in your white bikini and dark tan- looking very yoga/pilatesized... what a fine pair of mules. I have always thought of them as humble sweet creatures, hard working and very special. The two in the picture were fancy and dressed up in the going to town mule wear ready for a night on the town. Thank you for sharing your wonderful story and now your special little place is on my list of things to do before I die... the list continues to grow longer -along with my respect and fondness for you as a writer! well done!
xxx kk
Oh dear Bill,
You are deliciously connable xx
I would have thought that the very mention of "mule jam" to a shoe afficionado would have filled him with immediate horror, rather than interest - but then, there is no accounting for "taste"...
Mule Jam, either way does sound very gamey...
Amazing what a bit of bareback bouncing will do for an ass...
My darling Kimmykat X
You simply must get your lithe and feline form over to Santorini. You will find your Heaven there, I assure you. It is filled with beauty of every shape and form, it is sunny and uplifting and filled with mystery and magic. You can feel it.
Everything about the place is delicious and delirious and utterly mesmerising.
Yes, mules are sweet and honest little creatures, hardworking and humble yet obstinate and feisty in a flash. I love them.
I must say, all the little mules looked well looked after in Santorini, but the poor little things really earned their rest when they eventually got it. Up and down that daunting cliff face every day, so many times.
There are many times I wanted to escape on the back of one of them and ride into the sunset. In my inebriated state that would have meant riding off the cliff face and into the caldera...
mmm...
I will return one day. Writing about it brings back so many wonderful memories!
xox
There is nothing so humble and sweet as the donkey.
I like the ass too...
ooh, you are "cheeky" Eddie!!!
xx
Wow, that definitely sounds more interesting that a traffic jam over here, Nice pic of you by the way
Thank you Lola.
I'll go a mule jam any day over those of regular traffic.
Much more civilized and definitely lots more fun!!
My ass was more than happy!!