There is a tradition in the foxhunting world of offering a stirrup cup to those about to ride out. It is a drink, usually port wine or sherry, given to a rider when her feet are in the stirrups and the hunt is about to leave. The Scots call a stirrup cup “dochan doruis”, a farewell drink or drink of the door and often offer it to guests when they are about to leave the house. The English, shown through hundreds of years of literature, offered a stirrup cup, or parting drink, to those about to set off on their travels.
As an occasional foxhunter and frequent rider, I can attest that the small shot of alcohol takes enough of the edge off of nerves to forge forward with what might be an intimidating or challenging ride. It dulls the very first reactions to a daunting task, fear and anxiety. I personally am an advocate of the stirrup cup. I’m a much better rider when I drink.
I have just returned from travel and have now fully embraced the grand tradition of the stirrup cup in all above context. This might initially translate to Americans as having returned from Europe as an alcoholic. Perhaps true, I hope to justify the problem or at the very least invite others to appreciate a truly valuable custom.
Travel to foreign countries can be intimidating, especially with family, which can be daunting and especially to Americans, who can be…well, American. Different languages, currency, customs, modes of transportation, time changes, jetlag, and the ever-present fear of being recognized as a tourist, can lead to crippling fear and anxiety. This, in turn can cause one to completely miss the joy of travel and ruin a trip, or even a marriage. Some cases can be severe and downright Continental, resulting in phrases heard over the relaxed din of local chatter like, “How could you forget the tickets, Margaret?” followed by, “I remembered your shaving cream when I stayed up all night packing while you snored in the living room in front of the TV, didn’t I George?” “It’s not my fault” “I said one bag per person, not three, you figure out how to get to the next train in four minutes,” and my personal favorite, “Holy crap, what’s that in dollars!?”
Luckily, over thousands of years the Europeans have developed a very healthy appreciation for alcohol and have incorporated it into their daily lives. It is available, without judgment, at all hours of the day and from even the most unlikely places. The Germans serve beer at breakfast. The French serve Champagne and brandy in their coffee at all hours of the day. It is major part of every community’s agricultural production and the majority of it is consumed locally. It is pervasive in all lands, permeating delicately through all levels of a culture.
It took me about four days to lose the ingrained inhibition and have a glass of wine at lunch. After the perfect attitude adjustment (one glass, unless in Italy), I was able to slip into that European plane that exists alongside ours and enjoy the ride. My liquid courage gave me rosé colored glasses. My husband even started insisting I have a stirrup cup each day somewhere around 11am. It was the key to unlocking sincere enjoyment of two weeks of travel through six countries, translating five languages, utilizing four modes of travel, with three family members.
This knowledge is my personal gift to all would-be frustrated American travelers.
My toast and wish to you is, “May you lead a life that requires many stirrup cups.”
PROST!
R
