Falling isn't in man's nature

That which is called firmness in a king is called obstinacy in a donkey. With this quote Barney launches into a vivid account of his heroic experience atop such an animal in Greece. This happened during an offshore tour on the island of Santorini, on his ‘sabbatical' — a Mediterranean cruise that his mother-in-law unwittingly ended up financing.

The ride had been suggested by a friend who said: "When in Santorini you must ride a donkey. It's the equivalent of kissing the Blarney stone in Ireland and overcoming acrophobia, or tossing coins in the Trevi fountain."

"You're a donkey," was his wife's terse opinion when he mentioned his plan, before setting sail.

"But like a king I was firm in my convictions, mate," said Barney to me, on his return. "Besides," he added, "I wanted to compare this against riding a horse. I've dabbled in a bit of horseracing in the past."

Barney has a knack of saying one thing when he really means something else. In this instance (though he thinks I'm unaware) he would really be happy for me to conclude he was once a much-decorated jockey like Dettori; what he is really referring to is the short stint in his multi-faceted career when he worked as a stable hand transferring horse manure to a large van outside the stables.

"Apart from the height, mate, the experience is not very dissimilar," he opines. "Oh, and the donkeys don't have reins. At least the one I got to ride didn't."

All was proceeding well for the first 50 metres, according to Barney, when what should round the bend but a celebratory wedding crowd, brass band at the head, trumpets blaring. The donkey, in contributory mood, emitted a tentative bray.

"I should have heeded the warning and dismounted, my friend. This was the donkey's way of saying, ‘Mate, I'm spooked,' or, ‘Weddings give me the jitters,'" said Barney.

"How does one control a spooked animal without reins?" he continues, rhetorically.

Anyway, the donkey which had been walking lazily broke into a disoriented canter. "The only solution at that time - not a very savvy one, I admit, but people are not known to have moments of brilliance thinking under pressure - was to grab the animal's ears and try to use them as reins."

This of course meant lying flat on the donkey.

Brass band

"I could hear the donkey's owner far behind shouting something I thought was advice. Also by this time it was difficult to distinguish between the donkey's wild braying and the brass band's enthusiastic horn blowing. Suddenly many things seemed to be happening at once. I barely lifted my head and what should I see but another spooked donkey, this one carrying the bride. It had broken from the marriage party and it looked like it either wanted to rescue its fellow-being, on which I was atop, or join in a race with it. Also, suddenly, these animals were no longer cantering controllably but galloping with a speed that would have made a stallion proud."

Amongst all this frenzy, Barney stated, he happened upon a whiff of wisdom. "There's a reason why people hang on for dear life to runaway animals, mate. It's to avoid the irrecoverable loss of face of being thrown off, rising up bruised, dirty and disheveled, trying to smile but looking foolish, and clearly admitting without even saying so, that the animal is superior."

In the end, the donkey, terrified by the rushing tide, stopped in its tracks just on the waters' edge. Barney and the bride made discreet dismountings and by the time Barney had rearranged his suit the donkey's owner caught up.

"You are a donkey," he shouted, echoing the prediction of Barney's wife.

Here, in the present, Barney shakes his head ruefully at the experience and offers, tentatively, a second quote: If a person says to you, you are a donkey, pay no heed; slap him even; but if three people say this to you, buy a saddle.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.