I admittedly didn’t have the full-blown Wellington experience the first time I visited the south Florida equestrian hub. I’d grown up reading about WEF, “Welly World” as many call it. Scrolling the beautiful photos, palm trees featuring prominently in every background.
But the first time I visited, I distinctly remember leaving feeling…underwhelmed. I’d visited to gather some b-roll for a film shoot, and granted, it was a slow day on site. There were fewer classes actively competing, less buzz. What stayed on me, though (and I’m very sorry to my Wellington-ite friends who are probably raising their hackles as they read on), was the feeling I left with. Like I had been sprayed with a mixture of suncreen and shame, unable to rinse off the feeling that I was simply not good enough. Not rich enough. Not pretty or skinny enough.
I’ve always loved eventing for many reasons, but chief among them is the sense I have of its blue-collar tendencies. Of course, to be involved in equestrian sports – especially at a recreational level – requires some form of disposable income. But I love eventing for its heart. The roll up your sleeves, push the bill collectors off another couple weeks, stretch the tall boots to their thinnest, grin and bear it.
Disclaimer: I do not believe this is a healthy lifestyle. I could write more pages on the lack of balance I know exists in our industry. But since when is everything you love completely healthy? I also love macaroni and cheese. And the occasional cigarette.
The view from inside the main Aachen stadium.
I harbored some worry that I would leave CHIO Aachen with the same sticky feeling on my skin. Here I was, attending arguably the best horse show in the world, which plays host to some 350,000 spectators every year and unifies most FEI disciplines together over a ten-day festival. There should be the show jumpers with their ritz and glamour, the dressage riders with their six-or-seven-figure horses.
Your first impression of walking through the ticket gates at Aachen is the sheer size of the place. Everywhere you turn, a stadium or yawning arena looms in the background, with retail tents stretching down enticing rows, displaying their wares. In short, it feels much like any other sporting event, but when you consider the scale of most equestrian competitions outside of racing, in the U.S. at least, it gives you that heightened buzz often accompanying a larger event like a football game (American or otherwise, take your pick).
If I were choosing an event to spectate at, Aachen would be at the top of my list. Yes, the crowds are teeming, but generally it’s a good crowd — you’ve got your retiscent slow-walkers and the stop-in-the-middle-of-the-walkway types, but it’s a respectful crowd who just wants to collectively join in the experience of spending loads of money on saddle pads and, if you’re into it, lingerie. The main stadium itself holds about 40,000 people, so there’s plenty of room for large crowds, and trust me: you’ll need at least a week to make it through the 200+ tradestands on the grounds.
You always have the chance to get up close and personal with the athletes and horses, with Aachen laying out bridle paths throughout that stream their way to the various collecting rings, lunging areas and the stables.
Through all of this, I was left with the distinct feeling that I did, in fact, feel like I belonged there. Sure, everywhere I turned there were Hot People™ dressed in clothes that I would need an entire quarter’s worth of pay to afford, not unlike Wellington…but it just felt different. It felt more accessible, and like all of the walks of life mixed together into one sweaty, currywurst-smelling fervor about horses.
I felt less sticky when I left. Despite the sweat, and the faint film left behind by overconsumption of currywurst (ok, that is my only other bit of feedback: could we perhaps have SLIGHTLY less sausage options in terms of cuisine?).
Like a Mini-Olympics
Aachen’s “wall of fame” – which features some quite funny photo choices if you keep looking.
Casting an eye down the start lists for each class, be it jumping, dressage or eventing (also on the docket are combined driving and vaulting, which I regrettably didn’t have the chance to take in for myself) is like reading through an Olympic roster. It’s no secret the best in the world frequent CHIO Aachen, and particularly this year, just over 12 months from the upcoming FEI World Championships for all of these disciplines, it seemed each country was keen to gain some key intel on the venue and the environment to use in their preparation.
Personally, I’d love to see something like this festival come to the U.S. While I understand we don’t always have the numbers that our UK and European counterparts do, I think we are also underselling ourselves in terms of spectator draw. Let’s look at Kentucky, for example, which attracts a few hundred thousand spectators throughout the spring, between the Keeneland spring meet, the Defender Kentucky Three-Day Event and the Kentucky Derby. There IS horse culture in America, and maybe pulling the threads of these often heavily segmented satellite sports would result in a similar-feeling celebration of the horse. The Kentucky Horse Park has the infrastructure to support multiple disciplines (as demonstrated by the 2010 FEI World Equestrian Games, as well as the simultatneous 5* show jumping and eventing that take place during Kentucky Three-Day week). Creating even a bi-annual festival (the Europeans have their European Championships every two years — and yes, we have the Pan American Games every four years as well — this could be come North, Central and South America’s version of this, in some ways). That’s a guaranteed bi-annual multi-million dollar economic impact, epsecially if this festival coincided with other major events like the Kentucky Three-Day or the Kentucky Derby.
(If anyone institutes this, I’d love a credit and corresponding compensation; even better, let me know if you’d like to back this idea.)
I sadly only visited the Lindt candy bar ONE TIME, which offends even me.
There are also a lot of takeaways gleaned from my experience as a member of the media. Athletes (and owners, grooms — people with credentials, basically) and media had access to a special area of the grounds that featured a VIP Area, an open bar, a Lindt candy bar and catered lunch every day. We were situated just behind the main stadium and its collecting/warm-up ring, and we had a dedicated media center with decent WiFI available to us as late as we needed it every day.
Listen: everyone working a horse show works hard, long hours. As media, our days are typically in the 15-18 hour range (made all the more exhausting by the fact that while the riders and owners are tucking into their open bar beverages upon competition completion at the end of the day, we’re really just beginning our work day), and there is nothing worse than having to battle the food lines in the spectator area, fight your way into some sort of workspace, pull your hair out from slow internet, and meanwhile be all at once dehydrating and starving yoursel for lack of provisions. We’re tasked with telling the stories of the week — having proper infrastructure with which to do this makes a massive difference, and makes the long days feel less all-out draining.
The entrance to the building that houses the media center.
A very swanky open bar for riders and media that, again, I only visited once.
It wasn’t all perfect — I was a bit stuck chasing riders down toward the barns like an annoying little duckling if I wanted quotes after dressage (luckily event riders by nature are VERY NICE and I love them for it) because there was no dedicated mixed zone, and on more than one occasion it was difficult to find seats in the press tribune seating, clearly marked for press and media only but inexplicably always occupied by riders and owners (who had their own dedicated section) with no enforcement of who could sit where happening — but it was pretty damn close.
A Reminder of Just How Global Equestrian Sports Are
No better view in the world!
It’s very easy to get sort of stuck in your chamber, feeling like the silly “horse stuff” you do doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.
And let’s be clear before I go too much further: in the context of the world at large, where unspeakable atrocities are occurring with every word I type, where people suffer from unimaginable inequality and abuse — the context of a miffed dressage test or a run-out on cross country falls into stark contrast. Yes, we work in a very privileged environment. It’s our livelihood, but damn — what a livelihood it is. We are lucky. We cannot forget this, and we cannot forget that all-important context against the broad spectrum of troubles that plague our word.
But sometimes, at least for me, it can feel like what I do is too silly to legitimize. I struggle to name or even describe what I do for work in the company of my higher-educated, corporate job-working friends.
Is there a better office view??
My trip to Aachen reminded me: we work in a global sport that reaches millions of people each year. It’s so well-recognized in some areas that people come from far and wide to take it in — and even the non-horsey among them leave feeling bitten by a bug or one sort or another. It was a good, validating reminder for me — and yes, I’m the type that needs that sort of validation, just every once in awhile, when my own self-confidence is flagging a bit.
As we look ahead to Aachen’s World Championships in 2026, it’s valuable for us all to remember: Our sports matter, they have an impact. We should protect them, nourish their growth, and always ensure the horses are the top of every decision made. I witnessed that at Aachen this year, and it gives me hope for the future.
