The shine of the leather and explosion of camera flashes are almost blinding on a Saturday morning at Equuleus Equestrian Centre. This horse-riding club in Beijing's Shunyi district is where China's rich come to ride their way into social respectability, hauling freshly unpackaged breeches, helmets and riding vests out of SUVs and Audi saloons.

Inside the clubhouse, chairs around the bar are frequently taken by tripods and models: Film crews pay to use the grounds to shoot advertisements for cars, creams and couture. Club manager Wang Qiang was formerly editor of the Chinese edition on Cosmopolitan magazine. Magazine photo shoots on Equuleus's grounds get the club's name around. Her husband (and club co-owner), Shi Qi, keeps an interior design business going when he's not testing a horse in the club's hectare. The couple took on the business in 2001 from a busy local businessman who had opened the centre in 1999. They have since bought into the company as shareholders and live in a handsome villa on site.

They've added an indoor arena and new block stables, a necessary addition given that Equuleus has grown from nine horses in 2001 to 72 today. Most are retired racehorses shipped north via an agency in Guangzhou licensed to import horses from racetracks in Macau and Hong Kong. Even though they're inexpensive, retired racers nonetheless need up to a year's training to adjust to life as a school steed safe for inexperienced riders.

Six European warm-bloods (heavier horses crossed with thoroughbred racing types) were imported last year from Belgium and Holland to give the resident jumpers a chance in national competitions. Buying and flying the warm bloods, which cost 20 times as much as the retired racers dented the club's finances somewhat (it is subsidised from the couple's interior design and door-making companies). Revenue comes from riding fees, which vary from RMB150-250 (US$20-34, €14-23) for one-hour lessons.

Stable development

The couple's love affair with horses began in 1996 as newlyweds riding Mongolian ponies in grasslands like Bashang and Daxin, north of Beijing. Years of weekend trekking on ponies led to the couple learning to canter and jump on a bigger, faster beast - so they bought a thoroughbred in 1998.

Today Equuleus doesn't make money, but membership is soaring. The club's membership profile has shifted, too. "Two years ago it split evenly between expatriates and locals," says Wang. Today's 500-strong membership is 60 percent Chinese. Membership now has to be controlled, so prices may instead have to rise to keep up revenues.

The price hike may be justified. Wang is proud that Equuleus won a four-star rating by the Chinese Equestrian Association (CEA) last year. Good management and staff training justified the award, one of only three handed out.

The club has some competition. There is nearby Clearwood Stud, also in Shunyi district, and Nine Dragons Polo Club in Pinghu, Zhejiang promises members "the honoured life" on horseback and refreshments afterwards in a Westin-run resort hotel by the lake.

China's wealthy have to restrict themselves to a chukka of polo, as racing, most lucrative of equestrian sports, remains banned on the mainland. However, the lure of equestrian sports as a status symbol means there's little bother attracting corporate money - Rolls Royce sponsors a show-jumping competition while Porsche endorsed a flat-racing event at the Beijing Jockey Club in 2004.

That sponsorship money may have been well spent. A survey conducted by the CEA showed that of 93 percent Chinese equestrian enthusiasts are university educated or have returned from overseas, and most hold executive or management positions. They're also busy: Only three people showed up for the CEA-organised One Hundred Horse Lovers Ride, intended as a marketing event, though the organisation claims to potential corporate sponsors that it has the telephone numbers of 20,000 horse enthusiasts.