A Bear in Bratislava

I thought that the photo of me with the Napoleonic soldier might throw you off but it seems that a few of my savvier readers were able to identify my new location as Bratislava (or Pressburg in German and Pozsong in Hungarian, although no one guessed those), the capital of Slovakia. I've been here for almost week now and, I must confess that I thought I’d enjoy a certain level of anonymity in this part of the world (I seldom modelled east of Milan) but as you can see from the above photo, the paparazzi always manage to find me.

I mean, as a former international fashion model I'm used to having my photo taken but this fellow was a little too much in my face.

In any case, Bratislava is going to be my den for the next 11 months and I have to say that my bipedal attendants have been awfully long in the face about the whole situation. I miss Spain too - I haven't had a manzanilla for over a week now! - but Slovakia brews excellent pivo (beer) and of course Czech beers are cheap and ubiquitous so you'd think my he-bipedal attendant would stop moping about.

There's a lot I can say about Bratislava but I think I'll pace myself a bit. I have to get a handle on the language which is a bit tricky . So far, besides pivo, all I've managed to learn is ahoy (hi), prosím (please) and d'akujem (thank you) because bears are nothing if not polite.

And I do know that "bear" is medved' and "grey" is sivý, but I'm not sure if that makes me Sivý Medved'.

So for the next little bit I'm going to work on my Slovakian as well as the attitudes of my two bipedal attendants. As a freelance Good Will Ambassador, there's always plenty of work for me to do (especially now that Angelina has repopulated the world again - I mean, she hasn't worked for months!) but this time it's a bit closer to home. Some people are just so ungrateful for the new experiences offered to them. Even if they could just learn to grin and bear it they might learn to actually like it here. And if not, I may have to hand out a few pink slips.

Where's Grey Bear?

I seem to be sitting in the hat of a Napoleonic soldier. Any guesses what city I'm in?

Feria for a Bear(ia)

This past Saturday, I took my bipedal attendants and my god-bipedal attendants to Málaga's feria, Andalucía's most famous summer fair - famous because malagueños have been drinking and dancing and parading horses and killing bulls (I don't like that part of it) through the summer's hottest two weeks for over 500 years.

On August 19th, 1487, the Catholic Kings entered the city, formally bringing it under the aegis of the crown of Castille. Four years later, Málaga's bigwigs decreed that festivities to commemorate Isabel and Ferdinand's reconquista should begin on August 15th - a time which also coincided with ongoing religious celebrations. The rest is history.

During the day, feria-istas (I just made that word up) head towards calle Larios in the downtown core to party away Málaga's daylight hours and, if they're still standing by evening, will continue on to the Real: the actual fair ground.

We were quickly caught up in the bedlam of calle Larios. One of the official drinks of the feria is cartojal: a typical wine from Málaga - sweet and pale - made from the muscatel grape. Bottles of icy cold wine and glasses are sold everywhere: the ice cream shop behind me (upper right) was transformed into a cartojal shop - and at 8 euros a bottle, it doesn't take long for sobriety to become a distant memory. In fact, the official feria website warns feria-istas:

Pace yourself, though, it goes down great but packs a punch and the fair goes on until late...

Excellent advice which we chose not to take. In retrospect, we probably should've eaten something more substantial than a small plate of manchego cheese.

Instead, we indulged in several bottles of cartojal and a few cervezas, stumbling about the streets with other carousing malagueños - many of whom were wearing typical Andalucían dress (flamenco is the dress code and gender-bending is encouraged). I'm not terribly proud of this but I became so tipsy that I actually was convinced to don a bright red flower - a flor de tela - in my bear-hair. But I'm comfortable with that - I mean, I am a boy-bear and all - but I think it's okay to let loose and colour outside the lines as it were. And I was pretty colourful.

Everyone wanted to have their photo taken with me - which I'm used to because I am a very recognizable and rather photogenic bear (a throwback to my international fashion model days) - but as a freelance Goodwill Ambassador, I was a little concerned that my excessive cartojal-consumption may have fallen short of the high standards set by the United Nations. I confess that my image may have been tarnished a bit too. Oh well. Málaga's feria comes but once a year and I can start working on my role as "pillar to society" this afternoon.

Or maybe tomorrow because today is a holiday in Málaga. The feria is over though - it actually ended yesterday - but because this is Spain, malagueños require a day of rest to recuperate from the previous 9 days of abandon and debauchery. And I always say that when in Rome - or Málaga - you should do as the Romans - or malagueños - do. I'm going back to bed. I just hope that no one sends UNESCO any compromising photos of me from Saturday afternoon.

The Bear-muda Triangle

I have to share with you my very sad news: I'll be leaving Spain shortly to continue my travels abroad. The good news is that my blog will continue so at least that's bearable. (I love bear puns).

Because of this, I made it a priority last week to visit the last town in Spain's famous sherry triangle: Sanlúcar de Barrameda (not Bear-ameda). I've already visited Puerto de Santa María and Jerez so this completes my Bear-muda Triangle of sherry.

I've actually spoken at great length about sherry but, if you'll permit me, I'll repeat what I said about manzanilla:

"Manzanilla belongs to the fino sherry family and its name means "chamomile" - like the flower and the tea. In fact, it's called manzanilla because people think it tastes like the tea. I think it tastes like sherry but what do I know? Bears normally drink green tea - not chamomile - because it regulates our body temperature, which is very important during hibernation season."

Sanlúcar is best known for its manzanilla and it's the best in all of Spain. It has a salty flavour thanks to the sea breezes which cool the small riverside town. I took my bipedal and my god-bipedal attendants there last week for a tour of the Pedro Romero bodega. Because of my extensive knowledge of sherry production, we were able to skip the guided tour and I led the group myself (see above right) ... just another thing to add to my c.v.

I won't bore everyone with the ins and outs of making sherry but let me say that one of the most important components in the process is the flor, or yeast. Flor (which really means flower in Spanish) is indigenous to Andalucía. Because sherry barrels are only filled about 5/6th of the way, a layer of flor develops naturally from the fermented musts (the freshly squeezed fruit juice) which then provides a protective barrier between young wines and the air.

This "seal" not only keeps the sherry from tasting like vinegar but aficionados like myself can actually taste the residual flavour of fresh bread in the final product. Bears have a very refined nose and palate.

Interestingly, the climate and humidity of both Sanlúcar de Barrameda and Puerto de Santa María are different than that of neighbouring Jerez, so the layer of flor is thicker. Science can be so interesting when the final product is sherry! While in Sanlúcar I took the opportunity of initiating my bipedal and my god-bipedal attendants into the mysteries of Andalucían yeast. I think they were still a little confused: I swear their heads can be as thick as the flor sometimes.

Of course, when it was time to leave, the management begged me to sign a sherry barrel. This is an honour afforded to very few and I can now count myself among the crowned heads of Europe. I'm not sure if I was asked because of my former international fashion model days (although I didn't see Claudia Schiffer's signature) or because I'm now a freelance Good Will Ambassador (I didn't see Angelina Jolie's signature either) ... but maybe it's because I know so much about sherry and have "survived" the Bear-muda Triangle. Or maybe it's a bit of all three. I hope so anyway.

A Bear, a Bull & a Flea

Being a former international fashion model, I often find myself sitting on the very cutting edge of fashion & design. This past year in Spain - in fact yesterday was my one year anniversary in the hola-land! - has been no exception and I confess that I've been completely smitten with the creations of a company from Pamplona called Kukuxumusu.

Kukuxumusu - which means 'the flea's kiss' in Euskara, (the Basque language) - has been around for almost 20 years and the company got its start during the 1989 San Fermin fiesta ... what we think of as the Mother-of-All Running of the Bulls festivals. Story has it that 3 friends, Gonzalo, Koldo and Mikel, wanted to earn some drinking money for the fiesta, and so they began designing very quirky t-shirts.

The rest is history.

Among the many things that has made Kukuxumusu successful is its upside-down world wherein bulls get the better of humans and an octopus falls in love with an ink-squirting fountain pen so it's no surprise that an almost anatomically-correct bull by the name of Mr. Testis would eventually become their mascot. In the world of Kukuxumusu, you can even find bears doing things that bears normally don't do, which modesty prevents me from describing in too much detail (although consenting individuals over the age of 18 can see here).

Yesterday, my bipedal attendants, my newly appointed god-bipedal attendants (which makes me wonder if my bipedal attendants are planning on giving notice) and I found ourselves enjoying Happy Hour piña coladas in Tarifa's old town. Tarifa is one of a handful of cities in Spain to have an exclusive Kukuxumusu store and needless to say, when Mister Testis - who just happened to be ambling through the old town - recognized me he came running toward me and gave me a big - well not bear hug - but a big bull hug. Then of course everyone had to take a picture of us: the iconic spokes-animal of Spain and the world's most famous former international fashion model and freelance Good Will Ambassador. We had to pose for hours (and sadly, my piña colada got warm) but one can't disappoint The Public.

I think my head is as big as his testicles.

Kukuxumusu's creations are available outside of Spain but I think that next month, when my bipedal attendants and I leave Spain, we'll all be (unofficial) Kukuxumusu ambassadors to the world - because god knows they've bought enough of t-shirts, coffee mugs, fans, sun hats and hip flasks this past year. Clearly I need to lower their allowance.

(Unofficial) Kukuxumusu ambassador to the world ... I think I'll start updating my c.v. now.

Córdoba Recycled

I realize that I haven't written for some time but I confess that, because of the recent heat, my siestas are getting longer and longer. What's a bear to do? - I mean, we are genetically programmed for long sleeps after all. In any case, a few weeks ago I decided to pay a visit to Córdoba. As a freelance Good Will Ambassador, I'm naturally drawn to places which tolerated and embraced different religions, cultures and ideas. That's part of my job description.

Founded by the Romans over 2,000 years ago (Julius Caesar once sacked it out of pure spite), it would eventually fall to the Moors in the 8th century. During this period it rivalled Baghdad and Cairo as the epicentre of art, learning & culture and, in its day, was considered the most brilliant city in all of Europe. It became a kingdom in its own right in 929 but was retaken in 1236 by Ferdinand III, which signaled its decline from greatness. Of course, the plague didn't help.

Phew! That's a lot of history!

We can still see today those cultural links between East and West that Córdoba forged over the centuries: Roman, Islamic, Jewish and Christian influences are everywhere. In the Jewish quarter or Judería, I visited one of the three synagogues which still exists in all of Spain. It's very small - bear-size in fact.

While walking through the Judería, I was asked by camera-wielding touristos to pose with Averroës, (I know! I know! - always the fashion model!), the Muslim philosopher, theologian, physician and all around Big Brain of the twelfth century. Among his many accomplishments - because he really did have an awfully big brain - he's believed to have been the first physician to identify and treat erectile dysfunction. Sometimes I'm glad that Grey Bears don't have reproductive bits.

Although there's lots to see in Córdoba - my bipedal attendants proved very adept at sniffing out excellent bars and stealing beer glasses from them - the biggest jewels in the city's already heavy crown are its alcázar (or fortress) and mezquita (or mosque). And if I had to chose - although no one really asked me to - the mezquita is my favourite. And not just because my grey flannel fur is shown to full advantage among its red and white horseshoe arches and pinkish light. (Although it does).

When you meander through the Patio of the Oranges or the mosque itself, it's hard to imagine that it took builders just one year to start and complete the mezquita. But in 785, what would be considered an architectural tour de force, pretty much set the Arab world on its ear. Walking through the mosque is like walking through a forest of columns and semi-circular & horseshoe arches, except here there are no lions and tigers, and only one bear.

Like many things in Andalucía, the mezquita would eventually be converted into a church, and is now the city's cathedral. It's kind of like architectural recycling, I guess. But that's what I like about Córdoba - and Granada and Sevilla and much of reconquered Spain for that matter. Andalucía isn't just bullfights, flamenco, excellent sangria and beer, tapas, and traditional homes with shady patios and gardens of jasmine and bougainvillea and bubbly fountains. (Although that's part of it). I mean, in the end, if we can't get along and play nicely, can't we at least respect the pretty buildings each of us made? I bet the mezquita's architects would agree.

Tooting His Horn

As most of you know, most bears are connoisseurs of fine art and, at the risk of tooting my own horn, I'm no exception. While most bears go in for naturalism, I find myself drawn to surrealism - a taste perhaps developed during my international fashion model days in Paris and Madrid.

So imagine my surprise when my bipedal attendants and I chanced upon a sculpture of Salvador Dalí's smack dab in the middle of a traffic circle not far from where we live.

The town of Puerto Banús doesn't have much to recommend itself unless you're a stinking rich jet setter looking for a place to tie up your yacht - and since I'm now a freelance Goodwill Ambassador, that's no longer an option for me. Besides, I've left those hedonistic days behind me. Puerto Banús was only "built" in 1970 by a close friend of Generalissimo Franco and its grand opening was attended by a Who's Who of celebs: Roman Polanski, the Aga Khan, Hugh Hefner, and Prince Ranier and Princess Grace of Monaco. And of course me. If memory serves, Julio Iglesias sang that night.

Anyway, the rhino. Four years ago, the 3-ton rhinoceros - known officially as Rinoceronte vestido con puntillas (Rhino dressed in lace) - found its way to a traffic circle entering town thanks to the generosity of Lorenzo Sanz, the former president of Real Madrid Football Club. He donated it to commemorate the 100th year anniversary of Dalí's birth. I confess that the rhino's "lace" was a little rough on my back side - which of course was bare. (Bear humour.) In any case, inspired by one of his own surrealist films as well as a painting by Veneer ("The Lace Maker"), Dalí created the sculpture back in 1956 and the one in Puerto Banús is only one of eight in the whole world.

I confess that visiting the rhino up close was a bit of a challenge. The traffic that careens around the circle is heavy and a couple of times I thought that Eternal Hibernation was only a moment away. Then I realized that a lot of people were slowing down because they recognized me. I almost got beaned by a passing car when I went over to say hi to the King of Saudi Arabia! Afterwards, what with the weaving in and out of traffic and near death experience, I had to calm my nerves with a nice little cocktail on the beach. It was a pretty tough day although great art and a fruity cocktail (or two) can really revive a bear's spirits.