Fishy Business

Before I made my mark as an international fashion model, I was a poor starving albeit photogenic bear (with high cheekbones and excellent posture) just learning the ropes on the catwalks of Paris. And while I was in Paris, I learned the expression chacun à son goût which roughly translates as "everyone has their own taste" or "one man's meat is another man's poison." I used to think that this was an expression cooked up by Parisians to account for their taste in snails and frog legs but today I learned that not accounting for taste is both universal and ancient.

How so?

This morning, my bipedal attendants and I went to visit the ruins of the Roman town of Baelo Claudio, located about located 22 kilometres outside of Tarifa on the Atlantic coast of Spain. Baelo Claudio began life as a base for North African trade in the 2nd century b.c.e. but, as a processing town for garum, had its heyday during the reign of Emperor Claudius (41 - 45 c.e.). Garum was a food condiment as well as a natural cure-all (e.g., dog bites, dysentery, and ulcers) which the ancient Romans were absolutely crazy about. It was made in Baelo Claudio by the gallons, sloshed into amphorae and then shipped around the Roman world - which, bear(!) in mind was pretty large.

Garum is made from the crushed decomposing guts, heads, tails, roe and blood of fish which have been pickled in open pots under the hot sun for several weeks in brine. Often vinegar, wine and herbs are added. The highest quality - the Grey Poupon of the fish sauce world - was made from mackerel, while the Heinz ketchup variety was made from tuna. It was reputed to have a mild taste but it was so whiffy to produce that garum had to be made outside areas of human habitation. And I used to think that corned beef and cabbage smelled! (Well, it does.)

Some people have likened garum to Worcestershire sauce but I can't really comment because, as a vegetarian bear, I've never had Worcestershire sauce because it has anchovies in it. Needless to say, Bloody Mary's are not my tipple of choice.

The ruins at Baelo Claudio offer the visitor a glimpse at a typical Roman city. There is a circular city wall, a large main gate, administrative and judicial buildings (including a curia for the local senate and a basilica or courthouse), a public archive, forum, and temples to Jupiter, Juno, Minerva and to the Egyptian goddess Isis.

There are also small shops, a market place, a theatre, three aqueducts, and even public baths. After a day in the fish vats, I'd want a nice soak too. Preferably with bath salts rather than pickling salts. At the edge of the town is the "industrial park" where you can see what's left of the garum tanks, the aqueduct which serviced them, and a sewer system.

For fun, Romans liked to pit bears against other wild animals as well as gladiators - the Emperor Commodus is reputed to have murdered 100 bears by his own hand in just one day! - so I was very much relieved not to have found an arena at Baelo Claudio. If there had been - well, let's just say that as a freelance Goodwill Ambassador, that would have been quite the test to my professionalism.

Of course, we weren't the only ones there today and I had to hide behind my fair share of columns to avoid being recognized. I hope the fact that I had to duck under the cordons and sprint past the prohibido pasar signs didn't annoy the guards too much - those signs and barriers certainly didn't stop a couple of tour groups from climbing over to take photos.

The ancient town lies very close to the coast of the Atlantic, and what with the seemingly unending white sand beaches & dunes, turquoise water, and perfect surfing winds, it's an amazing spot to sit and watch the kite surfers and think about life as it was 2,100 years ago. Over the years, Baelo Claudio was besieged by a tidal wave, earthquakes and even Barbary pirates, and its inhabitants finally called it a day in the 6th century c.e. But if you can find that spot away from autograph hounds (like behind a column), block out the tour guides (you can spot by them by their togas), and sit very still you can almost smell the garum. And although the French may say, chacun à son goût - this is a good place to remember that the Romans said it first, de gustibus non est disputandum. Because when in Rome ...

The Bear & Castle(s)

I suppose that "The Bear & Castle(s)" sounds a little bit like a British pub but in reality it describes a Sunday drive through the Spanish countryside with my bipedal attendants and a few bear chums. I still can't get used to the idea of being able to jump in a car and spend the afternoon castle-crawling. Most bears prefer to spend long, lazy Andalucían Sundays lounging by the pool, playing shuffleboard, and drinking Russian Bears (click here for recipe) and Polar Bears (click here). Both are excellent cocktails!

Our first castle is (sort of) found in the nearby town of Castellar de la Frontera. Castellar is a little odd because it's really two, two, two towns in one and you have to go through the first to get to the second. A little over 30 years ago, inhabitants of the hill top town (where the castle is) were moved down river to a "new town" by the Spanish government. The relocation didn't go very well and soon some of the original inhabitants started moving back to the top of the hill. Unfortunately, they found that many of their homes - which now have historical value - were bought up by affluent Germans-cum-hippies.

The two groups don't get along terribly well. I thought that, as a freelance Good Will Ambassador, I might be able to open a meaningful dialogue between these two groups and bring some harmony into this hilltop village. Unfortunately, the Spaniards seemed more keen on eking out a living and the Germans of turning the castle into a parador hotel. And run medieval flea markets.

I can understand why the government wanted to resettle the Castellarians (I just made that word up): the drive up up up and down down down the hill was a little nerve-wracking. The road - barely (bearly!) one lane wide - twisted and turned around hairpin turns and up blind crests and I must confess that, at one point, I thought that one of my bipedal attendants had messed her pants. The fact that you also have to avoid VW campers and trailers (I did say they were German) parked along one side of the road and certain death on the other didn't help too much.

On the summit of the hill looms the 13th century Moorish castle within whose walls is nestled the original village. This tiny village - redolent of jasmine and orange blossom - is a living labyrinth of winding lanes and whitewashed houses decorated with flowers and ceramics. There's also a lot of dog poop. They don't mention it in the guide books but I think visitors should know about these things. I believe that my bipedal attendants sent ahead a press release announcing my visit because one resident kindly left out 3 bear-size chairs for us (see above right). That's me (left), Manny (centre) and Blund (right). Their presence helped keep many autograph hounds away that day.

You can't actually go into the castle proper which was a bit of a disappointment but you can peek through the windows and look at the hotel fixtures gathering dust.

Our second castle that afternoon was about 20 minutes away in Jimena de la Frontera - another traditional hill village with rows of whitewashed houses lining very steep and narrow, cobbled streets. You approach the 13th century castle (yes, another one!) through the actual town and although the drive up is a bit tricky, it wasn't so bad that it made you wonder if your will was up to date. (Mine is - all my money is going to help rescue moon bears in China. I hope that my bipedal attendants aren't counting on a big windfall.) At least there weren't any near misses in anyone's underpants this time.

The castle, which was built on an earlier Roman site (there is a Roman inscription at the entrance dated to 151 C.E.), is approached through the Islamic horseshoe-triple gateway (below). You can explore as much as you like within the castle grounds and visit the towering castle keep and the ruins of vaulted underground water cisterns. The views from the battlements are breathtaking and you can see olive, oak and chestnut trees - bears are always on the look out for nuts - in the valleys below and on a clear day you can see Gibraltar and the Moroccan coastline.

The town itself is very picturesque and pretty quiet - and is becoming more and more a feeder town for Gibraltarians - but on Easter Sunday there is a feria and an encierro (bull run). Fortunately there were no enraged bulls racing along its serpentine streets looking for drunk knobs to spear with their horns on the day we were there. But if there had been any, I would have cheered the bulls on!

A Bear and His Oasis

"... an oasis in a busy world"

As a freelance Good Will Ambassador, I make it a point of honour when I travel to stay in fairly modest accommodations. For one thing, I had my fair share of 5 star (and higher) hotels in my international fashion model days and I'm also concerned about propriety (or at least the appearance of propriety), and I just don't think that people - even philanthropists- should flaunt their wealth unnecessarily. Besides, I am a freelance Good Will Ambassador and my bipedal attendants are a bit of a drain on my finances, so I have to count my pennies.

I decided that my bipedal attendants - who have both been fighting virulent colds for the past 2 weeks - could use a little R & R, so I took them to the Rock hotel in Gib for some much needed pampering. Built 76 years ago by the Marquis of Bute, the hotel still has that old-world charm of a bygone era. Two years earlier, he built the El Minzah Hotel in Tangier. He did have a knack for creating stunning hotels.

Amazingly, all the rooms at the Rock - which itself is nestled into the side of "the rock" enjoy fabulous views across the Bay of Gibraltar, the mainland of Spain and Morocco's Rif Mountains. The views were certainly conducive to sitting on the balcony and enjoying a glass of sherry or scotch - which were provided, compliments of the hotel. I was really pleased with the luxurious bathrobes supplied in our room because there's nothing a bear likes more than a soak in a tub. Except maybe a long snooze in a cave.

The Rock also graciously ensures that a family of ducks (well, rubber duckies) resides in every bathroom so it made my bath time especially fun. But that may have had more to do with the sherry. And the scotch.

Many famous people have stayed at the Rock, including Sir Winston Churchill, Sean Connery, and the Two Ronnies! My bipedal attendants had to explain to me who the Two Ronnies were but I don't think their style of comedy really jives with Bear Humour. In any case, you can ask to see the guest book but it's very old (well, 76 years old) and you have to be very careful with it. If you do ask for it, you can see my paw print. Yes, Abdelaziz our waiter recognized me!

In turns out that booking rooms at The Rock was a stroke of brilliance because the health and spirits of my bipedal attendants revived greatly. They especially enjoyed drinks and lunch on the wisteria covered terrace of the Barbary Bar where they dreamed of being rich and be able to indulge in such luxuries as a way of life. You can also take a full English tea with cucumber sandwiches, scones and teacakes there but, well, they had John Smiths on draught so there was little chance that the bipedal attendants would be drinking tea.

Unfortunately, the disadvantage of little perks like a weekend at a grand colonial hotel is that it leaves people with a taste for more. *Sigh* I remember when warm chocolate chip cookies from the bakery at Marks and Spencers (on Main street in Gib) was a big enough treat for my bipedal attendants. They can be so trying! One of them even stole some of the hotel's stationery and I actually had to put my paw down when it came to taking the ducks!

If I do take them back to the Rock - and they've already begun whining and dropping hints - I'll have to remember to book directly from the hotel website. Rates are almost 50% less if rooms are booked online. Not that I'm cheap or that my bipedal attendants don't deserve it - but like I said earlier, as a freelance Goodwill Ambassador, I have to count my pennies. Not all of us are Angelina Jolie.

A Grey Bear in a White Village

As you probably know, many bears are agnostic and consequently we don't like to take sides in religious debates. Having said that, those of us who are more spiritually inclined like to keep things close to home and worship at the altars of the two Celtic bear goddesses Andarta and Artio. Personally, I'm drawn to Hinduism which would make me a yogi bear. That's a little bear humour.

Constitutionally, Spain is a secular country but its history was shaped by, among other things, the Roman Catholic church. Visit any town, city, or village here and you'll be face to face with the splendours of Catholicism as well as its less salubrious side. But in my role as freelance Good Will Ambassador, I prefer to think about the more positive bits. At least today.

Last weekend, my bipedal attendants and I took a road trip to the pueblo blanco (white town) of Arcos de la Frontera. The grandson of Noah (who remembered to bring two bears aboard his ark) is claimed to be Arcos' founder but I think that's just a local legend. The Romans were definitely there. And for over two centuries (1011-1264), the precarious hilltop town was a taifa (a Muslim-ruled principality) but was retaken by the Christian king Alfonso the Wise (opposed to Alfonso the Brave or Alfonso the Magnanimous) in the 13th century. The town once again became Christian.

Although there are many churches in town, there are two which demand your attention: the Mudejar basilica of Santa María de la Asunción (top left & right) and the Gothic Parroquia of San Pedro (bottom left).

Santa María dates from the 15th century and was built over an earlier mosque. Historically, Christians and Muslims like to do that sort of thing: build their own places of worship and palaces on the smoking ruins of their predecessors' places of worship and palaces. But I don't want to say anymore because bears don't like to take sides in religious debates. Santa María's original bell tower was destroyed in the earthquake of 1755 which flattened Lisbon. Work was begun on a new bell tower but the "new" one remains unfinished. After only 3 years of reconstruction, the money ran out. The one thing I learned from my days as an international fashion model is to always retain a good accountant.

The church of San Pedro was built in the 16th century on top of a - wait for it - a Moorish fortress. Unlike Santa María which was closed for renovations, we were able to visit San Pedro. There are two leathery undecomposed bodies on display which had been found in local Roman catacombs. Their outfits were quite nice (I know, always the fashion model!) but these tableaux were a little grisly (not grizzly). They're touted to be saints but I think they only received saint-status because of the condition of their bodies. I don't know what the secret to their peaches and cream complexion is but it just shows you how important a good moisturizer is.

Many years ago a rivalry for supremacy developed between the two parishes of Santa María and San Pedro. The congregation of San Pedro refused to say the phrase "Maria, mother of God" in their prayers, using instead "the divine shepherdess" or "Saint Peter, mother of God" in their prayers. Saint Peter, mother of God? My how silly religion can be. Santa María eventually won the God War when, in 1764, a decree of the Holy Tribune in Rome gave it major parish status. I think the two parishes have since made up.

There were many many things to see in Arcos - convents (including a closed convent whose silent nuns sell cookies through a revolving window), palaces, mansions, a Jesuit house, and of course other churches. There's also a castle (see right) which started out as an Arab fortress but after it was seized it was converted into a palace for the Duke of Arcos. Now it's owned by a private individual and is pretty much out of bounds to the public. I could hear a TV playing from behind the massive door I'm sitting in front of. I don't know what they were watching because it would have been rude of me to peek through the keyhole - although one of my bipedal attendants sneaked a peak. Some people.

We decided to leave shortly after lunch because bus tours were pouring into the casco antiguo (old town) and I find that camera wielding tourists often don't make a distinction between my former international fashion model days and my current role as Freelance Goodwill ambassador. Sometimes I feel so conflicted about my celebrity.

What I like about the town is that in spite of the church's attempt to erase all traces of its former Muslim conquerors, glimpses of Islamic architecture, gardens, tilework, iconography, art and culture can be seen everywhere. At least it's pretty obvious to me. I guess that makes me a Raider of the Lost Arcos.

Sampling Jerez

A lot of people don't realize that bears like a nice glass of sherry now & again. Not all bears, of course. Some prefer liqueurs while others like a digestif. Many years ago, when I did my first photo shoot in Madrid for the Spanish version of GQ (I was an international fashion model then), I was introduced to manzanilla - and it's still my favourite tipple.

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 the hibernation season.

Anyway, since I am now in Spain, I decided to do a "sherry tour" and I took a few days off - with my bipedal attendants - to visit two bodegas in Jerez. We started off at the Gonzales Byass Sherry house - the home of Tío Pepe (see me above with Tío ). As a former international fashion model, I really admire Tío 's sense of style. Like me, he's minimalist chic! No wonder he was once painted by Pablo Picasso.

González Byass is the best selling brand in the world. They use palomino grapes to make their sherry which I thought was a bit odd because I always assumed that palominos were horses. I don't think they use horses to make their sherry though. I need to look into this because I am a vegetarian bear.

We also visited the winery of Domecq, whose bodega is called La Mezquita, or "the Mosque", and has Moorish arches and beautiful whitewashed walls. They were very generous with their sampling (as you can see, above-left) and they encouraged us to open and try everything. So we did. I confess that I baulked at having to wear a name badge at Domecq because it just confirms to those who aren't 100% certain that it's me, that it's me. Just to be safe, I took an assumed name but I was still swarmed at the gift shop.

Domecq is also the home of Harvey's Bristol Cream, the favourite sherry of one of my bipedal attendant's mother. She bought a bottle of one of their new products Harvey's Orange - a blend of the Bristol Cream and a twist of natural orange essence. What says Spain better than sherry and oranges? Needless to say, the bottle didn't last too long although no one offered to share it with me. Why do people think that bears are teetotalers?

What was interesting about both bodegas were the signed casks. Over the years, many famous people have visited both Domecq and González Byass and have left their marks on the oak casks. You can see the signatures of the Spanish Royal Family (past & present), Steven Spielburg, Pablo Picasso, Paloma Picasso, Charleton Heston, famous international heads of states, athletes, Hollywood-types and, of course, me! (Once again, my name badge failed me - I was recognized!)

I still have to return to the area and visit the Osborne winery in El Puerto de Santa María - home of excellent wines and sherries and, of course, el toro muy famoso - the Osborne bull. Rumour has it that there is a spot in the town's plaza where witches were once burned and, as a Freelance Goodwill Ambassador, I think it's important that I go to El Puerto de Santa María to acknowledge the people who died there at the hands of ignorance and intolerance. And have a glass of sherry. What a great world it is when you can make a difference in the lives of your fellow planet-dwellers and, at the same time, enjoy a nice glass of Pedro Ximenez Viejo and a handful of olives.

The Straight on the Strait of Gib from G.B.

Bears don't have pockets so I never seem to have change. I have a pair of bipedal attendants but they're notoriously unreliable. This normally isn't a big deal but when I first visited Gibraltar - or Gib - I wanted to make a few phone calls from their groovy phone booths. Unfortunately I had to settle for a photo op. I don't mind adding that, when I was there, there was quite the line-up to have one's picture taken in a traditional English phone booth. Some people are such attention seekers.

I like Gib because it's geographically and historically interesting and because my bipedal attendants can drink excellent English beer and that keeps them quiet. Western Europe and Morocco are divided by the Strait of Gibraltar and this strait is linked by the so-called Pillars of Hercules, with Gib on the north and probably Jebel Musa on the south. No one can really decide about the Moroccan bit. There are two other Moroccan towns vying for the crown but, to be honest, it's only Gib I really care about here.

Besides being a former international fashion model and freelance Goodwill Ambassador, I spend a lot of time signing autographs and reading the Classics. One of the 12 Labours of Hercules was to return the cattle of Geryon from Spain to the king of Tiryns. En route he had to climb the mountain which was actually once the giant Atlas but he decided to smash a path through it rather than go up and down it. Using his brute strength, he split the mountain. Not only could he pass directly through it but Hercules also effectively joined the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. Voilà: the Strait of Gibraltar.

The people of Gib have commemorated this rather destructive feat of engineering by erecting the "Passage of Time" memorial at the Jew's Gate on the Upper Rock - which underscores Gibraltar's association with the Pillars of Hercules. You can see me between the two pillars and although I'm strong (I am a bear after all) I'm not strong enough to support the world!

Not far from the Jew's Gate are the Apes dens. I don't know if bears and apes have gotten along well historically - although I'd like to think so - but I didn't have much of a chance to talk to these ones. One of my bipedal attendants (the female one) is a little freaked out by monkeys, so we didn't spend too much time here.

These Barbary rock apes - or Macaques - are awfully used to people. Visitors to the Rock like to have their photos taken with the apes and sometimes even feed them. But it's important to remember that they are still wild animals. As a Goodwill Ambassador I am a role model to millions of people and I have to respect the law. Needless to say, I didn't feed the apes. Even if I had wanted to - and I didn't because it is against the law - my bipedal attendant (the female one) would never have allowed it.

I've been to Gib half a dozen times now and although I always risk being mobbed by autograph hounds, I love visiting. It reminds me of my former international fashion model days when I would fly to London for my shoots - but this is better! Not only can I drive a right-hand drive car (although I usually employ a driver), have a pint of Fuller's London Pride and buy a bag of crisps at Marks & Spencer, I can enjoy the balmy climate of the Mediterranean! England with palm trees! This is a bear's - and an apes' - paradise!

The Bridges of Madison County Ronda

That's me in the Andalucian town of Ronda which just happens to be the "sister city" to Chefchaouen, the Moroccan "blue" city which made my classic grey flannel look so - well - classically grey. Can you see the bridge behind me? It's a very famous bridge and, at 98 metres, a very high one too. Legend (or rumour - although I'm not sure what the difference is) has it that during the Spanish Civil War, communist sympathizers were thrown off of it into the chasm far far far below at the bottom of the El Tajo canyon. It's known as the New Bridge or the Puente Nuevo although it's not very nuevo since it was erected over 200 years ago.

This isn't the only bridge in Ronda: there are 2 others, the Roman Bridge and the Old Bridge (also known as the Arab Bridge). That's me again (below) in front of the Roman Bridge although, like the Puente Nuevo, that's a bit of a misnomer as it probably doesn't date that far back.

While I was having my photo taken I was swarmed by a group of backpackers who obviously recognized me from my former international fashion model days or in my current incarnation as a freelance Goodwill Ambassador. The mother of one of my bipedal attendants, who was travelling with us that day, told them that my photoshoot was for a forthcoming book, which is a bit of a lie. Worse yet, I'll never be able to travel again in anonymity!

So except for the seemingly endless autograph session and posing for photo after photo (I hope they won't be too disappointed when they realize that no book is forthcoming), we did have a fabulous day taking in the sites of Ronda. Having said that, I must confess that I wasn't prepared for the Lara Museum.

The Lara Museum is, in this bear's opinion, a bit odd. The museum, housed in the Palace of the Counts of the Conquest, showcases some 2,000 treasures - the fruits of a lifetime of collecting - of a private individual. Its clocks, weapons, scientific instruments, archaeological artifacts, knives and catapults, tauromachy (the "art" of bullfighting), and photographic & cinematic items are all conveniently arranged in separate rooms. Perhaps most bizarrely though, is that there are no bear rooms - I meant to ask why but I couldn't seem to find the appropriate personnel.

But it's the so-called exhibitions that really creeped me out (and as a bear I am not creeped out easily); namely the Spanish Inquisition exhibition with its instruments of torture and the witchcraft exhibition with its bottles of mandrake root and wolfmen. No bearmen though. I've spoken about the unthinkable cruelties that Humankind has perpetrated against bulls and bears in this blog but perhaps it's necessary to remind ourselves that people can be just as cruel to other people. As a former international fashion model and freelance Goodwill Ambassador, it is my duty to ask that we all find a way to get along.

On weekends evenings, you can take in a Flamenco show on the same floor as the two exhibitions. I don't know how much I'd enjoy the dancing and singing knowing that a rack, an inquisition chair, a garrotte, a heretic's fork, thumb screws, and a Judas cradle - just to name a few of what's on display - are just a few feet behind me. But I suppose there is something of pain and torment in flamenco. I just hope they don't use any of those hanging cages or head crushers in the act.