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.

The Puerto of the Sigh of GB

"Give something to the poor blind man, because there’s nothing crueler in life than to be blind in Granada" ...

In 1489 Ferdinand & Isabella - in their bid to take back Spain from the Moors - besieged the city of Granada after the Moorish king Boabdil (or Abu Abdullah) understandably refused to surrender it. Boabdil eventually lost and was exiled with his family to the Alpujarras area to the south of Granada past the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Legend has it that as the royal party left Granada, they stopped at a rocky mountain pass some 865 metres high, from which they could have one final glimpse of Granada, their former citadel. The spot (that's me above) is now known as the puerto or 'pass' of el último suspiro del Moro, 'the Moor's Last Sigh', because looking loving back at the Alhambra, Boabdil burst into tears, earning this rebuke from his mother: "You do well to weep like a woman for what you could not defend like a man!"

Ouch. Nice mother. I bet Boabdil didn't send her a Mother's Day card!

I would have wept too and made a bear-sized sigh if the Alhambra had belonged to me and then I had lost it. The Alhambra or 'Red Fort' (Al Qal'a al-Hamra) was the residence of Granada's Moorish kings, and work began on the complex in the 9th century - when it was a simple fort - and completed in the 14th century - when it became 'the ruby set above [the hill]'.

The Moorish part of the Alhambra can be divided into 3 major areas: the Palacios Nazaríes (named after the Nasrid Moorish Dynasty), the Palace gardens of the Generalife (Jannat al-'Arif, or "Garden of the Architect"), and the Alcazaba (the 11th century fortress). There is also a Renaissance palace of Carlos V smack dab in the middle of it.

The Nasrid Palace is undoubtedly the most beautiful complex in the Alhambra. With its intricate stucco work and tiled chambers, apartments, baths & harem, its myrtle-edged pools (me above) and geometric domed ceilings, it is a living testament to the skills of its architects.

The rooms of the palace are decorated with swirling Arabic calligraphy, and in the Hall of the Ambassadors - with its inscription, "I am the heart of the palace" - Boabdil signed the city's surrender. The writer Washington Irving - of Sleepy Hollow fame - was a diplomat attached to the American legation in Spain and set up a study in one of the Nasrid Palace's abandoned rooms. From there he wrote the romantic Tales from the Alhambra, which would not only awaken interest in the site but encourage the government to finally restore it.

Near the Palace is the Alcazaba (or 'citadel'), which first saw light in the 11th century but was finished a few hundred years later. It has 13 fortified towers, including the Torre de la Vela (right) which gives visitors excellent views of the Daro River and Granada's green valleys.

One of my favourite places in the Alhambra - mainly because I can hide from autograph hounds in its sculpted gardens - is the Generalife. The Muslim view of paradise is a lush, leafy shaded garden to be enjoyed by "the fortunate ones" and the Generalife comes pretty close to that ideal. So private is it that the Sultana Zoraya used to meet her lover who was the chief from another clan in one of the walled gardens. It did not have a happy ending.

Once a summer palace for the Nasrid rules - famous for its long pool, framed by flowerbeds, its fountains, cypresses, colonnades pavilions and belvederes - it is believed to be one of the oldest surviving Moorish gardens in the world.

Sticking out like a bit of a sore thumb is the Palace of Carlos V - an unfinished palace which was begun in 1526 by Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor. He is considered to be the first true king of Spain because he ruled over both Castile and Aragon. After he commissioned the palace, he left Granada and seemed to have forgotten all about it - I bet Boabdil never forgot about the Alhambra! Nevertheless, the palace is an excellent example of Renaissance architecture and it is the only work left to us by Pedro Machuca who was a student of Michelangelo.

The ceiling to the colonnade (right) was only built in the 1960's - until then all those columns just jutted into the air. Its central courtyard used to be used for bullfights, which makes me very unhappy because bullfighting is just mean and cruel. Just like bear-baiting.

You're probably wondering how I know so much about the Alhambra. To be honest, yesterday marked my 4th visit to the site. I was there in 2000 two times, because one of my bipedal attendants lost her ticket to the Nasrid Palace (tickets are strictly time-stamped for the palace), and we had to return the next morning.
In 2005, I visited the 'Red Fort' with my other bipedal attendant and his bipedal attendant-in-law who, better organized than her daughter, didn't lose her ticket.

And now yesterday. Of course, being such a repository of information and being so cute, I was drawing crowds of people who thought that I was an official tour guide but then when they recognized me - Oi vey! - it was back to the sheltered gardens of the Generalife for a little peace and quiet.

The Alhambra is a UNESCO world heritage site and one of the most visited sites in the world. I think the millions of people who visit the Alhambra every year pretty much vindicate Boabdil. And I know this comment isn't worthy of a freelance Goodwill Ambassador but ... his mother was such a bitch!

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 ...