A Study of Grey on Blue

I'm very partial to colours - flannel grey being the most dignified hue in the colour palette - so it shouldn't be surprising that I was really looking forward to my trip to the northern Moroccan city of Chefchaouen. Or Chaouen as the locals - and me - call it. Chefchaouen means "look at the horns" because the mountains that loom over the town look like goat horns. I liked Chaouen: the only thing that could have made it better was if it were a grey city. But it's not; it's a blue city.

I confess that because Chaouen is a mecca for hipsters, hippies, more affluent Moroccans and Europeans - especially from neighbouring Spain - I was concerned that I'd be mobbed by paparazzi and autograph hounds. As a former international fashion model and freelance Good Will Ambassador, my privacy is important to me. Surprisingly, I was left alone by my international hordes of fans.

The people in Chaouen were nice except for the hotel tout who followed my bipedal attendants and me when we first entered the medina. He said all Canadians were paranoid because we didn't need or want his help. That wasn't particularly nice because a) paranoid is a mean word and b) he was really trying to dissuade us from going to the hotel we had reserved and go to his instead. You can see me (below right) on the roof of the Hotel Harmony with Chaouen and the Rif Mountains in the background. Admittedly, Chaouen doesn't look very blue in this picture. But it is.

Chaouen is not only blue - a throwback to its Jewish roots - but very Spanish too. Moorish exiles from Spain founded the city over 500 years ago as a fortress against Portuguese invaders. After Spain became Catholic again (the Reconquista), many Jews and Moriscos (Muslims who had converted to Christianity) came to Chaouen. Until 1920, only 3 Europeans had visited the town! In that year, Spain incorporated Chaouen into Spanish Morocco - the city of Cueta or Cebta on the Moroccan mainland is still part of Spain, just like Gibraltar is British. You can see the Andalucian influence in the town's architecture, food, and language. But that may be because they're catering to Spanish tourists.

There isn't a whole lot to see or do in Chaouen but it's nice to wander through the white and blue alleyways, drink coffee in the Outa el Hammam (the main plaza), and visit the kasbah. The kasbah was built by none other than Moulay Ismail. You can still see huge iron rings in the walls where prisoners were chained. But there are lots of palm trees and pretty flowers there too. Not in the prison though. Many people also go hiking in the mountains but, contrary to popular belief, bears don't like to hike. I really liked the Rif mountains because they reminded me of the Sierra Nevadas in Spain. Chaouen has a very laidback atmosphere - even by Moroccan standards - but that may be because a lot of hashish is grown in the area. I didn't smoke any although I was offered some.

Freelance Good Will Ambassadors should always say no to drugs.

Bear & Sultan

This past weekend, I took a quick trip to Morocco's royal city of Meknès and although this wasn't my first trip to Meknès - I was there in 2000 - this time I was accompanied by a working camera. As a former international fashion model, this was very important to me.

You can see me atop the Medersa Bou Inania - the 14th century Q'uranic school - with the minaret of the Grande Mosquée looming in the background. I rather like Meknès. You can buy amazing donuts here. And my bipedal attendants say that the beer is cheaper than in Rabat.

Probably unlike any other Moroccan city, Meknès is almost solely associated with one historical figure ... one larger-than-life historical figure by the name of Moulay Ismail (1645-1727). You can see me below peeking out from one of the horseshoe doorways at his mausoleum (below right) which, because of his god-like status in Moroccan history, is open to infidels and bears alike.

Moulay "the Bloodthirsty" Ismail seems to have inherited the throne legitimately in spite of the 80 or so family members who felt they had an equal or better right to rule. Consequently, the first 5 years of his reign are drenched in blood, during which time the claims of his rivals were effectively quashed. I wonder how many of the 80 or so were left standing once the smoke cleared? Repairing to Meknès, he devoted himself to building a capital city & palace that rivalled that of Versailles, even asking for the hand of one of Louis XIV's daughters in marriage. Apparently the Sun King declined.

To help build his palace, he "engaged" the services of tens of thousands of slaves - many of whom were Christians from Western Europe (notably the UK, Spain & Portugal) as well as the Mediterranean rim - who had been captured from ships or snatched from their churches and homes by marauding Corsair pirates, or "Sally Rovers". Their home base was Salé which is the twin sister to Rabat. That’s where I currently live.

These slaves suffered grievously, living and working under tortuous conditions. They were used as pawns by Moulay Ismail during the negotiations instigated by those Western leaders who sought their release. Treaties were seldom honoured by the Sultan and slaves were often not released even after ransoms were paid. He treated the horses in his vast stable with greater concern & humanity; in fact, the pee and poops of his horses which had completed the hajj to Mecca were caught in a special bowl by an attendant, lest the earth below sully them.

Many Christian slaves endured prolonged tortures, honeyed with empty promises of better treatment and freedom if they converted to Islam. Often, those who refused to abjure their faith were publicly circumcised; those who did convert were effectively abandoned by their governments as apostates. Their only hope for release was by escape or death. As a bear, I would have bitten them – even though I am a freelance goodwill ambassador.

Western historians consider Moulay Ismail a capricious and monstrous psychopath while their counterparts in North Africa revere him as the founder of modern Morocco. Let me just add that cutting a man in half - vertically, from head to crotch - was a common method of execution under the Sultan, so you be the judge. Although, to be fair, he did consider it more humane to begin cutting from the head. Just thinking about it makes my seams itch.

I think it would be fair to say that Moulay Ismail would not have made a very good goodwill ambassador, freelance or otherwise.

Grey Bear Tip: Giles Milton's White Gold provides an excellent read for those interested in Moulay Ismail & the plight of his infidel slaves.

Bear & Poet

That's me - not a statue of me - sitting on a bear-size chair next to a bronze statue of poet Fernando Pessoa which stands (or sits) in front of the Café a Brasileira, one of Lisbon's oldest & most famous coffeehouses. I had to wait quite a long time to have my photo taken because every tourist in Lisbon had to have their pictures taken that day too. Tourists can be so tiresome ... always on the prowl for a photo op. Unlike me who, as a former international fashion model, has a moral obligation to share my image with the public.

Eighty-five years ago, the Café a Brasileira ("the Brazilian Woman") first opened its doors on Largo do Chiado - an offshoot of a coffee shop that had operated there since 1905 - to offer Lisbon "genuine Brazilian coffee". The café became a popular watering hole for intellectuals and artists, and gained even greater fame for permanently exhibiting the portraits of Lisbon artist José Almada Negreiros. These paintings were moved to the Centro de Arte Moderna in 1960. Currently, there are no portraits of me there; I am seeking to rectify the situation.

Still a java-hotspot, the café's tables have now spilled outside to acco m modate sun-seeking coffee aficionados. On the occasion of the centenary of native son Fernando Pessoa's birth, his image, cast in bronze, was erected outside what was one of his many haunts. The poet once wrote:

I have no ambitions and no desires.
Being a poet is not my ambition,
It's just my way of being alone.

Really, it's not so different from being an international fashion model and freelance Good Will Ambassador.

GB Visits the Big Apple

No, it's not what you're thinking - this is the other Big Apple - in Berwick, Canada. Berwick (not pronounced Bear-wick as any logical person would presume) lies in Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley and is the province's self-acclaimed Apple Capital. Broadway may have glamour and glitz but Berwick has:

* The Apple Capital Museum
* The Apple Blossom Festival
* The Apple Blossom Princess
* The Apple Blossom Princess Wardrobe Tea
* The Old-Time Apple Festival, and of course,
* The Big Apple (as pictured to the left with me).

That's Kathryn Elizabeth Cleveland - Queen Annapolisa LXXV - the Apple Blossom Princess to the right. She declined to have her photo taken with me - or so her bodyguards told me - but isn't she a hottie?

My minimalist chic grey flannel fur looks particularly stunning against the crimson red of the Big Apple, don't you think? And my brown eyes pick up the brown in the apple's stem too.

But I digress.

Anyway, I could go on and on about Berwick and how it deserves the moniker Big Apple far more than New York but, really, that would just be comparing apples to oranges.

Who Exactly is Grey Bear?

Grey Bear is a grey flannel bear who once worked as a model for fashion designer Alfred Sung's Club Monaco stores. Not wishing to be seen as just a pretty face, Grey Bear allowed himself to be sold as a charity bear during the 1998 Christmas season and was subsequently taken under the wings of his present bipedal attendants, a couple of irresponsible financially-retarded ne'er do wells.

Fortunately for Grey Bear, these non-ursine/bipedal attendants take him everywhere they travel. He is well on his way to becoming a globe-trotting grey bear.