These Boots Were Made For Drinking

We've been in Italy now for about a month and my male bipedal attendant has been drinking a lot of red wine. In spite of the fact that a) this is Italy and b) the wine is excellent and c) the wine is incredibly cheap, he's been a little down in the dumps (= whining) about drinking almost nothing but beer.

Or maybe he's just going through withdrawal. I know I get a little cranky if a few weeks go by and I haven't had a couple of nice gorgonzola, honey & walnut canapés but I hardly make a production out of it. I should just send him back to Slovakia if he wants a beer so badly.

Anyway, I came across a nice little bar in the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II here in Rovigo which has on draught a local Italian beer called Pedavena. Naturally he turned his nose up at it, which I suppose I understand because people usually don't think of beer when they think of Italy but still, I thought he was being a little judgmental not to say rude.

As it turned out, the beer arrived in these nifty glass boots! Once you drink about a third of your beer, the boot - or the beer - (I don't understand physics very well) makes farting noises and big fat bubbles. I apologise because I know that 'fart' isn't a polite word but it does sound like someone (not a bear though because we don't fart - ooops, sorry!) making "bum-bubbles" in the bathtub. Bububububloooop!

And the beer was good - even my male bipedal attendant said so, although I think what he said was this beer is good ... for Italy. Whatever.

I just like the boots! It's been so long since I wore Italian boots! And the more everyone drank the more I boots I had to wear. Too bad the bartender kept clearing our table of empty boots so quickly. It was almost as if he was expecting someone (by which I mean my female bipedal attendant with the really big purse and the really sticky fingers) to walk away with a pair. I can barely (bear-ly) take her out in public.

I don't know why Pedavena serves its beer in boot-shaped glasses. I checked their website and I could only find a reference to their signature 'silver tankard' but I think that I - a former international fashion model - can tell the difference between a boot and a tankard. I do know that Italians have what one might call a national shoe fetish (I remember this from my days modelling in Milan), so maybe Pedavena's boot is an homage to Italy's fashion designers and love of footwear. Who knows?

The beer was good and the boots were divine. And in the immortal words of Miss Nancy Sinatra: are you ready boots? Start walkin' Or in this case, start drinking.

Lions and Tigers and Bears (Oh My!)

Back in the days when I was an international fashion model in Milan, I would often pop down to Venice whenever I had any spare time - which admittedly wasn't as often as I would have liked. And because of my success on the runway and as a frequent visitor to Venice, I eventually became a regular at the Venice Film Festival, so needless to say, I know the city pretty well. Last weekend was the first opportunity I had to take my (still unemployed) bipedal attendants and god-bipedal attendants to see the Serenissima, the Queen of the Adriatic, the City of Bridges: Venice

And please forgive me for not being able to let go from my international fashion modelling days completely - I just had to wear the straw hat made famous by Venice’s gondoliers. Only bear-size. They're so jaunty and they do keep the sun off one's head.

Anyway, the city, as you probably know, is actually comprised of many small islands (118 to be exact) floating (or sinking) in Venice's saltwater lagoon. These islands are connected by bridges although scores of gondoliers are only too happy to ferry you around the city for 80 euros for 40 whole minutes (100 euros after 7 p.m.). Given my attendants' financial situation, we explored the city by its bridges

Thanks to its strategic position and ties to the sea, Venice would eventually achieve maritime superiority over its rivals, becoming a major player during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. It was from this marshy saltwater lagoon that many many ships bound for the Crusades set sail. Honestly! – you humans and your wars of religion. Will you people never learn?

During this time, Venice was a beehive of commerce and those ships which weren’t being sent off to kill Muslims, raze cities, find the Holy Grail and pick up as many saints' relics they could stuff into a sack were used to trade in spices and silks from the Orient. The city became fabulously rich. Unfortunately, Venice fell from prominence about 400 years ago and hasn’t really done much since. Except attract a lot of tourists.

Venice is also the city of St. Mark (who may or may not have written the Gospel of Mark) and so his symbol – the lion – can be seen everywhere. Why a bear wasn’t chosen to be his symbol truly defies logic.

Anyway, in 828 the Evangelist’s remains were stolen from Egypt (now that’s a Christian thing to do) and placed in the basilica which bears (bears!) his name, ousting poor St. Theodore of Amasea as patron saint of the city. (He still has a statue there on a high pillar but I don't think anyone looks at it since St. Mark's lion is right next to him).

In any case, this relic-theft pretty much catapulted Venice on to the world stage.

These days St Mark’s Square – or the Piazza San Marco – is always full of pigeon-feeding tourists and those willing to pay 10 euros for a glass of beer to sit and enjoy the view. And line-ups a mile long of people queuing up to see St. Mark's and the Doge's Palace.

In the photo below, and if you squint really hard (I have to get a new photographer), you can just about see replicas of the Horses of St. Mark or the Triumphal Quadriga atop St. Mark's. The originals - safely kept inside the basilica - were "captured" (which means "stolen") from Constantinople when the city was sacked by the Venetians in 1204 during the fourth Crusade. Before then they were part of a 4th century b.c.e. bronze statue which included the carriage (quadriga) they led. Horses, not bears - honestly!

The horses were sent off to St. Mark’s where they’ve been ever since (except for a brief period when Napoleon sent them off to Paris) but no one knows what happened to the chariot.

Too bad you can barely see the horses. I really should get a new photographer.

Besides the Venice Film Festival, the city is best known for its Carnivale. Because Carnivale begins in about 3 weeks, my female god-bipedal attendant didn’t want me to leave the city without a mask.

By some bizarre oversight, the artisans who create masks for Carnivale don’t have (little grey) bears in mind so needless to say, finding a bear-size mask was like finding a needle in a haystack. But my female god-bipedal attendant doesn’t take defeat easily and I think I must have tried on a hundred masks. I confess that most of the shop attendants were less than helpful in her (or our) quest - I guess my gondolier hat proved to be an excellent disguise - and as well, the two males in my group got pretty cranky what with all the mask shopping. I think they just wanted a beer.

And did she - I mean, did I ever find a mask? - you'll have to wait until February's blog to find out. I just love a mystery! - especially when fashion is involved.

My Bologna Has a First Name ...

(and it's not O-S-C-A-R).

It's 2009 (!) and yesterday I took my bipedal and god-bipedal attendants on their first outing of the New Year. The bipedals are currently "between assignments" (which is my typically sensitive way of saying that they're unemployed) and I thought that a visit to the historically rich city of Bologna would cheer them up.

Bologna is considered by most Italians (especially Bolognians) to be the culinary capital of Italy, and not just because of their namesake pasta sauce which, by the way, is called ragù rather than bolognese sauce - and sausage - which, by the way, is called mortadella rather than bologna. Human food can be so confusing. Anyway, besides its foodie status, this 2500-year old city is home to the oldest university in Europe (3rd oldest in the world) where the likes of Dante, Petrarch, Thomas Becket, Erasmus and Copernicus cracked open the odd book and probably cut a few classes, and more churches, piazzas, palazzos, basilicas and arcaded walkways than you can shake a stick at.

I confess though that it can be a little trying travelling with my bipedal attendants - especially since I do so in order to bring a smidgen of culture into their otherwise bleak little lives. For example, I brought them to the Fontana del Nettuno (the Fountain of Neptune) in the Piazza Maggiore in order to highlight the sculptor's skilfully studied attention to the musculature of the sea god Neptune. I reminded them that this sculpture is Giambologna's homage to the (then) four known continents of the world - represented by the four sirens at the base of the fountain - and all my bipedal attendants could do was snigger at the water spouting out of the sirens' nipples. These people can be absolute Philistines. (Sometimes I just pretend that I don't know them).

We also stopped by le Due Torri - or Two Towers - which dominate the city's ancient university quarter. Not to be outshone by Pisa, Bologna has two leaning towers. The tallest of the two is just shy of 100 metres tall and those who climb its 498 steps are rewarded with a stunning view of the city's rooftops.

At least, I've been told so - because my bipedals refused to make the trek up the tower because they were too cheap to pay the admission fee (it's not like I don't give them a decent salary) and their feet were sore. Which in my mind translates as sheer laziness. Consequently, I had to forego my tower-top photo and pose in front of a street-level mural of Bologna.

Just for the record: it wasn't the same thing.

I do feel a little badly though - and not just about the missed photo op. The truth is, at one point, I almost got them into a spot of trouble at the Basilica di San Domenico - although, really, it was their own fault. My god-bipedal attendants asked that I pose in front of a statue of the Pietà. Normally, I try not to associate myself too closely with religious icons of any persuasion, but my male god-bipedal attendant made an excellent case that I would fit perfectly in one of the cherub's open hands and wouldn't that be a great photo? Of course he was right.

We had set up the shot perfectly but then my male bipedal attendant's hand slipped, thus failing to position me properly, and I took a tumble - at the very moment that one of the church's priests popped out from around the corner. Consequently, all you can see of me in the photo is a red blur. If I hadn't have been wearing my red kangaroo, you wouldn't have been able to see me at all. Thank goodness I still have a keen sense of fashion.

Fortunately, we weren't busted by the priest (those Dominicans were responsible for the Inquisition so I don't like messing with them) but not wanting to tempt fate any further, we all scurried out of the church in search of lunch. As I mentioned earlier, Bologna is the epicurean capital of the country but unfortunately that translates into a lot of meat dishes. As you all know, I'm a vegetarian bear but if there's one thing that Italy isn't short of - along with all those churches, piazzas, palazzos, basilicas and arcaded walkways - is pizzerias. And that's no bologna.

Grey Bear's Holiday Message

From our home-away-from home in Italy's beautiful Veneto to yours, wherever you are ...

Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Hanukkah-Shalom and
a somewhat belated Eid Mubarak!

Phew! So many religions you humans have! - maybe in 2009 you can all learn how to play nicely together.

Of Beer and Bears

I don't think that anyone who knows me would call me a quitter - bears don't quit, they hibernate - but a bear can only put up with so much. After months of whining and complaining and long faces and sulks, I decided that my bipedal attendants needed to get out of Bratislava for the holidays.

After a few collusive phone calls with my god-bipedal attendants (who reside near Venice), I arranged a whirlwind trip from Slovakia, through Austria, and then on to Italy. If this doesn't shut these two up, nothing will.

I confess that nobody cried as we left Bratislava but there were tears of joy as our train pulled into Vienna.

One of our first ports of call was the 1516 Brewing Company. Most people would be more than satisfied with a trip to Italy as their Christmas gift, but my male bipedal attendant wouldn't stop pouting until I agreed to take him there. He kept going on and on about the Reinheitsgebot, or beer Purity Law, of 1516. He's such a purist. Of course, I had to have a beer (above left) just to be polite. Bears - especially Freelance Goodwill Ambassador bears - are by nature very polite.

After we left the pub and before we ducked into the Little Buddah bar for cocktails, I slipped off to look for my extended bear clan of Austrian bears who were having a family reunion in a store front window. People - especially Austrians - love their bears. Fortunately, my German is excellent and the thick glass pane which separated us didn't prevent us from having a great bear chin wag.

After a night of Viennese beer and bears, we caught a very early morning train to Mestre. I admit that my bipedal and god-bipedal attendants were all a little bleary-eyed and I don't doubt that they napped through all the best parts of Austria. So much for a scenic train ride - I might as well have bought them plane tickets for all they cared.

Unfortunately, one of the women - Brigitte - who shared our compartment is a huge fan of mine and, well, she was really nice and all, but when I travel, I like to remain anonymous. After three hours of regaling her with tales from my international fashion modelling days in Milan, I had had enough and excused myself.

Brigitte's constant badgering must have completely frazzled me because I took a wrong turn at the bathroom and found myself in the bar car. I really don't know how that happened. All I know is that while my bipedal and god-bipedal attendants were napping and Brigitte was calling all of her friends on her cell phone and telling them about me, I was able to enjoy a couple of Austrian biere in peace.

And that's what this season is really about, isn't it? Peace on Earth - even if that little bit of Earth is the bar car on a train speeding through the Alps towards Italy.

Unidentified Flying Bear (UFB)

This post is a bit of a misnomer because, of course, I'm not an unidentified flying bear because not only am I highly identifiable - I am after all a former international fashion model and currently a freelance Goodwill Ambassador - I can't actually fly without the use of a Boeing 777 and a pilot.

Last week - in an effort to culturally enrich their lives - I took the bipedal attendants to Bratislava's Museum of Jewish Culture which, in spite of what their website said, turned out to be closed. A quick-witted bear, I devised a Plan B, which was a trip to the city's super groovy Novy Most, or "New Bridge", formerly known as Most SNP: Bridge of the Slovak National Uprising, which spans the Danube. And as you can see from the photos, atop the Novy Most sits a super-space age UFO tower.

The ewfo (a.k.a, the UFO tower) - proudly holds last place on the World Federation of Great Towers (WFGT) list of, well, great towers. At 303 metres, the Novy Most is the world's longest cable-stayed bridge in the One Pylon-One Cable-Stayed Plane category. I don't really know what that means - my specialties are pretty much confined to cutting edge fashion and organizing relief to much of the developing world - or how many bridges actually belong in that category. Probably more than one though.

For 200 koruny, you can take the elevator to the top of the ewfo but since 200 koruny will - as my male bipedal attendant reminded me - buy 8 half-litres of beer (or 16 half-litres since there are two of them), we (or they) chose not to.

At the top of the ewfo is a swanky restaurant and its Italian chef has pressed me to celebrate New Year's Eve there atop the city. I find it really hard to enjoy your meal with the paparazzi in your face (although I should be used to it by now) and my bipedal attendants can't really afford the 6,000 koruny price tag (booze not included). Besides - as my male bipedal attendant reminded me - 6,000 koruny will buy 240 half-litres of beer (or 480 half-litres since there are two of them), so we (or they) chose not to.

Back in the late 60's-early 70's, when they built the bridge, the city had to destroy almost all of the historic Jewish Quarter (inefficiently represented by the closed Museum of Jewish Culture) and a lot of the Old Town. By doing so, access to the nearby neighbouring Communist Block-'burb - and former site of a labour camp for Hungarian Jews - of Petržalka was greatly improved - so I guess it all depends on what your priorities are.

Their culture-destroying efforts were not in vain though because in 2001, Slovakia declared the Novy Most the "Structure of the Century". I'm not sure if it's really worthy of being the Structure of the Century, but having seen its 20th century competitors, the panelák's - blocks of high-rise pre-fab concrete panel buildings slapped up by the Russians from the 50's to the 80's - I guess it does win hands down.

My bipedal attendants are pretty sure that the ewfo was built by visiting space aliens - although in my mind, there's something quintessentially Slovak about it. But that could just be the 8 half-litres of beer (or 16 half-litres since there are two) of them talking. Besides, the majority of visitors to Bratislava only stay for half a day at most and I don't think that even space aliens could have built the ewfo so quickly.

Christmas Bear Cheer

In what I can only call a Christmas miracle, this weekend I managed to convince my bipedal attendants to brave the grey (such a nice colour!) and spitting skies of Bratislava and venture out to the Christmas Market. Bratislava's Christmas Market is the high point of the Slovakian social calendar, and draws tourists from all over the country as well as from abroad. Chances are, those visitors from further afield are probably doing the Christmas Market circuit - with stops in the more famous markets in nearby Vienna and Prague and maybe even Germany - but still, the town square was packed.

I would like to be able to say that the Christmas Market here is a centuries-old tradition in Bratislava, but it's not - it's barely over a dozen years old. It's never too late to start a centuries-old tradition. Just because Mozart had to pass by Vienna's annual Christmas Market on his way home all those years ago shouldn't make anyone feel unimportant or insignificant.

Here, about 100 stalls wind their way about the old city's market square, Hlavne Námestie, spilling out into nearby Hviezdoslavovo Námestie, where the guards from the US Embassy keep a watchful eye from behind barbed wire. There isn't too much to do at the Market, except eat, drink, and buy "traditional" Slovak gifts. These "traditional" gifts can be divided into 4 categories: things made from wood, things made from beeswax, things made from gingerbread, and things made from ceramic. For the most part, the craft items are much the same - hearts and angel ornaments - the only difference is what it's made out of. Once you've visited 4 stalls, you're pretty much done - at least that's what my female bipedal attendant said.

Visitors seem content with this set-up since in any case the raison d'être of the Market appears to be eating and, to a greater degree, drinking. Local fare can best be described as rustic (what my female bipedal attendant calls "peasant food"). Cigánska pečienka (Gypsy liver) - fatty pork on a bun - is a favourite, as are sausages, goose liver or sauerkraut potato crêpes (lokse) and the always festive: slices of bread slathered with goose lard and raw onions. As a vegetarian bear, there were very few culinary options open to me.

Sweets are outnumbered by savouries at the Market (why would you want something sweet when you can have bread & lard?) but you can find poppy seed and nut pastries, oblatky (large wafers that look like they've been stolen from the nearby church) and honey biscuits.

I confess that I was tempted more by the liquid refreshments: medovina (mead) - a honey wine - piqued my curiosity (I am a bear, after all) but it was a little too sweet for my taste - my palate is more suited to dry Spanish sherries. Hot wine (a.k.a. mulled wine) is the perennial favourite at the Christmas market but I've had that before, so instead I decided to try a glass of hot punč - or punch - which locals pronounce as pooooooonch. It's made from black tea, alcohol, fruit and spices and pretty much tastes like mulled wine. I'm sure it's different - I just can't figure out how.

The award for the most questionable holiday cocktail is hriatô: a concoction of warm liquidized lard (preferably with pork scraps), 50-proof alcohol and often, a smidgen of honey or sugar. Traditionally, this potent little potable was drunk by men working in the forests during wintertime but eventually found its way into the cities, especially during the Christmas season. I must confess that even if I weren't a vegetarian bear, I'd probably keep shy of the Lard Latte.

After about 20 minutes of this, (surprise! surprise!) my bipedal attendants were getting a little antsy - the male one just wanted a beer - apparently you have to go to the Vienna Christmas market for a beer - and the female one just complained about how cold it was. Some people! They forgot to bring my hoodie and I didn't complain. Next week, we're going to go to the Vienna Christmas Market with my god-bipedal attendants who will be visiting from Italy, and the first thing on the agenda is to buy that poor man a beer.

Many people seem to prefer the Bratislava Christmas market to its bigger and splashier competitors in Austria and the Czech Republic. Visitors like its "coziness". As a freelance Goodwill Ambassador, I always like to find the good in things, and yes, maybe there was no beer for my bipedal attendants, and not much to eat that wasn't made out of a goose or a pig, and almost zero selection in the traditional craft department - but I felt warm and fuzzy by the time I left. Unlike some, I was full of Christmas cheer. Of course, that may have had more to do with my glasses of mulled wine, punč and medovina than anything else.