Sticky Bear Weekend in Vermont

As we get closer to the date when my partner and I move back to Mexico, we were looking for events or activities to participate in before leaving, some more memories to make. One of our dear friends told us about this weekend in Vermont organized by Decadent Ducks; despite never having heard of it before, I was excited about it since I had never gone to any bear-related event (except for the Bearmex ones in Mexico City).

The first thing we loved about it was how affordable it was. We paid $350usd for BOTH of us! And that included everything - a room for two nights, meals, transportation for the tour and a wonderful little bag of goodies.

After the drive from Connecticut, admiring how beautiful Vermont is (it's like every single picture you take, no matter in which direction, is a perfect postcard), we arrived on Friday at the Harwood Hill Motel and were delighted by how cosy it is! We unloaded our bags and chilled out for a bit before heading out to the welcome drinks and dinner at our host's house.

The 7 minute drive turned to 15 because we rely on our GPS way too much, perhaps we should have asked for directions instead! Nevertheless, we made it just in time to meet up with everybody. 

We were mostly couples and added up to 17 people including the organizers. Their house is not only beautiful, but perfectly arranged for everyone to stand around and chat or choose one of the sitting areas and drink one of the however-many different liquors were offered. I was surprised at the variety of it! I tasted maple syrup liquor, maple syrup Vodka and went back to my usual Jack and Coke (didn't make it to the Whipped cream liquor... Maybe next time). The food that came after was just as varied and delicious. A perfect setting to get to know who we would be spending the following day with. 

The next morning a bus picked us up at the motel. And, as if having a bus with 17 gay bears wasn't already enough trouble, they passed a round of bloody mary's, just to get started. 

We started our sugar rush themed day at an All You Can Eat Pancake Breakfast Fundraiser, where I had my first taste of actual Vermont maple syrup. It was also my first time inside a US elementary school auditorium... For the first few minutes, scenes from many movies flashed before my eyes, I kept hoping there would be a spontaneous musical number or something.

Next, we drove to the first of three sugar shacks we would visit. One of our friends pointed out how well that worked out, too. As it happened, at the first one, this cute daddy bear explained the process of how maple syrup is processed at the shack and shared stories of how he is the third generation working there. The second one, later that day, explained how the sap was obtained, including temperatures it needs and how it affects the kind of syrup you end up getting. 

The last one, which was the only one actually boiling, was a different and unique experience; instead of being dropped off at the shack itself, we walked through the snow covered farm, surrounded by this beautiful scenery, and followed the deliciously sweet smell of maple syrup goodness being made. In this last shack, we were able to see everything we had heard of until then and  admire the process we now understood. 

A location which gave us a break from the sweetness (not that we were complaining!) was the Cheese House. A little shop in the shape of a cheese wheel with a wedge cut (which becomes the entrance)... One of the greatest finds (for me, at least) was this "onesie" with the bear bum thing on the back. I would have loved to take it with me, but there is no way I would have any use for it in Mexico...

Since we were ahead of schedule, we stopped at the Bennington Battle Monument, where I saw my first snowman ever. This was a great chance to take a couple of group photos (which I hope to get soon since they were taken with someone else's camera). 

Going back to the tour, we picked up our pre-ordered sandwiches and made for the Why Not Wine winery. This was one of my favorite locations, the owners of the place were friendly, funny and just plain awesome. We got to sample a bunch of wines while eating our yummy sandwiches. Needless to say, more than one of us left carrying more than a couple bottles!

The last two stops were a perfect way to wrap up the tour. The Vermon Moonlight Cookies Bakery shop where I fell in love with their Lemon-Ginger shortbread cookies... They had samples of each kind of cookie when we arrived and had little else by the time we left. The Chocolate Barn, on the other hand, had no samples... But none were needed, just going into this place makes you have a slight chocolate high! So, between creeme brulee truffles, salty caramel chocolate and maple-walnut ice-cream... Well, I was in sweet, sweet heaven.

As I mentioned before, it was a constant sugar rush, made only better by the great company - we were never short of laughter, stories and silliness (and thank God for the heated bus!).

As the day came to an end, we were dropped off at the motel for a much needed nap (and I immediately brushed my teeth out of guilt). 

In the evening, we headed back to our gracious hosts' place for drinks and dinner... I shamelessly wolfed down the Mac and Cheese - being Mexican this is exotic for me! - and sat around the living room to spend some more time drinking and making merry.

I think this was the perfect way to bring my stay in the U.S. to a close, made new friends, took awesome pictures and spend a weekend relaxing and eating sugary goodies. The bag given to us included a bear full of maple syrup and other things amongst which were maple and blueberry flavored chapstick... ... ... And the infamous bacon flavored chapstick (which I refuse to open but will cherish as a rare American treasure).

A different kind of bear event. A relaxing weekend completely planned for you, where you just follow and enjoy yourself. Definitely a must if you're in need of a break from the everyday madness.

...Although I was constantly wondering when I would get my very own Sticky Bear.. And then someone said "well, you got a bottle of maple syrup so you can make your own!". Challenge accepted.

Stranded - Ending

III

            When I woke up, I was floating on the surface, next to my little boat. Had I dreamt the episode with the whales? I swam towards the starboard, very much feeling the pain reassuring me I had indeed played with whales all night. I’m guessing the so-called shark was just a smaller whale, starting the game of dodge-human.

            I climbed into my little vessel and let myself lie sprawled on the deck. Allowing the sun to bathe me in its warm light, imagining it whispering ‘it’s okay, it’s over now’.

            After a few minutes I got up and gladly found my banner-fish still there. I called it that because it was long and kind of wide, reminding me of those banners carried by planes with messages for people, or advertisements for some companies. I took my diving gear off and regarded the bruises with a mixed sense of accomplishment and relief.

            I survived. Again.

            I put my clothes on, as usual, and sat leaning against the rim of the boat. You would think that by this point I would just stay naked all the time, but old habits die hard. I drank some of the water I had collected the night before (or was it to nights ago?). The sound of the waves splashing against the boat were still quite soothing for me; regardless of this experience, the ocean still held its magic and control over me in that way.

            It took me a while to realize that I was staring at a piece of land in the horizon right in front of me. At first, I didn’t even pay attention to it, I just stared in a kind of haze, daydreaming. Then, it was like having a conversation with my brain.

            “Hey, that wasn’t there before, was it?”, my brain stated lazily.

            “I dunno. You’re the one who should know, I’m just here for the ride”, I said out loud, smiling at the silliness of it all.

            “Well, that was definitely not there before.”, my brain remarked.

            “Congratulations on your discovery then,” I said as I raised my bag of water, “what are you going to do with it?”

            And that thought brought me to a sudden halt. What was I going to do with it? Well, reaching it would be a good start! I shot up straight to my feet and got to work. More excited than afraid. This meant nothing to me, though. Land only meant I would be able to remember what being dry was like. And perhaps vary my diet a little. But I would not want to have another set of creatures using me for their entertainment. Especially big, land creatures.

            Nevertheless, it was still land and I was still happy to head towards it.

IV

            As I docked my boat, or rather pulled it onto the sand with all the might I had left, I surveyed my surroundings.

            It looked like a small island. The beach where I was at was nothing special, there were a couple of small mountains and it was all covered with green. It was nice to see grass again and feel it beneath my feet. Before venturing into the wilderness (not that there was a jungle, though), I took my fish, hoping I would find something to open it with other than my bare hands.

            I walked further into the island and I saw it. A house etched into the wall of the mount.

            I stood there in awe, not able to believe what I was seeing. I felt a knot in my throat which made it harder to swallow, tears in my eyes and my heart racing as it had been when I was assaulted by the whales. Except this time I could run. And I did.

            It was a small house, with a staircase that led to its door. The walls (yes, walls, made of concrete) were painted an earthy red, like clay; it had 3 windows, blocked by heavy curtains. And a button on the side of the door which I assumed to be the doorbell. Naturally, I rang it.

            It was answered almost instantly. As if I had been expected, which was unimaginable at the moment. As the door swung open, it revealed a young man, probably in his mid-thirties, messy, short black hair; delicate features; I would dare to say of Asian descent. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and khaki shorts. I looked into his eyes, with tears in mine and hands outstretched.

            “Help me”, I muttered.

            And then, I collapsed.

  

V

            The man half carried me, half led me into his house and sat me on his couch. He didn’t ask any questions, which I took for courtesy at the time, given how upset I was and how much of a disaster I must have looked like.

             His house was small; the living room was just a couch and a small coffee table, covered with everyday stuff like a box of tissue, a bottle of Pepto Bismol, some chocolate and some pens. There were books on the floor and some others stacked up against the wall.

            “Is there someone you want me to call?”, the man asked politely.

            Out of force of habit, I reached for my non-existent phone in the pocket of my jeans. Thanks to the cellphone age, I did not know even one number from memory. I had never felt so lost before. I had finally found another human being; more than that, he was willing to help me. I requested help. I just didn’t know what that would be.

            “I- I don’t know what number to call”, I stuttered. I was still inches from losing my mind.

            I started crying, overcome with impotence and despair. My sobs became violent and my hands couldn’t seem to contain the tears pouring out of me. I was shivering and hurting all over. My vision was blurred and my hearing impaired. It was like being in the ocean all over again, unable to reach the surface.

            “I- I will—ca—call--- 911”, I managed through sobs. Then I turned to him, “they- do you think they will be able to help me ?”

            The man looked at me, puzzled and, somehow, serene. But saying nothing.

            I rummaged through my brain looking for an answer. A way to help myself so this other person could help me. I used to be smart. I used to be brilliant. I made it through very rough times; I braved poverty and loneliness, I survived being stranded in the middle of the sea and attacked by monstruous creatures.

            And yet, there I sat. Still helpless. Still vulnerable.

            Finally, I remembered the existence of the internet. No matter where you were, you were connected to the world.

            I asked if he had a computer I could borrow. He promptly went into his bedroom and came back with a black laptop. An unusually familiar laptop.

            He set it before me and sat back down, seemingly patient and just observing me. His face, expressionless.

            I turned my attention back to the computer, opened it and immediately looked at the date: January 4^th.

            “January 4^th”, I whispered. As if hearing the date out loud would make it suddenly transform into an answer, a key to my situation. It didn’t.

           How long had I been drifting in the ocean? I had always thought it was March. March 8^th, to be more precise. Did this mean it had been a year? Or did I get the month wrong? It couldn’t have been a year, I could barely remember last week! I opened the calendar to see what year we were in. But it didn’t help. I could not remember what year that ‘March 8^th’ of my memory was.

            I brought my eyes up to look at the man again. He was just sitting there. Motionless. Staring at me. Showing no emotion at all. In any other circumstances, I would have found it suspicious. Presently, I had other matters to see to. More urgent, I thought.

            I opened the web browser and went to a website to find my location. When the map came up, it made no sense. It was showing a route but the countries had no names. I recognized the shapes but could not name them to save my life. I was always terrible at geography, I thought, but to not be able to name the countries? What is happening to me? Is it the shock still?

            I followed the route which went from a country south of South America, making a few twists in the ocean, all the way up to the United States. But, where am I?, I wondered, getting more anxious by the minute. Where is this place?

            As I frantically searched the screen and my brain for answers, I did not notice that the man was no longer sitting across from me. It was as if all my eyes could see was the screen before me.

            E-mail! Of course!, a voice inside me yelled, I remember that and I’m sure I can contact my family or my friends or… My lover.

            I opened a new window and my fingers couldn’t seem to type the address fast enough. I rushed so much I entered the wrong password a couple of times before I realized I had also typed my own email address wrong.

            After it had all been corrected, it logged into my account. I expected to find dozens of unread messages, perhaps even some asking me where I was. But there were only 5 unread messages, mostly spam. If I had taken a second to look, if I had been just a tiny bit more calm, I might have realized that the last email was received on March 8^th. I didn’t.

            I clicked on the button to compose a new email and was instantly brought to that familiar screen. My memory was still foggy and my hands were trembling, but I remembered the name of the one I still missed the most. And I knew I didn’t even need it, just typing the first letter would be enough for the email to complete the address and the name.

            I typed ‘S’ and both the address and the name popped up instantly. I was so grateful to see it. I could only hope that, somehow, I would be saved. That this nightmare would be brought to an end. In fact, just this image before me brought the illusion of connection, of knowing that I was not crazy and there was a life that had escaped me somehow – but I could get back to.

            I started the message, typing as if in panic. The rest of the world momentarily, unfortunately, blocked from my vision as I concentrated on the words and the hope they brought.

            Memories came rushing back. Before this, I was in a place covered by snow, in an apartment with a cat. I sat by my lover’s side as we both read on our e-book devices and dreamt of our upcoming move to my home country. I had forgotten my mother’s birthday and we had vowed to take her out to dinner when we arrived, and I had even suggested taking her to the theater to see a play I knew they would both love. I remembered cooking a delicious and rather unhealthy meal that satisfied me and left me lying lazily on the couch, watching a tv drama. I was overcome by the memories of the future I hoped for, the past that had created me and the present I was learning to live.

            I finished the message. All that it needed was for me to copy the link to my location so the connection to my old life was complete.

            The message read:

            My love, I am sorry for my absence. I do not know how long it has been or what happened. I am lost. I was stranded on a boat. I spent days, maybe months, trying to survive. If it has been that long, I wonder if you may think I am dead. You might have moved on. There will be time to talk and mend what can be mended. At the moment, I only hope you can remember who I am. Because I don’t. But I remember you and I need your help.

            Here is a link to my location according to the online maps:

            I don’t know where this is. Please contact the authorities and give them my information and a picture of me so they can find me. So they can bring me back to my life. So they can rescue me from this nightmare.

            I love you and long to see you again. Please, rescue me.

            All that was left was for me to sign it. That and the link to the maps of where I was. It should have taken a minute. Maybe even less. The message would have travelled through cyber space and reached whichever side of the world it had to. And I would have been rescued.

            I would have gone back to the snowy place. Travelled back to my home country. Taken my mother out to dinner and made up for forgetting her birthday. I would have been with my lover and lived much more pleasant adventures.

            It would have taken a minute. Maybe even less.


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Read the prologue here: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-short-story.html
Read part 1 here: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-part-1.html
Read part 2 here: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-part-2.html

Tough love

'What you do every day matters more than what you do every once in a while'. I read this quote somewhere and it made me think of my first 'serious' relationship. 

I was 18 and my boyfriend was 33 years old (yeah, not that uncommon in the gay world), and if there was one thing that was always present in our relationship, it was my constant feeling of sadness. I remember coming home feeling like crap after our 'dates', or just feeling plain scared to express my opinions. The worst thing, probably, is that he didn't hit me or call me names! Why is that the worst thing, you ask? Well, because I could not make out what it was that made me feel so bad! 

When people asked me about my relationship, I usually talked about the more obvious, 'good' things. "Ah, we went out for dinner", "we watched a movie at his place", "he got me a rose, isn't that romantic?". The problem was, though, that these gestures, while very real, happened mostly after we had a serious fight. I never talked about the things we did every day. Looking back, now I think I can understand what made that relationship so unpleasant.

He sometimes ignored my calls on purpose, knowing it drove me crazy and even admitting to doing so ("sometimes I don't want to talk to you"); and he constantly criticized my behavior in a hurtful, demeaning way ("you don't eat eggs? Of course, your mother spoiled you too much. Maybe one day you'll grow up").

My point is, those things were like little drops of water falling constantly on the same spot. One little drop will do little to no harm, but if continued indefinitely, it won't take too long before it starts leaving a mark.

Very often, our society teaches us that aggression or violence is an acceptable substitute for vulnerability and intimacy, two concepts which are rarely discussed or promoted. In a way, it's a shame that our society not only accepts this kind of violence, but even encourages it. Have you ever met a couple who give each other demeaning or insulting nicknames in a 'playful' way? Couples who are rude or offensive to each other because 'they know they're just playing'? And if the offended party says anything there comes the answer "oh, come on, don't be so sensitive", which transfers the fault to them and the aggressor comes off as being 'carefree and playful'.

The core of this, I believe, is that people who are not used to feeling vulnerable will immediately lash out in order to hide their fear. People who get angry at the 'idiot who cut in front of them' and yell at their kids, simply because they are the nearest available target. Mind you, it's not like they think "oh, I need someone to bully now, since I cannot take revenge on my aggressor", it is just something they have been doing for such a long time that it has become a reflex.

A relationship is built every day and every moment that the people involved are interacting. Think of it as bricks building a wall. Perhaps every so often you would put a nice decoration on the wall, something shiny and impressive; and while they should be enjoyed and cherished, they in no way substitute the basis of what you're building. If all the bricks on your house are cracked, soon not even the fanciest decorations will make your house be worth living in.

As an example, instead of being sarcastic, try to give someone an actual compliment every day. You will see how great you feel and how quickly you stop feeling 'silly' by doing it.

Stranded - Part 2

II

            When I turned around, I encountered a rather unusual sight. Maybe not unusual for someone who studies these things, but all my knowledge on this salty wet world was a posteriori. I was suddenly surrounded by a school of whales.

           Now, I don’t know if you have ever seen a whale in real life. It’s not like they have expressive faces (or faces, per se), but I had the slight feeling these were not very happy.

            I made for the surface, hoping I could reach my boat before things got complicated. And that is when my life changed. Again.

            I felt something collide against my right side, leaving me stunted and breathing with a lot of difficulty, especially considering I was getting oxygen from a mask. I had no time to regain my balance or perspective before something else smashed my left side. I felt helpless.

            Worse. I felt vulnerable.

            My eyes were open but I couldn’t see anything. I could no longer tell where the surface was or which direction I was facing, and, frankly, it was no longer my priority. I kept being shoved in different directions, violently pushed by one these creatures and carried by the current another one created as it swam quickly by my side. The world that had been so beautiful just minutes before, had become a swirling madness I could not get out of. I kept my hands on my face, both protecting it and the precious apparatus supplying me with the indispensable gas. All I could do was wish they would not damage the tank on my back. That would mean game over.

I tried to fight it. I tried to escape. I tried to make sense of it. And then I just gave in. I was up against majestic, powerful creatures in their own environment. I did not stand a chance. I relaxed my body and my mind. I kind of had known this trip had an expiration date, and I expected it would end something like this. But I still harbored a small hope that somehow, I could have made it back.

            As I took my hands away from my face and relaxed my legs, letting my body be carried by the flow, I noticed again the beautiful rays of the sun piercing through the surface. My body ached from the assault of the marine monsters. Then I felt another shove. I admired the deep darkness of the seemingly bottomless ocean, wondering what amazing creatures lived down there. Wondering how much I would see as I sank deeper into that darkness. Would my eyes adjust? Or would it be like sinking into a deep sleep? I kept getting turned this way and that as the mighty beasts toyed with me. Until it felt like it didn’t matter anymore.

Read part 1 here: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-part-1.html

Stranded - Part 1

I

            The day my journey took a whole new direction, I was swimming a little deeper than I usually do. I kept wondering how it was that I still had oxygen in the tanks. While it was true that I had no clue as to how much time I had spent drifting in the ocean, it sure felt like over a couple of weeks. Being wet now just felt like the natural state of my body; I had been wearing the same clothes, a red plaid shirt whose color had been gradually fading because of the saltiness of the ocean; a pair of old jeans with empty pockets, save for a now useless headset and a wallet with some ID and a picture.

            There was nothing special about that day, as far as I was concerned. I was looking for some fish that looked edible or at least not too disgusting – not that I could be picky anymore. As I recall, I used to be quite the finicky man, back in my other life. I would not even eat chicken from the bone or anything that looked too much like what it was when it was alive. I wonder what my friends would have thought, seeing me biting the flesh of a half-alive fish to keep myself from starving.

            It had been raining the night before, though of course it was nothing like those storms I used to admire as a child. My little boat would be tossed around riding the waves like a leaf carried by the mischievous winds of fall. You would think I hated the storms now, but that is because you have never been stranded in the middle of the ocean – rain means water. And water is life. It’s one of those ‘ironic’ things in life, being surrounded by the one thing that could keep you alive and yet, being unable to drink it.

            Another big perk of storms is that they make the ocean quite tame the next day. When there is nothing but water as far as the eye can see, it is nice to be able to dive into it to admire the beauty underneath. The sun peeking through the surface, making the fish glitter and shine. The odd creatures of the sea, thankfully more afraid of me than I had been of them, even the occasional whale. In fact, up until that day, I had always thought whales to be more solitary animals, merrily gliding through the current.

            I had never seen a shark, though.

            As I was swimming that day, after catching a banner-fish (I was no marine biologist, so I made up names for the fish as I saw fit), I caught a glimpse of a whale. A rather small one. The sun was still out but I was deep enough that the light had begun to be scarce. The creature started towards me, which was not usual behavior for the whales I had encountered before. I was curious… Too much to react instantly. That was, of course, until I saw its teeth.

            I swam quickly to the side and barely avoided the creature head-butting me; for some reason, it didn’t feel like it was trying to bite me, but rather just crash into me. Either way, I wasn’t about to find out, curiosity kills more than cats. I turned away from the animal I assumed was a shark with the intention of swimming to the surface as fast as I could. But, had it been that easy, I would not have much of a story to tell.

Part 2: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-part-2.html

You can read the prologue here: http://awolfamongbears.blogspot.com/2013/03/stranded-short-story.html

Stranded - A Short Story

Prologue

I always loved the smell of the ocean; a salty fragrance that transported my heart to those days of my childhood where I didn’t have to go to school and I could just enjoy my time with my family. The sea meant I could stay up late sitting on a balcony with my mother, gazing at the sky and listening to the soothing sound of the waves.

         

There was this one time I was having breakfast with my parents by the beach and I saw a dark spot in the sky, far away in the horizon. I had never seen such a disturbance before, it made no sense to me. We were on vacation at the beach! Was it not the one place we went to where everything was perfect?

            “What is that?”, I asked my mom.

            “Oh, that is just a storm”, she said casually and then resumed her chat with my father.

            A storm? It was like reality had slapped me awake. I had never even considered the possibility of having ‘bad weather’ here, in paradise.

            “What is going to happen? Are we gonna be ok?”, I asked. My 5 year-old mind already bursting with chaotic scenarios.

            “You have nothing to worry about”, my mother answered with a gentle smile, “it will even be fun! You’ll see…”

            She was right. I loved watching the storm from the five star hotel we were staying at. We had ice-cream as I stood near the window, amazed at the lighting and thunder hitting the ocean, the palm trees almost giving into the might of the wind, bending as if ready to snap. To me it was just a show.

            I guess one of the most important reasons why I loved the ocean so much is what it stood for, being by the ocean meant I was safe and happy.

            Safe.

            Happy.

            Two concepts I am no longer familiar with.

           Though I doubt it would make any difference, I wish I could somehow remember how long I have been here. How I got here. At the very least, I am grateful I have some memories to keep me going. I have a place to go back to. Even if I never make it back.

Part 1 coming next week.