Wow! 

Where to start? 

Still alive. How’s that for starters? 

And.

Absolutely loving it.

 

So mind-blowing.

So lost-for-words-and-don’t-want-to-use-my-thesaurus.

So need-to-write-and-don’t-know-where-to-start.

So privileged.

A privilege given to me.

Simple me.

Simple, super-intelligent, super-classy, silly me.

 

Of course.

My apologies.

To each and every single one of yous.

Not been in touch.

But internet and phone issues.

Down here.

Out here.

I mean we are not out in the sticks.

Seriously.

We are in proper wildlife territory.

In the middle of nowhere.

Yet in the middle of so much.

Properly.

 

So mind-blowing.

So lost-for-words-and-don’t-want-to-use-my-thesaurus.

So need-to-write-and-don’t-know-where-to-start.

 

Anyway.

Anyhoooo.

 

Let’s give this post some structure.

Let’s try and write in full sentences.

Which I don’t do.

Too boring.

Gonna have to.

Wrote previously that Husten’s style doesn’t go with bears.

It doesn’t.

Fucking hate full sentences.

 

Anyway.

Anyhoooo.

 

Just let’s.

 

 

The Set-Up

 

We were warned that amenities were going to be rustic. 

Not so. 

We have a fully equipped kitchen, the Cook Shack or Biscuit’s Cafe, which has more appliances and cooking utensils than I ever had. With three large fridges. Laminate/fake wood flooring. Comfy seats and all. Just that microwave is missing. Can’t get too greedy. (Note: Biscuit being a famous bear, pics to follow, see below)

Food supplies are plentiful. A pantry it is called apparently. But it is huge. Massive. Like walking into your local shop. And you can choose, cook and eat whatever you want.

My cabin is carpeted which I share with Buddy, from the Twin Cities, David from California and Ben from Philly. Two pairs of bunk beds with decent mattresses and thank God I have the lower one, it being less prone to insects and the heat/cold. We sometimes have electricity, well, a single light bulb powered by a car battery.

There is also a trailer, in which I am in right now, which is supposed to have internet access, which is supposed to have a phone line and electricity plugs with enough juice to charge laptops and my Macbook.

You see.

Out here.

It is not always that easy.

For one.

You have to go … and … fuck it … why do I even bother to excuse myself?

 

Outhouses are dotted around and must surely be the best hygienic invention since, hmmm, well the toilet.

The thing is, me being from Europe, you’d expect Biscuit’s Cafe, my cabin and the trailer to be close to each other. Silly me. Silly European me. This is America. Welcome to America, Husten. The sanctuary is massive, vast, about 4 miles between where we cook/eat and access the internet. I sleep somewhere in between. And not easy to get to and from. We have lots of vans to our disposal. Sorry. Silly European me. Trucks. Pretty much take your pick. Take your pick-up. I have a favourite. Truck. A Ford. Had a lick of paint once, doors don’t close properly, the engine sounds like it doesn’t feel like it wants to do what it is supposed to do on start-up, but then gives you an almighty ride. Like a Bukowski whore. 

Getting to shops, to the store, getting to town, to Orr, MN, is out of the question. Unless someone gives you a 15 mile ride. Which rarely happens. Coz us Europeans can still drive whatever truck we want, just not outside the Sanctuary. Insurance and all that. Another reason why it is so difficult to get in touch.

The weather is weird. It snowed in my first week to then suddenly rise to the high 80’s (35C), then turn cold again. I got effing sun-burnt while presenting the Sanctuary in a parade giving candy to kids. Like carnival back home without the fancy dress.

Overall, they look after us really well. Insist on relaxing after our shifts and taking our day-offs and are particularly watchful for burn-outs. I have played football (soccer) quite a lot. Why are American girls so good at soccer? And we go swimming in Pelican Lake as much we can.

I also drink quite a lot. But about that, my role here and possibly a new love in my life, that will be in Week 2, my next post, yet to be written. Coz in week 2 and 3 things properly kicked off.

 

 

 

The First Couple of Days

 

Were frustrating. Very. Coz on the first two days I had to go through this wild bear safety training. Which meant. On Day 1: not allowed outside; on Day 2: not allowed outside unless I was accompanied. And I wanted to go out to be with my so beloved bears. But not allowed.

On Day 3: I got bluff-charged. Bluff-charging is a bear pretending to attack you. For getting to close to her/him and she/he letting you know it. By pretending to attack and going to rip you apart.

Nappy-time. Or. Rather changing nappy-time. 

When it happens the first time, despite all my knowledge about wild bears. Well. Seriously scary. 

I mean.

Seriously.

I nearly shat myself.

Nearly.

Maybe a bit.

 

 

My Fellow Volunteers

 

All ages and mostly American. Some just drop in to cook us a meal with expensive and/or fresh ingredients, or to fix something, others like me stay for a very long time. Needless to say that I get on best with the young’ns. Sometimes a bit too best. But more about that in later post. Everybody is really nice. Met some great people. And the Americans love me. They always have done and here even more. Tho I had my fall-outs with people. Shit happens. What can I say? Sometimes my fault, sometimes not so. What surprised me the most is the number of long-stay volunteers. Only 10. And all do or hold a wildlife, ecology, biology or conservation degree. How lucky am I to have made it through the application process?

 

 

The Bugs

 

Are unbelievable. Searched high and low for long-sleeved T-shirts and light jeans/pants back home. No point. They sting through jeans and even boots. And forget the mozzies. Yeah, on my left hand alone I have 27 bites. Not a biggie. It’s the effing black and horse flies and the wolf spiders you gotta be careful about. As Buddy said, “some awkward, bad-arse bees flying around.” And I always thought they liked me in particular. Not so. Americans and those that are from around here suffer as bad. 

 

 

The Wildlife

 

I wanna record the noises at night. Spectacular. Hearing the wolves howl is so incredibly beautiful. Animals seen so far: wolves, about a million chipmunks and American squirrels, groundhogs, a porcupin and of course 

 

 

The Bears

 

More about them later.

 

 

But.

In the meantime.

For now.

Wanna see what a trained wild American Black Bear caretaker looks like?

 

 

Cool as fuck. That’s what he looks like.

Just have lots of internet/international phone issues at the moment. Should be sorted by the beginning of next week.

So.

Expect a massive post soon.

 

In the mean time.

 

I am fine.

But.

No but.

 

Really fine.

Fantastically fine.

 

I just feel bad for not being to do this earlier.

 

I mean.

 

I am doing this from a public telephone box.

 

Forgive me.

But.

No other way.

 

Love you all.

 

 

Too late to shit myself. In my hotel now in Duluth. My last day of comfort for 12 weeks before I get picked up tomorrow. Then a couple of hours being driven. To. Bears. Then bears. And bears. And bears. Then. Six more days in Minneapolis. Then home. 

Fuck me, will I go berserk in Minneapolis. Expensive hotel to start with. One that will have the fastest internet connection me Apple can take. Coz there is a hell of a lot of porn I’m gonna have to catch up with. 

When I landed in Twin Cities (i.e. Minneapolis and Saint Paul) earlier, it looked well inviting from the air. Add to that all the good things I have heard and read about its nightlife. Boy oh boy, am I gonna go clubbing there. And eating. And pulling. Should be easy. English-ish accent, a body toned to fuck after all the hard labour for three months and some chat-up chat that will captivate an audience otherwise always bored but feels obliged to listen to. I mean already here everyone is dead-impressed with what I’m about to do. You see, and maybe it’s because I have only ever landed in Philadelphia and New York, but usually border control officers are absolute arseholes. They scare the living, frying, flying fuck out-a-ya. Try to. And in my case, they always succeed. 

Not so here, especially when he found out what I was here for. 

Then the guy next to me on the plane to Duluth. 

Then the taxi driver. 

Then the hotel receptionist. 

Then some fellow guests.

 

I was given some advice. 

Moose. 

Apparently it is best to stay clear of them. Calving season and mothers will go for the human kill when bumping into one of us. 

 

The taxi driver told me I was gonna go and live into proper wildlife territory. People from Minneapolis consider Duluth way out in the jungle. People from Duluth consider Northern Minnesota way out in the jungle. People from Belgium consider Northumberland National Park way out in the jungle. 

Can’t fucking wait.

 

 

Good being back here. It’s been a couple of years. That unique, charming, slightly off-putting combination Americans have of helpfulness, friendliness, openness, naivety and at-first-not-saying-what-they-really-think. That going into a liquor store buying 12 cans of cold beer, waiting for the check-out person to ask for your id. 

But she didn’t. 

And I was disappointed. 

“Love the accent,” she said. And winked. 

Felt less disappointed.

 

 

I made a mistake not taking my camera on the way to the essential supplies shop, no store, for my last day of drinking in solitude, listening to music, writing in peace. In 15 minutes time, I came across so many photographable opportunities. The USA for you, I suppose. For one, the largest Star and Stripes I have ever seen. Having said that, would be a bit of a cliche. To post a picture of the American flag. Having said that, I do cliches extremely well. And proud of it. Having said that photography and Husten are not the best of matches. Can’t and won’t make that mistake with the bears tho. Promise.

 

 

Saw something really touching. Noticed a young, white, about 20-ish, American soldier getting on my flight from Minneapolis to Duluth. Blond, crew-cut hairstyle. Dark, tired eyes. Tall. Built like a brick-house. Full of muscle. Flew first class. Which surprised me. In proper beige, desert military gear. Was welcomed by his family and friends as he and I entered the arrivals hall. He sank to his knees. Stretched his arms out as open and wide as he could. With lots of family members pouring in. His friends stayed behind and waited coz there was not enough room even for his big arms. They didn’t cry though. Didn’t shed any tears. Didn’t even seem relieved. To see him. Happy, of course, but all very restrained. Just accepting. Duty and all that. For that massive Stars and Stripes I did not take a picture of earlier.

 

 

Tomorrow Day 1. Will see my so beloved bears, and hopefully beloved fellow volunteers for the first time. Will sink to my knees and make my puny arms as big as possible. Will also have to sit the exam to become a qualified American Bear Educator otherwise it’s me flying back home. Not shitting meself. I know me bear stuff tho will still need to revise one or two things tomorrow morning before getting picked up. Did you know for example that female bears, sows, have cubs through a biological process called “delayed implantation”? I am not gonna give you the details now. Quite sure, I will bore you with this later this month.

 

 

People are missing me. I know they are. I mean this with every fibre, natural or artificial, in my body: I don’t understand why. If anything, it’s only three months.

 

 

Just a sentimental note to Jaakie, Para and Toonen. When my plane was making the final stages of its descent into Minneapolis, just had to listen to Hüsker Dü. Didn’t choose a particular song. Just let my iPod do what’s it good at. I landed on “She Floated Away”.

 

Will let you know in three months’ time what Replacements song my iPod will be playing when taking off for home.

 

 

 

Still shitting myself. 

How for the love of Onan do you wank in a bunk bed in a cabin you share with fellow males? How did I do this as a teenager on a school trip? 

Can’t remember.

 

I know.

I should be worried about other things.

But.

I am quite sure.

You are all glad.

I still have my priorities right.

 

 

Still shitting myself.

Coz I have hardly any time left to get myself organised. 

Why oh why am I supping beer from a can and write this?

 

 

 

Quite frankly? I am shitting meself. Not so much because of the wild black bears. In fact, really looking forward to getting to know them, understand them better, the privilege given to me even a professional zoo keeper doesn’t have. And it is not just bears. We are talking lynx, wolves, moose, minks, coyotes, bisons and most impressive of all cougars. 

But no I’m shitting meself. I am getting the impression that most people I will work alongside with all have degrees in zoology or at the very least have some kind of experience with proper wildlife. I mean I come from a country where the biggest animal is a cow and the most dangerous one a honey bee. And then only if you are allergic to bee stings.

Shitting myself coz I have hardly any time left to get myself organised. Why oh why am I supping beer from a can and write this?

 

 

.

FOM: Het kirren van de boerendochter, de blikken van de hoer … Hier laat ik je los, Tim. Van hieraf moet je gaan … 

 

This is a nightmare post from hell. Husten has no idea how to go about this.

 

He is leaving for the US in 8 days. To look after wild black bears. In northern Minnesota. Most of you will know coz he told you. 

 

Thing is.

He won’t be able to stay in touch other than via this blog. Coz no internet access in the cabin he will stay in. No running water and electricity either. For three months. You know all the spiel. He has milked it more than enough.

To try and impress.

 

But.

He won’t have time to e-mail you all.

Hence.

My blog.

 

Which is a problem.

Coz.

Well, he could start a new one.

 

Thing is.

He can’t be arsed with setting up a new blog. And finding out how it works. Is used to Fall On Me now.

Plus.

It’s handy for all of yous who already know he that calls himself V M Husten and fills Fall On Me. Or in some cases pretend not to know V M Husten, but are still eager to lap up Fall On Me’s posts. 

Anyway.

You know who you are: Allie (x2), Toonen, Malcolm, Jaakie, Toni, Anja, Jo, Mandie, Laura, Carly, Pitte, Angela, Zhen, Tracey, James, Andy, Geuns, Carlo, Dave, Kris, Paul (x2) and Ramon.

 

Thing is.

With naming names. Husten is bound to upset somebody. Coz he is bound to have forgotten to mention that somebody.

He apologises.

In advance.

 

Thing is.

This was going somewhere. And it isn’t.

 

FOM: Hier heeft de mens gewonnen. De arme grond verrijkt. Hier heeft de mens met zwoegen … zijn hoogste doel bereikt …

 

Ah yes. It means V M Husten has to invite people to his blog whom had previously no experience. 

With Fall On Me.

With V M Husten.

With V M Husten and alcohol.

With me.

With, for example, him shagging a gorgeous, unconscious teenage girl who loves me to bits and so does her parents.

 

Fuck it. He is gonna invite them anyway.

Invite you anyway.

 

Welcome!

He is sure you will like the pictures of the bears he will post soon. 

 

Fall On Me is not too sure whether you will like Husten’s previous posts.

 

Thing is.

Husten’s very unique style of writing.

 

Simply.

Is gonna have to pack it in, won’t he?

 

Why?

Coz.

To Husten, it doesn’t sit well with bears.

 

FOM: De liefde voor een vrouw, Tim. De oogsten van haar buik. Het winnen van de dagen. Het streven naar geluk … Met vallen en opstaan.

 

 

 

 

 

I managed to keep her, X, here, in my flat, for about three hours.

Three-course meal and all. I made. I cooked.

After she finished her dessert. Asked me to call a taxi.

So.

When she left.

 

Rang up A and Boy.

To tell them why.

Don’t know why.

I rang them up.

 

Got some typical English responses.

 

“You tried your best.”

“Unlucky.”

 

Some not so typical.

 

A: You wanna come over?

H: I do. Need comforting. Boy gonna be ok with that?

A: He is asleep. You can sleep on his couch.

H: Thanks. Can’t sleep on my own now.

A: I know. You sound terrible.

H: Sorry I disappointed, yet again.

A: Just get your taxi-arse over here. You are not born to live on your own.

H: I really liked her, you know.

A: Husten, she just never liked you enough like you liked her.

H: I know, and I don’t understand. I am clever, funny, sensitive, open-minded, spontaneous …

A: You can be very lovely, and yet be so ….

H: Naive? 

A: No.

H: Over-sensitive?

A: Nooo, Husten. Unintelligent.

H: Unintelligent? As in stupid? Coming from you?

A: I am not gonna say you are a cunt now. You can come to ours, take the offer or stay where you are.

H: But you just did … called me a cunt. An unintelligent cunt. 

A: Husten …

H: I dunno A.

A: You can’t even talk without slurring, you are so pissed, once again you cannot even say my name properly.

H:

A: What’s it gonna be? Sleep on Boy’s couch or continuing feeling sorry for yourself?

H: I’m gonna go to my own bed. Breakfast tomorrow?

A: No, but, ok.

H:

A: You didn’t do anything wrong tonight, Husten. Please, just …

H: Thanks, A. Just difficult to get my head around …

A: You were yourself, like you always are.

H: Immature, an arsehole, stupid with a German sense of humour, insensitive, narrow-minded …take your pick …

A: It was just a fucking date, Husten.

H: A third fucking date with X, if you allow me to specify, A. I mean previous dates with her, as I seem to remember, involved kissing, groping, fingering, blow-jobs and all. But …

A:

H: She never let me go down on her …  Suddenly, bloody hell, I’m seeing the light, I should have realised. She never wanted …

A: I’m going now.

H:

A:

H: … ok, sorry and thanks. Ik ben het leven en de dood, you know.

A:

H: You know what lief means in Dutch?

A:

H: Of course you do. I told you.

A: (hangs ups)

 

Ik heb je lief, zooooooooo lief.

En mijn regenboog is nog altijd … 

 

 

 

 

H: I wanna die, I can’t cope anymore.

A (giggle): You are just nervous and tipsy.

H: Do you have any idea the internal turmoil I’m going through?

Boy: Have some water. X will be here soon. Sober up. She really likes you. Probably not drunk.

H: You reckon she’ll offer her unconscious private parts to me like Rachel does?

A (smiles, shakes her head, says to Boy): Whatever, but you are not gonna look this time.

Boy (laughs, very loud):  

H (trying to focus):

Boy (still laughing): I give you this, buddy, no matter how ratarsed you are, you do know how to fuck up everything, 80’s style.

H: This is gonna make sense to me tomorrow morning or at some point.

A: It won’t. But. It will make you proud, feel good about yourself, coz you forget …

H: … yeah, yeah, whatever … Listen to this.

A: Not again.

B: What this time?

 

Het Noorderlicht.

Vandaag span ik mijn regenboog.

Ik heb je lief, zooooooooo lief.

 

A: What the fuck?

H: What do you think, Boy?

B: Hmmmm.

H: Ignorant arseholes. Both of you. I grew up with this.

 

Boy: Well …

H: How long before she turns up?

A: Ten minutes before eight now, no doubt, she’ll be fashionably late …. We are going now … Husten, you will be fine … and have confidence … she likes you, you like her … just don’t drink too much.

B: Don’t ask her if she is into strangulation sex.

H: Funny. Ok. ok, ok, thank you, and get the fuck out. I will be all right.

A: You won’t.

B: He will.

Ik heb je lief, zooooooooo lief.

En mijn regenboog is nog altijd … 

 

So sad.

 

Who is fooling who?

 

 

 

 

And I am dancing.

Dancing.

Insomniac as I am.

 

 

See me move on the dance floor?

I mean.

See me move?

 

I am the dog’s bollocks.

 

And I am dancing.

Dancing.

 

Drugs. Alcohol. Nicotine.

I am soooooo the fucking dog’s bollocks.

 

Be careful what you do.

“People always told me.”

Drugs. Alcohol. Nicotine.

But.

I am still.

The fucking dog’s bollocks.

 

“Be careful what you do.”

People always told me. 

Drugs. Alcohol. Nicotine.

But I am still.

Soooooo.

A moron.

 

See me move on the dance floor?

I mean.

In my little room.

Called office.

See me move?

 

I am the dog’s bollocks.

 

X, my internet date, wants to meet up again.

So do I.

Just not with her.

 

X, couldn’t even be bothered with giving her a name.

On Fall On Me.

X, who was so amazingly accommodating.

X, who so needs a proper boyfriend.

X, who gave me a blowjob, full of effort. Hands underneath ballsack and all that. Massaging me balls. And love. Massaging me love.

X, who needs love. Just love.

X, who deserves better. Much better.

 

Sometimes.

You dance.

Like the dog’s bollocks.

X: You didn’t think we had something then?

H: Of course we did.

X: Wanna see me again?

H: Why would I not wanna see you again?

X: It’s just that you have not been very nice to me the last couple of days.

H: Coz I was drunk, told you before, a drunk Husten is a whole new and different ballgame.

X:

H: Are you desperate?

X: Why are you being like this? I have nothing been but nice to you.

H: Like the grammar.

X: What?

 

 

.

Insomniac as I am.

X: Oooh, that hurts. Your toe nails.

H: Sorry, they need cutting.

The truth is I never left you.

Tell you what.

This dating business. 

Is crap. 

Full stop. 

But.

I had to let it happen.

She, gorgeous, ugly, X, another date, another hope, “she who has a name”, whatever, whatthefuckever, is pretending to be asleep in my bed next-doors.

Me, gorgeous, ugly, Y, another date, another hope, “he who has a name”, whatever, too sober than is good for me.

Yeah, the evening was fun. She knew a hell of a lot about musicals. Kept the conversation flowing during our meal. Coz I have been in a couple. Musicals. Only a couple. But know nowt about them. And don’t want to know. She was impressed I knew the words to “Some Enchanted Evening”. South Pacific. The first musical I performed in. Ever. I was a sailor. My big break. Hahaha. 

Emile de Becque. He who played Emile. Then. Now long gone. Not so hahaha. Coz he passed away. Unexpectedly. Never heard an English person doing such a subtle French accent. Let alone sing. There was this scene in Act II, where I had to come on, just before he did, and we were waiting in the wings, and he always forgot I had to come on first, so each time I had to give him a nudge, as in get “out of my way”, and he was so, what’s the word, gracious about it, so effing gracious, coz he knew I knew fuck all, but loved every second of it, and although he had a big moment soon to come, and I had just 5 seconds, he was so damn gracious about my nudges. What a man. What a talented man. What an honourable man.

Where the fuck are you, A? Where are you?

I kept my promise. 

And. 

I kept my distance.

So.

Did you.

So.

You do.

Right now.

I feel like crying.

For the North East.

And she, gorgeous, ugly, X, another date, “she who has a name”, who is awake next-doors, is of the kind.

To.

Pop her sweet, little, far too young head around the door.

To. 

Come and ask any minute soon.

What am I doing? 

To come and say.

Sweetly.

Sweetie, Come back to bed with me.

Coz she will be worried.

Coz she will need confirmation.

And ask.

“Have I said too much? There is nothing more I can think of to say to you.”

Coz I don’t give the right signals anymore.

Like I did over our meal. And pints afterwards. Only a couple of hours ago.

Coz she is not that confident.

Coz she doesn’t feel that good about herself.

Coz she is not mature enough.

Coz she and I did earlier.

Felt good about ourselves. About us. Felt mature.

Coz I don’t do anymore.

Don’t play anymore.

The game.

Coz she wants more than a sociable, affectionate, passionate, polite shag.

So do I.

Just.

Not with her.

 

Where are you, A? 

Where in heaven’s, Elaine Paige’s fuck sake, are you?

 

Not fair.

Just.

Not fair.

 

 

.