Saturday 4 February 2017

Gibraltar

At the end of my last little bulletin, I said I didn't feel like I was properly in Spain yet. So there is some irony about the location of this new blog. In fact I'm not staying in Gibraltar itself, because the hotels there are expensive and I'm travelling on a budget. Instead I have taken lodgings just half a mile over the border, in La Linea de la Concepción, which is Spanish for "the flight-path of a sperm".*

Crossing the border in and out of Gibraltar is simply a matter of waving one's passport vaguely in the general direction of uninterested officials, as you walk straight past them without stopping. It feels strange to be re-entering Her Majesty's territory so far from home: indeed, this is the first overseas British possession I've ever visited. Possibly the last, too, as we haven't got too many left and I don't envisage ever coming back here, or visiting the Falklands, or being rich enough to take an interest in offshore tax havens.

There are of course red telephone boxes, and double-decker buses, and pubs called the Dog & Sprocket or whatever...Even the police look the part, or at least they would if they didn't ride around on scooters. Another fun fact about Gibraltar is that it doesn't have enough flat land on which to fit an airport runway separately to the rest of the place. So the main road to and from Spain goes directly across the middle of the runway. The road closes completely as and when planes need to take off or land. Have a look at the map if you don't believe me.

The cable car to the top of the Rock was out of action, befuddling and bewildering the massed ranks of Asian tourists huddled at the border crossing. I myself was of course determined to walk up the thing under my own steam anyway. I may be 40.5 years old (to the day, at the time of writing) but there's life in the old dog yet. A 426 metre ascent, all of it on paved roads...merely a stroll. And from the summit I caught a glimpse of something I'd never before seen with my own eyes: specifically, Africa. Morocco is closer to Gibraltar than Calais is to Dover.

On the following morning I took the local bus for a day trip to Algeciras, across the harbour to the west. It was a bit wet and windy and I was the only tourist around, not just in the market but also in TripAdvisor's #1 Algeciras restaurant, La Casita. Despite the complete lack of English-language menus, I managed just fine...with one slight exception. See Edd vs Food below.

The next blog will definitely be from proper Spain. Promise.



* Not true.

The Rock of Gibraltar, seen from the Spanish side of the border

Who's a happy monkey?
Not this sour-faced little Barbary.

Looking north and east from the southern summit of the Rock

Looking south from O'Hara's Battery, to the mountains of Morocco


Plaza Alta, Algeciras
It was raining, but there was blue sky in the distance...

Edd vs Food #49
Tapas at La Casita, Calle Tarifa, Algeciras.
I thought the mayonnaise dish in the foreground was going to be huevos (eggs).
It turned out to be huevas (fish eggs).
Nonetheless I ate it all up manfully.