The Rock of Gibraltar

Arriving at the train station in Algeciras, we had to drag our suitcases across the street to the bus station.  We stood in line to get tickets, almost missing our bus because we didn't know you just pay the bus driver.  The drive to La Linea seemed long.  This part of the country was more like Southern California, dry and rocky.  We rode a windy pathway, stopping at several bus stops on the way.  The area was very industrialized, the lots of smoke stacks spouting gray smoke and oil pumps in the sea.  A cloud of smog hung over the area.  In the distance I saw a big mountain poking up out of the blue water and wondered out loud if it was the Rock of Gibraltar.

It turned out to be.  When Jerry asked a lady if she knew where our AC hotel was, she pointed it out, and we hopped off the bus, saving ourselves a longer walk or a taxi ride back from the border.  We had to drag our suitcases a few blocks but made it to the hotel, no problem. 

The view of the Rock and the beachfront of La Linia were just gorgeous.  It was still light, even though it was already 8:00, so we took a taxi the short ride to the border crossing into Gibraltar.  We walked through, having our passport stamped then climbed on a bus to take us into the city.  I was disappointed they stamped it with numbers instead of "Gibraltar."

I didn't realize, I guess, that the city of Gibraltar is nestled on the Rock of Gibraltar.  I had always wanted to go there, ever since my daddy had talked about cruising by it during World War II.  I have to admit it was a relief to hear English instead of Spanish and Arabic for a little while.  It was very strange to have a little hunk of Great Britain here between Spain and Africa.

The bus was a double decker like the ones in London.  We waited on the bus a long time, so by the time we made it to the arched wall separating the new city from the old, it was late.  Jerry spotted a store that sold cheap Scotch and cigarettes.  

The shop owner, Maggie, was trying to close the store, mopping her way to the front door.  Jerry said something which she started giving Jerry grief about, and I smacked him lightly in the back of the head.  I said, "Jerry!" Then she took off.  "Ah, you're the boss of the family!" she said, "All right, Jerry, come in.  Just for you...  Only one comes in!" she hollered, afraid I might mess up her freshly mopped floor.  She continued giving him grief as one by one, other customers lined up outside the door.  When Jerry said, "Where is the best place for fish and chips?  We only have a little time until the last bus," she shoved the other customers away, put her arm around his shoulder, and pointed to Ron's Fish and Chips.  "His are the best on the Rock," she proclaimed.  "Jerry, go there and buy her some fish and chips, and I'll join you soon."

The fish was different from what I expected. I was thinking it would be like Long John Silver's, but no, it was a really big fillet of cod with crunchy batter.  The chips were good French fries.  I guzzled down two cold beers, not realizing those would be my last because of Ramadan in Morocco. Maggie didn't make it to eat with us.  I wondered if she was still letting in one more customer... 

 

We walked back through the time tunnel and onto the top of our double decker bus.

No time to go up the tram or see the monkeys or the caves or even the market in Gibraltar.  I wish we'd planned another day there.  We took the last bus back to the border then walked the rest of the way to our hotel in LaLinia, about a 15-minute walk, as an enormous orange sun set on the horizon.