Gibraltar: A Spanish Great Britain
On Friday, after a long bus ride, I arrived at La Linea de La Concepcion bus station at around 11:30.
The walk from the bus to the border was less than five minutes, but I hesitated in crossing. Firstly, I had completely forgot that Gibraltar employs the British pound, not the euro. Secondly, and since I didn’t have the appropriate money, I wanted to eat before going over. “Good grief,” I thought, “I should have brought a lunch.”
After scarfing down a large breakfast, I set off to border control. However, before doing so, I wanted to ask something: do they accept euros? A man who I had stopped along the way assured me that they did. Oh, what relief! I wouldn’t go hungry or have to convert any euros.
With this knowledge and my desire to know what was on the other side I set off to border control again. The Spanish side was easy enough. The British side turned out to be the same. Just checking that you have a passport which is not expired. Done!
Once I had gotten a map, I, along with several other tourists and day-workers, had to wait because two planes were taking off down the main road, which also serves as the runway to the airport. Several minutes later, we were off again, and I was following the crowd to the city centre.
After crossing the street many times and laughing to myself about how weird Gibraltar seemed, I finally set foot in the main plaza. And boy, was it crowded! There were tourists, police officers, and day-workers on all sides. I was amazed by the amount of Spanish that I heard. It seemed that everyone who worked there was Spanish, not British. In fact, I often began conversations in Spanish, and in perfect Spanish the waiters or shop workers answered me. When I did pick up another language, it was usually German, Dutch or some other with which I’m not familiar. It seemed as if the tiny peninsula was a facade, not in reality a part of the United Kingdom. It was more like a piece of Spain with a Union Jack on top.
I spent a little time walking around the city centre, but I soon ran out of things to do and see. Therefore, I decided to chow down on the one thing that you must eat when visiting the UK: fish and chips. It was delicious and satisfying, but I was shocked to find out that it cost 27 euros!
Well, I paid my tab and began my climb to the Gibraltar Nature Reserve. After a quick look inside of the Moorish Castle and my first Barbary macaque sighting, I made my way up the Rock. I soon realized that I had gone the wrong way because I had intended to start at the ape den and then go to the Cable Car Station. Although my route was taking me to the Station first, I decided to continue on it anyways. Why turn back when you are almost at the top?
Once I reached the Station, I got a good view of the city centre and, most important of all, the monkeys. They were everywhere. Some people were trying to feed them. Other monkeys were in the distance madly eating whatever food they had stolen from the trash or from unsuspecting tourists. I tried to keep some space between them and me because I had witnessed one woman get bitten by a macaque after she had attempted to put it on her back. I wanted to leave with good memories, not rabies or monkey louse. Despite caution, I was very amused by all the "monkeying around."
As it got closer to my time to leave, I couldn’t help noticing just how gorgeous the sunset was on the bay. It illuminated both the peninsula and the inland very nicely. However, two thoughts kept nagging me as I walked down the Rock. Is this place truly Great Britain? And can a flag make this area of Spain any less Spanish? I don't have the answer nor do I want to get into that debate. I just want to visit Gibraltar again.