Gibraltar meets "Night of the Living Dead"

The main thoroughfare into Her Majesty’s enclave is Winston Churchill Avenue, which cuts smack-dab through the middle of Gibraltar Airport’s runway. From The Rock – the southernmost point in Europe at the tip of the Iberian Peninsula, which sits above the entrance from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean – you can visualize the steady pounding and smoke of cannons as steel-hearted Redcoasts defend Gibraltar during The Great Siege.

Spain had sided with what was to become the United States during the American Revolution and tried to retake this tiny territory beginning in 1779, despite an earlier treaty to cede the space to Britain. We are told by Wikipedia, "This was the largest action fought during the war in terms of numbers, particularly the Grand Assault of 18 September 1782. It was the longest siege endured by the British Armed Forces, as well as being one of the longest continuous sieges in history."

Most of the people we see throughout the day appear to be tourists conducting a siege of their own. Carrying out their assaults on sites, shops and eateries along Main Street are principally British holiday-makers, joined in lesser numbers by German, French, Dutch and, oh yeah, American.

I meet Kathy and Jim from South Carolina who are vacationing here for their 45th wedding anniversary as we’re debussing at our first stop, St. Michael’s Cave. I overhear Kathy musing on last visiting a cave “somewhere in Virginia.”

“Do you mean Luray Caverns?” I suggest.

“Yes! That’s it!” Kathy is the bouncy, enthusiastic one of the pair.

“And what exactly are we supposed to be doing in here?” asks Jim impatiently, glancing about at the solidified drippings that have steadily worked for millions of years to form stalactites and stalagmites.

“Well, let’s agree that it’s very lovely, but we’re done here,” I reply. We all agree we need a coffee. We look unsuccessfully for an exit sign.

Here, according to Wikipedia again: “Officers looking for adventure during quiet times of service, would pass their time exploring the many passages within the cave system. Sometime before 1840, Colonel Mitchell accompanied by a second officer got lost in the caves and were never seen again. Their disappearance led to extensive explorations of the cave system in 1840, 1857 and 1865, but no evidence of the officers' whereabouts was found. Further exploration was carried out between 1936 and 1938, when a scientific expedition was mounted and every known part of the cave system was explored but again no human remains were found.”

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We turn around and head back to exit from the entrance. “We’re probably the quickest tour they’ll have all day,” Jim remarks on the way out. We stop for a coffee in the tiny shop and then head outdoors for the bus.

The others in our party are watching our guide as he (illegally) feeds a large family of Barbary Macaques, the tailless golden-haired monkeys for which the Rock is famous. I quickly learn to stay away from trees, railings or the bus. The little critters are catapulting themselves from every elevated surface and landing on the heads of unsuspecting tourists. They seem particularly drawn to the soft tresses of a group of New York coeds who are no doubt traumatized for life by now.

Our tour guide fancies himself to be quite the entertainer. He intersperses his English-speaking monologue with a taped presentation for the four French visitors on the bus. Never have I wished to understand French more! While I catch phrases of the French CD version discussing topics such as “king,” “queen,” “Napoleon” and “The Battle of Trafalgar,” our tour guide launches into his trove of comedy material and describes how he drives through the narrow streets of “the Rock” five times daily. (Apparently, he is trying to beat some sort of personal speed record.) .  Breathlessly, he says that while ‘petro’ (95.5 pence) and food is less costly here than in England, a one-bedroom condo will run you 500K pounds. (Pause for gasps all-round.)

Armed with such vital information, we travel to the top of the Rock of Gibraltar from whence we can gaze longingly from the breathtaking height down to where tankers look like toy boats, hundreds of feet below. But, no. Sorry. No getting out of the bus for photos.

By 13:45, we are deposited at the base of the old section of town – a commercial area filled with duty-free jewelry, liquor, clothing and perfume vendors. I join Nel and Jost from Holland for lunch. They are anxious to sit in the sun. While they bake their already-pink faces in that for which the Costa del Sol is named, I ‘go California’ with sunglasses and a visor. Mine is the only visor I have ever seen in all of Europe thus far. (Of course, it is January, after all!)

What could be more British than fish and chips? They arrive crisped to absolute perfection. I wash them down with a beer.

Later, we stroll along Main Street until it’s time to catch the bus back. I look at the rest of the people on the streets. En masse, we are all marching like zombies from the film,” Night of the Living Dead.” Marching, marching, we pass the shops. We pass the fish and chips place. As if by some invisible force, we are drawn towards the bus depot. (Fortunately, there’s just enough time to buy a couple more mementos.)

Once on the bus, we drive east past Estepona, Marbella and finally arrive in Elviria in time for me to start my working day. (It’s just about 8:00 am on the U.S. West Coast, while it’s 16:00, or 4:00 pm here in Spain. It’s been a long day; but then, my day is really just beginning!