“I have been out of the walled city!”protests an eight-year-old boy to his little sister. “When I went to that Rugby tournament, remember?”
Eight years and he has left the city of Gibraltar once. Before I had explored the town, I couldn’t believe anybody could live such a small, sheltered life, but now I completely understand.
First off, it is important to note that in terms of history and geography, I am wicked late to the game. In fact, I might have sailed on by this incredible place, through the undulating green hills of Southwestern Spain, which are reminiscent of Scotland in their green, lush, steepness, if it hadn’t been for Twain’s insistence: “We have to go to Gibraltar.”
So, we bullied our way through many miles of chaotic industrial scree, dozens of miles of shipping terminals and refineries, interwoven with punishing traffic, and, before we knew it, found ourselves crossing into England. One minute we were in Spain, and the next, the United Kingdom—complete with pubs, fish and chips, thick Cockney and Midlands accents, and monkeys. (We will get to that in a moment.)
Like a dog that spins before finding its resting place, we first cruised around the perimeter of the town, wending in and out of long tunnels left over from World War II that now serve as byways to cut through the limestone cliffs that shear into the sea. In an out, the turquoise Mediterranean on one side and towering white stone on the other.
We ate in a pub, listened into English chatter and took crash courses on our phones to learn all about the incredible history of this area. From Neanderthals skulls, to Roman ruins, conquests by the Moors, and then Carlos V from Spain, to the Treaty of Utrecht, to World War II–this rock has evidence of endless people struggling to take control. Layer upon layer, and much of it is still visible to the naked eye.
Then up we went, to the nature preserve, that covers the top of the Rock of Gibraltar and which, shockingly to me, was populated with Barbary Apes! They lounge on the ruins and sleep on the stairs, they wrestle on the pathways and cuddle on the limestone escarpments. There are families and babies, all inquisitive, but not annoying. Nearly 300 in all. They are the only Apes in all of Europe and are the royalty of Gibraltar. Nobody seems to know how they got here, but they are revered. I was smitten.
There is a deep cave here that we explored as well and legend has it that perhaps the cave leads to a tunnel under the sea to Africa (only 15 miles away) and the Apes snuck over. Who knows? It’s ancient history.
Between the beauty and the history, the turquoise water and the natural landscape, the diverse population and the creature comforts of this modern city, I now understand that that little boy’s world is not small at all. It has everything he could possibly need.
Those apes can be trouble. In Gibraltar I watched one try to pull a woman’s wig off her head. As determined as the ape was to get that wig, she was as determined to keep it on her head. They struggled until a cab driver took a rolled up newspaper and whacked the ape with it, causing him to lose his grip.
Oh, I love this segment on Gibraltar. I do remember its part in WW2 . I have always been curious. Well written!
Wow! Thanks for the history lesson which many of us don’t know. And glad you bot hare continuing to enjoy your travels, exotic as they may be. Sunny and 31 here today. Be well.
OMG. You got to the pleasures of travel! So happy for you both! That clever Twain knows the special places! Your travels are so well written it’s a pleasure to read your blog! Happy safe trails! 💜
Your message from Gibraltary brought into sharp focus pictures in my mind…and I was once again there with those wonderful apes! They were incredibly friendly hosts, except for the time they decided to visit the airport and cavort on landing strips! So…you must now be on or close to being on your way to Morocco, and I wonder how much longer Twain will be with you. Stay safe; I love your blog!
Your message from Gibraltar brought into sharp focus pictures in my mind…and I was once again there with those wonderful apes! They were incredibly friendly hosts, except for the time they decided to visit the airport and cavort on landing strips! So…you must now be on or close to being on your way to Morocco, and I wonder how much longer Twain will be with you. Stay safe; I love your blog!
1. The Cockney and Midlands accent you think you heard is probably from army and navy people who are stationed there. The locals speak a sort of Spanglish which isn’t very attractive but they maintain fiercely that they are British. It’s a strange place Gibraltar.
2. It’s also, from my various visits, not a particularly pretty place. It embraces the very worst of English port cities, full of scruffy pubs and fish and chip joints. Yes, there may be a red telephone box British past acquaintance, but Britain or England, it is not!
3. One day it will return to Spain. No doubt about it. And it should. Just the toe holes that the Spanish have on the African continent should also return to Morocco.
4. Anyhow, I’m not surprised that people from America fall in love with all that faux Britishness. Those of us who are British really can’t stand the place.
5. As for the apes, well, they are just dirty mangy things I’d steer well clear of them if I was you.
6 I have enjoyed your commentary on Morocco, however, and look forward to visit myself in the near future, albeit on an organised tour because, unlike you, I’m not brave enough to go it alone or solo or even duo.
grateful for a culture that ‘lives’ with nature’s creatures and does not choose to ‘cull’ them