They call it The Line, the farthest town the Spanish community recognizes exists. Is seems they are still bitter about their failed attempts at acquiring the UK territory of Gibraltar and there is this unspoken rule that no one will recognize it’s existence, instead you visit la linea. The single lane of cars awaiting entrance across the boarder follows the coastline and is longer than that of the gates of the Magic Kingdom on opening day. “We still have to find a place to stay tonight.” My friend interrupts as we step off the bus. “I guess we really are winging it this time.” I respond without worry. As we approach the boarder security is heavy, if it wasn’t for the inattentive man spending more time watching the seconds pass on his watch than the name on my passport I would have never known I changed countries. I sighed in disappointment as I crossed the boarder, having realized I wouldn’t be receiving a stamp in my passport. Suddenly, a familiarity grew over me; English.

We roamed the country for hours, having been unable to acquire a map, relying on the scattered road signs placed every mile or so along the main road. We finally arrive on Main Street, which was about the same caliber of a Maine town in the summer, only without people. Shops were closed and it was only the British street lamps guiding our way. “Are you looking for things to do tonight?” a soft voice asks in a perfect British accent. “Well, it’s quite early. Most of the kids are at home eating dinner, but there are quite a few bars and restaurants up this way and a few others over by the marina.” She offers. We kindly thank her and as she walks away a notice the smile that has emerged on my face. “I miss that. People simply being nice and polite and offering their assistance, that doesn’t happen in Spain. I miss manners.” I say as we continue walking, ranting about the things we have come to miss about the US.

We settled on one of the bars the woman had recommended and took a seat at a table near the door. The pub is that of a ship theme with full sized sails and all. The mostly empty bar area is filled with an eclectic mix of individuals of all ages. The classics are blaring over the speakers and the tvs are showing a rugby match and everyone ends sentences with “cheers!”. I order a cheeseburger and coke from the bar and wait patiently for the first taste of American food I have had in over a month.  As the plate is set down in front of me, I have never been happier to devour a cheeseburger, and devour I did. I finish off the last fry as the song Don’t Stop Believing spits through the speakers above. The entire room, in unison, recites the lyrics as loudly as possible and I can’t help but think I’m back at a middle school dance.

The next day the alarm on my iPhone wakes me before the sunrise. A half hour later we are walking through the deserted town and around the giant rock that sits on the majority of the land of Gibraltar, in an effort to see the sun rise on the beach. Although I wouldn’t call this a beach, I’m pretty sure my sandbox as a child was larger. Even so, I tossed off my sandals, through down my bag, and ran towards the water. The sunrise was absolutely gorgeous and for the first time since last year I remembered the joy of the ocean.

We spent more time than we had allocated by the water, but it was well worth it. Our next stop was a cable car for a three-minute ride to the top of the rock.  The 360-degree view from the top was well worth the ride and as we began our walk down, we spotted our first monkeys. They were sun bathing atop the rocks of the cliff, playing with each other and staring at the tourists passing by. My favorite was a baby monkey who made his way towards me, grabbing my hand in an effort to release the ring from my middle finger. As we continued walking my friend stops, hands me her camera, drops her backpack, and begins walking in the direction of a monkey sitting in the middle of the path. When she is about half the distance the monkey makes it a race and dashes toward her backpack grabbing a hold of one of the straps as my friend manages to grab the other. Then it becomes a game of tug-a-war, complete with an audience of tourists yelling in different languages for her not to let go of the bag. With the monkey’s free arm he begins opening the zipper closest to him and starts pulling out its contents. Then he found the half eaten package of the best cookies you can find in Spain, grabs a hold of them, releases his grip on everything else, and fleas to the corner while ripping open the package. We are still in shock as the first cookie enters his mouth. After that, our view of the monkeys was not the same. Every time we passed, the monkey would be motionless, except for its eyes as they follow your movement like the Mona Lisa.

The rest of the day was spent climbing up and down the rock, walking through age-old tunnels, and exploring a cave. The cave was even equipped with a stage for concerts. Which led me to wonder what kind of acoustics a cave offered. Here are some pictures of the trip!

The view of the sunset as we walked across the Gibraltar airport runway.

Sunrise from the beach.

The monkeys!!

View from the rock with Morocco behind me!

Concert hall in the cave.

The rock that is Gibraltar!

Location: Gibraltar