Gib

Having lived with a view of the Rock since April and never moved to investigate beyond the airport, anglophile friend from Coimbra, Diogo, spending a few days at the Casa between finishing his job at the Aqua Park near Badajoz and starting a one year Erasmus project in Croatia, suggested a visit. He was intrigued by the anachronistic status of this small and highly strategic spot, still part of Britain after 400 years and long a bone of contention with its Spanish neighbour. The border was closed for many years ... at the same time retiring British gangsters were finding extradition free bolt holes along the nearby Costa del Sol ... and mainstream Spanish opinion is looking forward to closing the border again, if and when the UK departs the EU ... though not necessarily harbouring fugitives ... the folks of La Linea being just pawns in the bigger game.

The curious Diogo and your less curious blogger crossed the border easily enough, on foot, and wandered into town, a hybrid of an English pedestrianised shopping street anywhere and a touch of Spain. Another dimension is found by cable car at the top of the Rock, accompanied by throngs of cruise customers from the two big boats in port ... raising the question of cruising as a desirable holiday ... which never appealed or even occurred to me ... at the summit the twin flags offered a backdrop for the photo and the tale of this unusual combination of xenophobia and europhilia exhibited by the Gibbos (the term applied by expat Brits hereabouts ) who voted overwhelmingly to remain in the EU, whilst hanging on to an old image of England and all its traditions of tea and scones, inbred royals and, frankly, a white anglo-saxon populace, neatly arranged in a hierarchical system where everyone knows their place ...

The trip was fine, the view great, the vibe slightly weird and the cooling dip at Alcaidesa on the way home perfect to reconnect with Nature ...