Thank goodness Sue has cousins living in Gibraltar who were willing to put up with us for a day. Well, here we were, in this last outpost of Europe and facing the huge rock Gibraltar is known for. The rocks are over two million years old, we were told. To our disappointment, we couldn’t manage to get a good view of it as the weather was slightly misty. We did see a lot of monkeys – barbery apes they are called, I believe – scampering about, though. Because Sue’s cousins, Mary and Edwina, had warned us against carrying bags because of the apes, we didn’t even take our cameras along. Instead, we stuffed our wallets in our jackets.
We had entered from the Spanish side on a double decker bus, thank goodness for that. Because those who got in with their cars were asked to fill out endless forms. The car queues are horrendously long and waiting can take a toll of your nerves and patience. Please be warned: a lot of conmen will try and sell you (fake) tickets at the border when all you need is a passport.
After the rock Sue suggested that we explore the St. Michaels Caves. “Caves!” I exclaimed in sheer disbelief, “You’ve got to be kidding.” But when I reached the caves, especially the Siege Tunnels, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The British blasted their way through natural tunnels and carefully crafted them to save Gibraltar’s denizens from continual Spanish attacks. The caves contain a storehouse for ammunition in a dynamite-blasted tunnel called St. Georges’ Hall. A great instance of engineering is all I can say.
We ended the day roaming around the main town square taking in its sights and sounds. We were lucky to be in time for an afternoon concert being performed by a uniformed band whose jaunty Spanish numbers we swung to while sipping coffee at an open restaurant.
That evening we took the bus out of Gibraltar with Mary and Edwina waving their goodbyes.
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