By ferry, by bus, and by foot, the Rock of Gibraltar is a tough one to miss. Standing tall over the peninsula at the south edge of Spain, the rock is a rather unique feature on the coastline and, rightly so, has garnered much attention over the years.
It was mined and fortified, and had been evolved into a defensible fortress complete with ramparts and miles of tunnels within (which Canadians significantly helped with, I’m compelled to add, after devising mining tools which utilized the cutting force of diamonds for more efficiency) until the structural integrity was beginning to become compromised…but that’s another issue entirely.
All fascinating facts aside, it’s not a surprise to say that my favourite feature of Gibraltar is the monkeys that live high on the rock with a lovely view of Spain’s coast.
Completely unafraid of tourists, they might be likely to try and take your camera or sneak inside a foolishly left-open car window. But they are quite an enjoyable sight, and seeing them sunk deep the cleaver of longing as I reminisced about the monkeys in Phalaborwa. Oh, how I missed their little fingers probing up my nostrils and curiously trying to lift open my eyelids, but I digress.
I was in Gibraltar now, and being a part of the United Kingdom (and not Spain as one would rationally assume), it was a drastic change of pace from the lifestyles and cultures I’d grown accustomed to in Africa.
It was a refreshing change of pace, and I welcomed it, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I missed the wide open spaces and the wildlife of the sprawling continent just a boat-ride away.
But I was in Europe now. This would be a very different journey; I was curious to see where I would end up next, and what sorts of shenanigans I could get myself into…