Monkey business.

Increasingly we seem set on contradicting ourselves. In 2014 when planning our first long trip we vowed that our aim was to explore places we had never visited before. However, almost everywhere we have stayed since September has been a return visit. Our next port of call - Gibraltar - is a case in point; we spent a dull Sunday there in March 2015 agreeing that the place was mildly interesting in a wet Morecambe kind of way - ticked-off, been there, done that. So why are we heading back now? We have no idea.

Getting there involved a change of territory, albeit an informal one unrecognised on any map. Tarifa marks the last town in Costa del Crusty. Though the border is solely cultural, Tarifa has the dishevelled, transient ambiance associated with a frontier town. Self styled as the 'world capital of kite-surfing', beyond the hippified craft shops in the compact white Moorish influenced centre, the town consists mainly of warehouse sized kite-surf shops and backpacker hostels. It brims with new-agers; sadly some of the inhabitants look as if they have 'dropped through' rather than 'dropped out'. 

Kite surf shop hypermarkets

Gill named the seriously alternative owner of the clapped-out caravan 'Space-rocket' - odd, but mysteriously appropriate.

Beyond Gibraltar the Costa del Winter Wrinkles stretches northeastwards for almost 500 miles to Valencia. In-between is an odd limnal zone, a landscape of transition between the Atlantic seaboard and the Mediterranean. It also happens to be one of Europe's great coastal drives.

There is a café at the Mirador El Estrecho. From the car park there is a spectacular view towards the hills of Morocco. We stopped for lunch and along with everyone else took a photograph or two which failed to capture just how magnificent a spot it is.

It may resemble Pembrokeshire - but that's Africa in the distance.

Soon after here you top a rise and the blue bay of Algericiras stretches below you, Gibraltar beyond, a big grey lump. When we travelled this way before we noted a distinct difference in the landscape within a matter of a few kilometres - the Atlantic side greener, towards the Mediterranean more arid, scrubby and dun coloured. Because of the recent rains, today it was all verdant like Pembrokeshire by the Med.

After hundreds of kilometres of quiet roads the urban traffic around Algericiras came as a shock. It's a gritty looking port but that probably indicates a thriving one, which is a good thing. We turned right towards La Linea, Gibraltar looming ever larger in the windscreen. Towering more than 1000 feet above the sea I had forgotten how impressive it looks. 

We agreed we were pleased to have returned, not least because right now the place has hit the world headlines as Spain and Britain engage in a diplomatic squabble regarding the Rock's sovereignty post Brexit.

Today's local paper.

In all we spent two days in Gibraltar. I was wrong to have dismissed it as some kind of post-colonial blip, a parody of Portsmouth by the Med. There is more to the city than that, it has a long, complicated history stretching back thousands of years. It is an intriguing place.

La Linea Marina aire - in Spain but Gibraltar is a little more than a stroll away.

and finally - clear blue skies.

Still, we started out like true Brits and headed, shopping list in hand, to Marks and Spencer and Morrison's. In fact, due to it being mid afternoon by the time we arrived at the La Linea Marina, and a three kilometre walk from there to Gibraltar city centre, a grocery shop was all we managed on our first day.

Morrison's - just like home

Our purchases - Cheshire cheese, chutney, poppadoms, hummus and a pot of miniature roses - very British!

Our shopping trip provoked a flurry of Googling that evening - because Gibraltar does raise questions, not least how it can function economically with a permanent population of only 34,000 yet boast the paraphernalia of a small state - First Minister, a parliament, an international football team, all independent of the UK apart from in foreign policy. I needed to put its size of this into perspective - Gibraltar is considerably smaller than Macclesfield but a bit bigger than Devizes, yet is a global centre for insurance, off-shore banking and the on-line betting industry.

Immediately after passport control is Gibraltar International Airport's runway.

Even the smallest aircraft brings cross-border traffic to a standstill.

How you regard the Rock's economic success depends upon your political stance I suppose, as a triumph of de-regulation and neo-liberalism or an example of the malign effects of globalisation. Either way, the fact that in the mid-eighties Gibraltar's economy was 85% dependent on revenues from the UK Ministry of Defence but today that has shrunk to 15%, does tell a remarkable story of entrepreneurship. In order to service Gibraltar's economy tens of thousands of Spanish workers cross the border everyday. I read a startling statistic - the unemployment rate in Gibraltar is 2%, half a kilometre across the frontier, La Linea's rate is 34%. 

Though architecturally Gibraltar is hardly stunning, La Linea is truly grim.

As I happily wiled away the evening hours exploring the microeconomics of post colonialism, Gill entertained herself exploring the history of Gibraltar Morrison's. It is just as well we found each other. We both have an innate curiosity, random stuff intrigues us to the extent that what we regard as a healthy interest, others I suspect would call hopelessly nerdy.

Anyway, for all fellow nerds out there - here is the link to the fascinating Daily Telegraph article from 2014 all about Gibraltar Morrison's. There is something gloriously eccentric about the fact that at any one time there can be eighteen Morrison's trucks thundering southwards down autoroutes and autopistas to supply some post-colonial pimple with Hartley's jam, Carr's Water biscuits and Marmite.

Next day dawned blue, warm and sunny (about time). We were going to be proper tourists today, venturing beyond the supermarket to explore the top of the rock. Last time we balked at the price of the cable car - €30 for the two of us for the six minute ride. We attempted to walk up but only made it halfway - the view was stupendous, but there was not a Barbary ape to be seen. In all honesty, can you really claim to have visited Gibraltar if you have not communed with the resident primates?

Gill's new friend

In fact Gill embraced the ape experience the moment she alighted from the cable car, or more accurately was embraced by it. A small group of apes hang around the upper cable car station. As Gill walked up the steps one of the more agile members of the gang hopped off the wall, springing onto Gill's shoulders. For someone who has a minor panic at merest glimpse of a wasp she remained impressively stoical, stopping stock still. After about 15 seconds the monkey lost interest and leaped back onto a fence post. It took a few minutes for Gill to regain her poise. From then on we kept our distance.

I am convinced they strike a pose when a camera is pointed at them

The view from the cable car station was stupendous - the bare upper cliffs of the Rock, Gibraltar town and the bay to the north, the Straights and the mountains of Africa to the south. Apart from the shock at the outset we enjoyed every moment. The cable car is over-priced, but it was one of those moments when value for money is not the only consideration. The experience was unique, and I suppose in hyper-capitalist Gibraltar that is going to come at a premium.

West - Gibraltar city and Algerciras

East towards the Costa del Sol

South - the mountains of Morocco

It was early afternoon by the time we returned to earth. We needed to find somewhere for lunch. There is a lot of places to choose from but most seem to specialise in unimaginative pub-grub. Well we are in little Britain. We were equally unimaginative, ending up at same wine bar as last time - The Vines. The baked potatoes were appetising enough, though we probably should have opted for the tapas menu written up on a board. We only spotted it after we had ordered. 

The most memorable thing about the meal was the conversation we had with a young couple at the next table. "We have come to Gibraltar because this is our first birthday," the man explained. He meant 'anniversary' but we got the gist. He was from Malaga, she from St. Petersburg. They were great to talk to, open minded, affable and unprejudiced. As our generation of world leaders gathers for the G20 in Argentina, intent collectively in spreading chaos and destruction around the globe, the only thing that cheers me up and gives me hope is when I talk to younger people. The company of the young is the thing I miss most since leaving work.

It was now mid afternoon, a bit too early to head back to the van. Gill consulted Google maps and found a Botanical garden nearby. Gibraltar is tiny, only six square kilometres in all, consequently it is densely populated, the streets are narrow and the traffic hectic. The Botanical Gardens provide a small oasis of peace and tranquillity, not that people seem to want it, we more or less had them to ourselves. After admiring the tropical plants, remarking on the mix of the familiar and exotic bird life - blackbirds and parakeets, we paused at a small monument to a chap called 'Eliot'.

The botanical gardens

'Eliot'

Somewhere in the back of my mind Eliot and Gibraltar were connected. Then it came to me, not from some distant memory of 'A' level History, but from a more unusual source - a folk song. I went through a phase in my late 20s and 30s of being interested in English folk song. One of the album's I particularly liked was 'Frost and Fire's a collection of ritual songs performed acapella by The Watersons. The Earsdon Sword Dance song was collected in the North East of England and contains an odd mixture of primitive ritual in the form of a mummers play with stories of then contemporary events dating from the Napoleonic period - third verse goes like this:

"And now I will tell of brave Eliot, the first youth that enters the ring,
And so proudly rejoice I to tell it: he fought for his country and king.
When the Spaniards besieged Gibraltar, 'twas Eliot defended the place;
And he soon caused their plans for to alter, some died, others fell in disgrace."

In the Botanical Gardens Eliot was the hero of the great siege of Gibraltar, memorialised in stone, but also in song by miners from Northumberland. For some reason these little quirks of history delight me 

In fact sometimes days just arrange themselves to be delightful. We wondered if there was a bus from the gardens back to the border. We had barely uttered the words when we happened upon a bus stop for the no. 10, and a bus drew up as we approached. It was almost too good to be true. It was slow going, Gibraltar's schools were coming out, the streets filled with kids big and small all in smart uniforms. We passed a mixed middle school, but with the older teenagers, boys and girls had different uniforms, so maybe the secondary schools are segregated; that really would be stepping back in time. The place does feel like that, socially a throwback to the 70s and 80s, but economically very advanced. There is an irony in all of this. In the referendum Gibraltar voted overwhelmingly to remain - 92%, if I recall correctly. Yet the apparent mix of social conservatism combined with a vibrant globalised economy is exactly the Brexiteer vision for the UK pedalled by Johnson and Farage. It is a funny old world.