Spain from the Szakos Camper

Where can you step out your front door in Spain, walk to Britain, and see Africa? In La Linea de la Conceptión!  We are “free camping” (parking with no electricity or water hookup) in a parking lot just across the international border from Gibraltar, a protectorate of Great Britain. It sits at the end of a little promontory almost at the southern tip of Spain where it shares the Strait of Gibraltar with Morocco. 

Gibraltar

Last night, after we pulled in, we walked across the border (with Jacob, whose papers we brought, but no one wanted to see) to Gibraltar to explore. As soon as you pass through immigration, the sidewalk and the road cross a wide tarmac that serves as the Gibraltar International Airport runway. Several times a day, foot traffic and cars are stopped with a gate and a red light and have to wait as large jets rumble across the intersection, landing or taking off.

Across the line, there are red telephone boxes and double-decker buses, the grocery carries Marmite and Wheatabix, and everyone speaks English. The town of Gibraltar (some 35,000 souls) is squeezed into high-rise apartment and office buildings at the base of the giant rock that takes up most of the real estate. It’s an impressive sight.

It was getting dark, so after ducking into the grocery store (no Marmite, but I did get pancake mix and golden syrup!), we came back to the camper. We have no Internet here, or anywhere to plug in my phone or computer, so we skipped our usual The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel episode before bed and played Gin Rummy instead. The plan was to wake up early this morning and go to Gibraltar to climb the rock and see the monkeys who make their home there. But the wind was blowing cold off the sea this morning, and the dark clouds were threatening rain, and after about 30 steps outside, we decided to postpone Gibraltar until tomorrow, when it is forecast to be 62° and sunny. 

Our camper is parked in a marina, and the sailboats bob and dance in the wind not 20 yards in front of us (see photo).  You can see the Rock out our back window and hear the murmured conversations of our British, French and Dutch neighbors, who apparently also decided to stay in today.

The sun did come out a bit in the afternoon, so we took a 5-mile walk around the Spanish town.  The part we explored, along the shore, looks like it used to be a real hot spot for the fancy, but has experienced a few decades of neglect and decay.  The sidewalks are disintegrating, the parks are sprinkled with litter and decaying palm branches, concrete walls are filled with graffiti. Laundry hangs flapping off the balconies of apartment buildings of faded pink, aqua and yellow, but very few people were walking the streets. I’m sure it looks better in the summer sun, but I couldn’t help thinking that this is a place whose best days are behind it.  Then, this evening, we found a slightly more hopping part of town, several blocks of narrow streets turned into a pedestrian district, where children on roller skates entertained themselves in small, picturesque plazas as their parents drank beer and watched Roma play somebody in soccer on TVs at various outdoor restaurant/bars.

It’s Saturday in Spain, and we have been on the road for eight days. There are certainly still things we don’t know yet about our camper, but it’s beginning to feel like home.  After three days of straight driving south, sleeping for two nights in highway rest areas, we lingered for five nights at the Alto de Viñuelas in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains outside of Granada. It wasn’t exactly the warm south-of-Spain weather we’d been hoping for – the snow-capped mountains were pretty close – but it was lovely and provided a great launching place to see Granada and Alhambra, home to the last sultan of Islamic Spain.

Granada

Joe and I had promised to do some things apart every day so we’ll have things to talk about, so we each took a day to take the bus into the city. It really illustrated how differently we travel when we’re not together. On arrival in Granada, I quickly located a supermarket and a pet supply store because we needed groceries and dog food. I would shop at the end of the day, but wanted to make sure I knew where they were. Then I bought a ticket for a hop-on hop-off tour of Granada that included a ride up the hill to the Alhambra. I hopped on and off several times, but spent most of the time at the palace, which I had gotten a ticket for online the night before. At the end of the day, I shopped, got some cash from the bank, hopped on the bus and headed back to the campground.

The next day, Joe went, having decided to take his chances on getting a palace ticket on-site.  He opted to walk through the almost vertical city all day, asking directions from time to time and eventually finding Alhambra, which had sold out of tickets for the day. Fortunately he was still able to explore the grounds before beginning the descent to the center city. On the way, he stopped in countless small shops and explored neighborhoods with distinctive personalities. He got a pair of slippers from a leather merchant, a bar of chocolate and some juice from a Fair Trade store, and a few bananas from a little bodega.

Both of us loved Granada, and loved hearing the other’s experience of it.

And now, to bed. Tomorrow to Gibraltar and then – I think – on to Portugal. We send all our love to Charlottesville and our friends around the world.

(The lack of Internet and charging capacity is also why this post has no pictures. I'll try to post a bunch of pictures when I can.)