After leaving Chefchaouen and experiencing an unreal twenty four hours in Tangiers we departed for Spain, sailing the short distance between Morocco and Algeciras. We rented a car and took to the road, with the intention of reaching Gibraltar to allow me to gain a taste of English culture that I miss so desperately in many aspects of my life. With red telephone boxes and the royal stamp on everything from maps to bins, Gibraltar did not disappoint in this respect. I could see Charlton Kings in the traffic crossings and Cheltenham in the street signs.
Of course it is so much more than this, with Spanish spoken freely in the streets and bright flowers that could never survive the damp of England, it is a blend of Spanish and UK culture that seems to rub along beautifully together. I am making no political comments here, merely descriptions.
The rock of Gibraltar is everything in this little territory; it rises to the side like a powerful protector. Driving around was fascinating, seeing the port and lighthouses and pretty little cottages that jut into the hard grey face. I delighted in eating fish and chips and drinking cider, with earl grey tea and a sausage sandwich the following morning. For me, it was the perfect taste of England.