Gibralter

Gibraltar, strategic English enclave on the southern tip of Spain, known for its impressive rock that is regarded in history as one of the pillars of Hercules guarding the gates of the known world. The night had been spectacular. In lightning storms and rainy squally conditions we came between 15 or so huge ships at anchor and turned at the rock into the broad bay; flood lit and decorated with clusters lights from the metropolis that clings to the more reasonable slopes of the base of the surrounding mountains. The clouds were spinning a fine toupee over the crest of the rock. Within the bay more ships at anchor twinkled and we dropped our sails to negotiate between them so as not to be knocked by the savage gusts rippling dark shadows across the water. Deeper in the bay an agglomerate of tiny lights bending as though they were dew droplets on bent grass and spiders threads gave the bay a magical feel. But as a seafarer, waking up in Gibraltar was, to be honest, disappointing. The rock has been adulterated to cater for the unsentimental demands of war, industry and population. It does not feel like you have entered the protection of civilised society, there is no human grandeur to match the topography- gone is the character of the days when Red Beard the pirate strode the rocky shores. I wasn’t expecting the high rise flats, off licences, tattoos and shiny tracksuits to be so numerous. Although English is the official language, the cross section of the population closely resembles London, so quite often English is a second language; the locals obviously choosing to eek out a existence in a warmer concrete tapestry than their London. Its farcical and sad that the billboards show sparkling yachts and young couples sipping wine in the spa under the words “Luxury apartments for sale”. They are reclaiming land and building residential blocks so there is the constant background clanging of pile drivers. At night, massive plumes of smoke billow scarves across the dimly lit sky. Across the checkpoint into Spain, more hideous council flats have been built along the front. Gas is refined here– hence the fairy lights we noticed during our arrival under darkness.

The English have controlled Gibralter since 1704. During the second world war all the residents were evacuated and their homes demolished to provide for military security in the way of tunnels and fortifications. The Gibraltarians returned after the war and were housed in high rise flats hurriedly constructed by the government. Hence the lack of appealing architecture here.

Nick and I have been in Gib for 10 days and have actually had a lovely time. Firstly, having enormous amounts of fun with Mark, Jean and Marisa off Mr Toad (bless him), touring the rock to see the naturalised population of monkeys, exploring the quaint shopping streets and spending the evenings with “the Mr T’s” on board their fabulous Grand Banks cruiser. The day after the Mr T’s left, John, Nicola and little Jack off Seraphim arrived. Nick and I had met “Seraphim” in Minorca when they put us in contact with the Mr T’s by asking us to deliver a message to them (the web of association grows). Seraphim may be crossing the Atlantic with 35 or so other yachts on the Blue Water Rally this year all things going well. Seraphim’s “to do” list looks a bit like ours. John and Nicola have fascinating stories of their last crossing on their previous boat “Moonshine”, getting wrecked by tropical hurricane Ivan in Grenada in 2004 along with 600 other yachts, and dealing with a 1 yo baby on board. We have been hearing these during delightful home made dinners on board.
Life at the moment is a pleasant mix of work and play with our only concerns being communication. Sailmail is playing up (already!) and our French mobile phone has run out of credit.