Merry Olde England with sunshine – It doesn’t get any better than that – although being 1800 kilometres away from London, there is still an overwhelming connection to Britain. You can hear drill commands from changing of the guard. You can see the Union Jack flying everywhere; moreso than in Olde England herself.
Gibraltarians, or “Gibs,” are very proud of their British heritage. A 2002 referendum rejected a shared sovereignty between Spain and Britain by an overwhelming 99%. Gibraltar is indeed a little corner of England, but not completely British.
Small Footprint For Such a Large Rock with Plenty of British Traditions
Not as big as you would expect; Gib is only six kilometres long, with the majority of that taken up by “The Rock,” leaving 30,000 inhabitants clinging between the water's edge and the steep rise of the hill. It's common to see a Bobbie walk pass a round red royal mailbox, on his beat in the market square while young boys kick a football around. Two red telephone booths leaning against each other as locals and tourists sip tea at pavement cafés, while others indulge in fish and chips with a pint of bitter at English pubs.
A group of young boys, no older than 10, were kicking a football around at John Mackintosh Square. The ball inadvertently came towards me, so I gently kicked it back. “Thanks,” one of the boys said. “Gracias,” I heard from another. Although their official language was English, Spanish was spoken most often – or a local version of “Spanglish” entitled “Llanito.” I guess this wasn’t that surprising considering their proximity to Spain.
British Pubs, Bitters, and Fish and Chips
Ye Olde Rock, a weather-beaten, off-white stucco building, had a flat front and roof. The sign hanging out front, a faded picture of “The Rock,” as a round Guinness sign swung harmoniously behind. Black, wrought- iron encased windows and doors were painted with faux, blue painted shutters. The waiter was a tall fair skinned gentleman, who hadn’t shaved for several days. He wore a white apron with food stains down the front. “What can I get you, mates?”
A large wooden bar took up most of one wall and small tables and booths the other. A copy of the Gibraltar Chronicle lay in the middle of the two-seat table. I felt as though I were in an old English pub. The not-too-cold bitter and fish and chips added to this effect. A thick aroma of fat and fish frying drifted up my nostrils. This made me even hungrier. The glass plates were overflowing with food. The tail of the battered scampi hung over the edge of the plate and touched the table. The “chips” were piled high with green peas spooned over top.
“There are a lot of pubs around here,” I said to the waiter.
“One for every day of the year,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
Johnny was from a small family that immigrated to Gibraltar from the UK. He loved this place and was very proud of his British heritage.
“Don’t call us Gibraltarians,” he said. “Gibs, will do. You boys will have to check out the Apes, up the Rock, later,” he said.
That was our plan anyway.
The Winding Monolithic Promontory and the Real Locals - The Apes
The stuffy, old yellow, Volkswagen cab carried us up the winding monolithic promontory. I rolled down my window to a welcoming warm breeze redolent with scents from the sea. Mike drove the cab skilfully up the narrow hill, as if he could do it with his eyes closed. They very well could have been, behind those shades. He was a stocky man with a full beard. The sunglasses made him somewhat mysterious. “You’re not supposed to feed them, but most do anyway,” Mike said. “The Apes, that is.” He corrected himself. “Harry is the friendliest one. He sometimes sits in the middle of the road and won’t let you go by until he gets food.”
“Evolving fast,” Tony replied.
“Everyone drives on the right side here?” I asked.
Mike grunted. “We used to drive on the left, but there were way too many accidents with the Spaniards.”
We drove past Queen’s Gate at The Apes’ Den. “This is the nature reserve. About 250 Barbary Macaques are here. These are the real locals,” Mike joked. “That one’s Henry.” Mike pointed to an Ape sitting on a concrete wall bordering the side of the hill. He actually knew them all by name. “Named after a Gib General.” Almost at the top of “The Rock” we paid Mike with Gib Pounds and stepped out of the cab.
“Thanks. We’ll walk back down.” Tony said.
The Pillars of Hercules and the Seabound Airport
The view was amazing. The deep blue Mediterranean Sea merged with the expansive Atlantic Ocean between the two “Pillars of Hercules.” I could barely see the tip of the other “Pillar,” in Tangiers, through the low-lying haze on the water. Spain joined Gib and was clearly visible to the west. “Is that an airport?” Tony asked. In the centre of the city, there was a strip of tarmac intersecting the main street and then went out over the Sea. An airplane was preparing for talk-off and moveable barricades were closing, stopping traffic from both directions on Winston Churchill Avenue.
Bottomless Caves and the Barbary Macaques' Existance
We began our walk back down the hill. “Let’s check out the caves,” Tony said. St. Michael’s Cave was a marvellous sight with many impressive stalagmites and stalactites. We overheard a tour guide, explaining to a group, that the caves are believed to be bottomless and have a subterranean link to Africa.
“Legend has it that the Barbary Macaques entered “The Rock” this way.” The tour guide said. “They’ve been here for over 300 years - The only wild primates in Europe. Down to just seven during World War II, Winston Churchill ordered replenishments from Morocco and Algeria and insisted that “As long as the Barbary Macaques exist on Gibraltar, the territory will remain under British Rule,” the guide continued.
After dodging the Apes, we stood once again at the bottom of this “Pillar” of history. “Quite fascinating, eh? Let’s go cool down with a pint at the pub and meet the locals,” Tony said. It may have felt like olde England town, but with its distinctive geography, fascinating history, and unique language, there was a certain charm that set Gibs apart from Brits, or anywhere else, for that matter.
“The locals are back up there,” I said to Tony as I pointed up “The Rock” towards the Apes.
Wayne Gosse - Wayne lives in southern Ontario with his wife and two sons. He served in the Canadian Forces for 21 years before moving into the private ...
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