1984 (14) – Touring the Rock

Postcard.  Cable Car to the top of the Rock.

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We waited for a sunny day to tour the Rock of Gibraltar.  On that day, we walked across town to the cable car that takes visitors up the mountain (and back down, if you're not so foolish as to decide to walk it).  The cable car made a stop halfway up the mountain where we got out to visit the Apes Den.  There was a troop of about twenty apes living on that part of the mountain.  They were free to roam about at will.  Called Barbary Apes, their ancestors were originally from Africa.  No one knows how they came to be in Gibraltar, but it was assumed the original apes were brought over as pets when the Moors occupied the Iberian Peninsula. 

Postcard.  Posing for his portrait.

The apes were under the protection of the British Army.  One of our pamphlets explained that the apes specialize in "monkey business."  We saw a good example when one lady, holding her baby, put down her purse.  In a flash, one of the apes had grabbed it, and taken out the food she'd been carrying. 

Ed, at the top of Gibraltar.

After our visit with the apes, we caught the next cable car going up, and went to the top of the mountain.  We had beautiful views in all directions - Spain nearby, Africa and the Atlas Mountains to the south, and the Mediterranean Sea stretching off to the east.  From there we walked downhill for about ten minutes to St. Michael's Cave.  A natural cave, 1000 feet above sea level, it had a beautiful display of stalagmites and stalactites.  One exhibit explained that the caves were inhabited as long as 30,000 years ago in Neanderthal times.  

A view inside the caves.

On leaving the caves, we had a choice of walking back uphill to get the cable car at the top of the mountain, or following the road downward, and catching the cable car at the Apes Den.  What with the pull of gravity having its usual effect, we headed downhill.  After visiting with the monkeys again, we decided to walk the rest of the way down the mountain.  The paved road zigzagged across the face of the mountain - and eventually took off back up the hill. 

We found what looked like a disused road, and continued downward.  It was a long walk, but we eventually got to the bottom - only to find ourselves stopped by a ten-foot high, rusty metal gate, topped with spikes.  On the far side we could see the casino and a road that would take us to town.  There was no way around the gate, which was padlocked.  We got the distinct feeling we were where we shouldn't be.  We decided we were going to have to climb over the gate.  Ed pointed out diagonal metal bars, and explained that by using the bars, I could climb up one side of the gate, go over the top, and climb down the other side.  I get over without much trouble.  When Ed came across, I had him stand by the gate while I took a picture. 

Yes, we climbed over that gate.

We didn't carry any insurance on the boat, or any medical insurance on ourselves, and just took our chances.  But - having been brought up on Prudential commercials - I was sure that all we really needed in insurance was to "get a piece of the Rock."  I had it in mind to pick up a rock on one of our hikes, but before I got around to it, I came upon a store in town with a window sign saying:  "Take Home a Piece of the Rock."  I succumbed and went inside. 

My shot of the cable car.

Gibraltar was formed of limestone.  This store owner had access to stalagmites and stalactites that were removed from St. Michael's Cave during the Second World War, when the cave was used as a hospital.  He sold polished hunks of rock, as well as some lovely jewelry.  The polished stone was translucent, and the color of butterscotch.  Since a rock off the hill would have ended up as more ballast on the boat, I could see the practicality of buying my piece of the Rock at this store.  I mentioned insurance to the proprietor.  He replied that Prudential should write to him if they needed any more pieces of the Rock. 

Postcard.  Sunrise across the Bay of Gibraltar.

Many boats passed through the marina during the fall, on their way out of the Mediterranean.  The cruising sailors were headed for the Canary Islands off Africa, then on across the Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean.  The racers were sailing to Casablanca for the start of a trans-Atlantic race to the island of Guadeloupe.  You could almost imagine the boats were birds, migrating together in a flock.  That was the time of year when the winter trade winds made for favorable passages from Europe to the Caribbean.  In a few years, we would probably be among them.  I was glad we were going east, heading in to the Mediterranean, and not back across the Atlantic.