Monkeying Around.

It was an early start, and the first bus of the day, as we headed down to the infamous British Territory of the Mediterranean Sea, Gibraltar.

Sitting at the mouth of the Med, overlooking Southern Spain from one side, and the coast of Morocco from the other, Gibraltar is a land of contrasts and oxymorons. A little bit British, a tad Spanish, and just very unusual overall.

We took a bus from Algeciras to La Linea, the border town between Spain and Gibraltar. Another working, industrial town, La Linea is full of high-rise apartment blocks and sea front cabins offering cheap car rental and even cheaper ferries.

Quiet and misty as we arrived, we decided to grab our chance at getting a good Spanish breakfast, before we stepped across the border back into the land of the Brits, and settled ourselves into a small cafeteria, made up of glass walls and big patio doors, nestled in-between the shabby bus station, and the portside McDonalds.

Inside police offices, businessmen, and bus drivers alike sat down to strong coffee and a breakfast choice of toast, toast, or toast.

We opted for toast, and after a bit of gesturing and smiling faces, we were brought over large cups of steaming café con leche and plates of toasted fresh bread rolls, butter, and jam. The perfect Spanish start to our rocky British adventure.

Heading over to the border crossing point, we wondered how long it was going to take to get through. We had read a mix of stories, some saying it can take hours, and others saying it was just a short hop with no problems. And with a train to catch back in Algeciras at 3.30pm, we were really hoping it was the latter.

In reality, we had no issues whatsoever. We didn’t even queue. I crossed through the border, with the guard barely glancing at my passport, while Krzysztof’s Polish passport got a few seconds more attention, but nothing to warrant any form of worrying about screwing up our itinerary.

On the other side, we were bombarded with Heineken adverts, Waitrose posters, and red telephone boxes. Every stereotypical element of Britain was condensed down into a tiny area, and we were still only at the bus stop!

Because of our limited time on the rock, we headed straight for the cable car and the thing I was personally most excited to see, the infamous Barbary Apes.

The cable car, which cost £18 return (remember that Gib works in Sterling!) swung in the wind as we made our way up to the top of the cloud covered rock, allowing us our first sight of the beautiful Atlas Mountains of Morocco.

Stepping off the cart, we were greeted by our first monkey and a view that can only be described as looking into the ends of the earth.

The low golden sun, in an attempt to break through the heavy clouds, bounced across the water and created a shining light like a portal into another world, or at least a gateway to the mysterious continent of Africa.

The top of the rock in Gibraltar is home to a small café and restaurant, as well as viewing points and a gift shop, all of which are part of the playground of the monkeys that protect the land. (Story tells that as long as the Barbary apes inhabit the rock, the British will rule Gibraltar.)

It was quiet at the top, with only the shop keeper around, so we bought a couple of bottles of Gibraltan beer, and set off down the rock, walking to the bottom and leaving our return cable car tickets behind.

We snaked through the wild MOD lands that cover the rock, twisting down the stony paths with the old remnants of war shelters flanking either side.

Halfway down the rock, the WW2 tunnels and cannons overlooking the Spanish border act as the perfect place to stop for a drink and enjoy the view. And, in our case, experience the wonder of baby apes playing around us!

These gorgeous little creatures, along with Mum and Dad, were enjoying a break from the rain and the clouds and using the ramparts of the area as slides, and the rails as swings.

Happily playing and enjoying the sun, along with keeping an eye on our rucksacks and beers, the monkeys ran around freely teasing each other and chasing one another along the steep cliff drop that lay in front of us.

It was only when coach loads of tourists, selfie-sticks in hand, came along to take photos with the Barbary Apes, that they made a run for it (though not before trying to ruin as many photos as possible) and we carried on our journey down the rock, and back into the streets of Gibraltar.