Running over Runways.

As the little apes left their play spot on the side of the rock, so did we, carrying on down the path back into the main streets of the now fully awake city.

It’s odd to walk through the high street of Gib. It has the essence of a Spanish town, with the small individual shops dedicated solely to one purpose (unlike the mass conglomerates that fill the streets of the UK), flanked by BHS, Marks and Spencer, and ‘Good ol’ English Pubs’.

The language spoken is English. The currency used is Sterling. The flags flying are British. And yet above you sits a blue sky, behind you sits Africa, and above you lies a Moorish Castle.

We walked slowly back towards the border crossing, passing the little pub-filled squares, and Napoleonic battlements, as well as the random selection of cannons that are lying around the streets.

Deciding to walk, rather than take the bus back to La Linea also meant that we got to experience a completely surreal situation. Crossing the Gibraltar runway. A short stretch of tarmac that finished with the sea at either end, the runway crosses right through the territory, meaning that if a plane is landing, all roads in and out of Gibraltar come to a halt.

The border crossing back into Spain was just as easy as on the other side, and soon enough we were back in La Linea, with its Spanish billboards, high-rise flats, and shabby cafeteria, where we sat down to cold beer and tapas, and waited for our bus to start the next part of our journey.