Monkeys and British people

Sometimes you just need to go play with monkeys.

Two Saturdays ago, June 26, Rubia, Jen, and I decided to take advantage of our last weekend in Spain by visiting the Rock of Gibraltar and its infamous monkeys. We waded our way through the confusing bus schedule on the internet and found a way to go Gibraltar for the day, and then spend a few hours in the late afternoon/early evening in the capital city of the Costa del Sol, Marbella. It all looked good on paper, and we planned to meet Pedro and Alejandro in Gibraltar after they took a later bus.

Our bus left at 7 am and that time came far too early for Rubia and me. Wanting to soak up every last moment of our ISA Malaga experience, we went out Friday night, hanging out with friends and dancing in the discotecas until much later than we should have. We walked back together to our neighborhood around 3:30 am, and I slept until around 5:30 am. This was the earliest I had woken up in over six weeks, and I was feeling pretty sleep-deprived and nauseous.

However, I took a bunch of ibuprofen, grabbed the sack lunch Tere had packed me, and walked over to the Plaza de Toros to meet Jen and Rubia. Jen loves monkeys more than anything else in this world so she was filled with joy and excitement. Rubia and I were semi-comatose. We hailed a cab and asked the drive to take us to the Estacion de Autobuses. After a zippy cab ride, we arrived at the bus station, purchased our tickets, and got on the bus.

Rubia and I ran to the back of the bus, taking advantage of the full bench in the back row and taking a nap for an hour and a half. When we got to the Marbella bus station, our nap had to end for the bus filled up with people, including a sailor-mouthed Englishman who sat between Rubia and I on the bench and rolled his own cigarette while telling us about his life and how to get to Gibraltar. When we got to the final stop in the Spanish city of La Linea de la Concepcion, he grabbed his pack, pointed us in the right direction, and headed for the border.

Rubia and I were a bit more alert and this point, and Jen was still the happiest and most optimistic I have ever seen her. We made our way to the border, and showed our passports. To get to the city of Gibraltar, you have to walk across the Gibraltar airport--in fact you have to walk on the airport's one runway. Gibraltar is owned by England, and upon entering the United Kingdom, we immediately spotted one of those red telephone booths that everyone takes a picture inside when they go to England. I have been jealous of those photos for years, so I made sure that I got my photo taken in it.

We followed the signs toward the historic town center. Along the way, guides called out to us, offering to show us the highlights of the rock. Jen and I believe that those things are scams, so while Rubia wanted to take advantage of that opportunity, we wanted nothing to do with it. We passed through the town center, and Rubia got some Gibraltar pounds out of the ATM. In the distance, we saw a cable car system going up the Rock in the center of the town, and we decided to try to find where it went up.

When we got to the bottom of the cable car center, we were confronted by a highly persuasive guide that offered to show us the main sites of the rock for 25 euro. He told us that we would save over 3-4 kilometers of walking, gain entrance to some sites on top, and still pay less than the cable car. Despite Jen's and my initial prejudice against that sort of this, this made a lot of sense so we finally listened to Rubia and joined a British family and our guide in the van.

Our first stop was at the southern most point of the Rock. From the lookout point, you can see Africa. Legend says that a mountain used to separate the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, but Hercules smashed it, connecting the bodies of water and leaving behind two columns. Gibraltar is one of the columns and some African mountain is the other. At the closest point, only 3-4 miles separate Spain and Africa, and it was incredible realizing that we were looking across the sea at another whole continent.

We got back in the van and the little English boy, Tim, sat by me. He was short and plump with glasses and a British accent, and we found him hilarious. Our next stop was some caves within the rock, and on the way Tim asked me, "Do you like caves? I'm a bit afraid of them, but I do rather like them." Tim was on holiday with his mother and father, and his maternal grandparents. His grandfather used to be in the navy and lived in Gibraltar for a while before returning to England.

When we got out of the van, we saw our first Gibraltar monkeys. The guide told us to ignore them--there would be more later--but we could not resist taking a few photos of them scampering up walls and clinging to their babies. We went into the caves and while they were beautiful, I thought that the ones in Nerja were better. Jen, Rubia, and I left the caves before the British family and were greeted by our guide and a pack of monkeys. He had each of us take a turn standing by a post. A monkey then jumped on our head and crawled onto our shoulders, eager to get a peanut from our hands.

Tim was really excited about the monkeys. However, when it was his turn, a much bigger monkey got on the post. The guide tried to shoo him away, but the monkey was determined. It jumped on Tim's head, almost knocking him over, and we all tried to convince Tim not to be freaked out. After that, the guide gave us more peanuts and taught us how to make the monkeys jump up on our arms, warning us, "You don't touch the monkeys--the monkeys touch you!" Jen's face was filled with the purest glee and joy I have ever seen. All of her dreams came true in that short time.

Our next stop was a lookout point on the peak of the Rock. We took some wonderful pictures and saw some more monkeys. Our final stop was the tunnels of Gibraltar. The Rock is filled with kilometers and kilometers of man-made tunnels that the British made for defense back in the day. The tunnels we traveled were filled with mannequins dressed in traditional British military garb and posed in different scenes that would have occurred in the tunnel. Going down was much easier than going up.

Outside the tunnels we had one last photo opportunity before heading back down. Jen's camera broke while in the tunnel, deleting all but eight of her photos so she lost her good temperament and sulked the rest of the day. We still love her. Tim's father took photos of Rubia and I with Spain and the sea behind us, and we let Tim jump into a few photos. Our guide finally got us back in the van and took us back down to the city. Money well-spent.

The next bus did not leave until 3:30 pm so we still had about two hours to kill in Gibraltar. Rubia had spotted a restaurant with lots of vegetarian options on the way to the cable car site, so we made our way back there. After weeks of practicing our Spanish in every restaurant, it was strange to order food from a made speaking English. I ate the bocadillo Tere had packed me and tried a cheese and ham pizza at the shop. We spent the rest of our time wandering and exploring little shops and displays on the way back to the bus stop.

We called Pedro on our way back to the center, and he told that the 10 am bus had too full for Alejandro and him to board. Despite my tired start of the day, I was thankful that we had pushed ourselves to get up so early. When we got back to La Linea, we discovered that the bus information online was wrong and the next bus did not leave until 4:30. I was out of money and wanted to find an ATM, so we ventured into the city of La Linea. It was hot, dry, and unattractive. We felt blessed to have studied abroad in Malaga, and based on what I saw, I do not recommend that International Studies Abroad create ISA La Linea.

Finally our bus came, and we headed off the Marbella. Tragically, the change in bus times left us with only two hours there instead of three. When we arrived at the Estacion de Autobuses in Marbella, we quickly got off, bought our tickets from Marbella to Malaga, and sped walked the twenty minute walk to the beach. We decided we had about 45 minutes to spend and the beach before we had to head back, so Rubia and I quickly changed into our swimming suits. Jen sat by the stuff while we ventured out on the pile of rocks that extended far out into the sea.

On our way back to the sandy part of the beach, Rubia realized her dream of playing paddle ball with natives, and I swam my way back to the main beach. Marbella's beach was beautiful and filled with shells, and I decided to collect some. I met a young boy from Sevilla there, and he helped me find shells. Like many young Spaniards, he was excited to hear that I was from the United States. While I did not make many lasting connections with Spaniards, little interactions like this made my experience so much more worthwhile.

Our time flew by far too quickly, and Jen, Rubia, and I returned to the bus stop, drying our swimsuits and bodies as we walked. Marbella was a beautiful town and put La Linea to shame. The Spanish bus system further caused problems, and we accidentally got on a non-direct bus to Malaga instead of the express bus for which we had paid an extra two euro. I slept on the bus, weary after a day of monkeys, sun, and high-energy British children. We took another zippy taxi ride back to la Plaza de la Malagueta and headed to our respective apartments. Thankfully, Tere had supper waiting for me to heat up when I returned.

Despite all the stress and confusion, a monkey sat on my head--that made it all worth it.



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