In another country

Gibraltar, 11am. Yup, it´s a big rock.
I'm hoping for a new stamp in my passport (Gibraltar is part of England, after all) but they´re nowhere near that formal here. To get from border control to the city of Gibraltar you have to walk across the runway of the Gibraltar airport, which would be charming except that the area is patrolled by military guys with machine guns. Kinda kills the small-village vibe. There are signs everywhere that say: "You are crossing a live runway. Pedestrians keep between the white lines. Please cross quickly." Okay. The only non-zoo, non-human primates in Europe live on the rock of Gibraltar, in case you're wondering what I'm doing here. I think they were brought over from Africa at some point.

12:30pm.Show me the monkeys!
I hate Gibraltar. It´s not entirely Gibraltar´s fault; I hate the Lonely Planet, too. Piece of advice to any potential guidebook writers out there: If the only way to get to the monkeys, short of a three hour hike, is by cable car, don´t say "A fine way to access the nature reserve is by cable car" and then also say that most of Gibraltar is accessible by foot. That makes it sound like walking to the monkeys is a viable option. It´s not. (Actually the three hour hike sounds great, but I´m only here for the day and don´t have time. And guidebooks just shouldn't be misleading.) And Gibraltar doesn't help with its complete lack of signage on how to get to the monkeys. The monkeys are why people come here! Anyone who comes to Gibraltar for fish and chips or jewelry shopping doesn't deserve a sign. I've spent way too much time wandering lost around this place. And the fact that they speak English here (this is England, after all) should be refreshing, but it's just fucking me up. I can't speak Spanish, but I seem to have forgotten how to buy tickets and ask for directions in English. Joder.

2:30pm. Everybody likes monkeys.
Okay I'm better now. The monkeys are well worth the three-hour bus ride with about fifty stops and the stress of getting to the top of the rock. And what ever gave me the idea that walking to the monkeys would be easy? It's a huge rock, you don't just stroll up to the top of it. I'm an idiot.

The monkeys run around and fight and play and aren't afraid of people at all. If you get close they'll jump on you. There are signs all over saying to be careful if you have food because they'll try to steal it. The signs also say not to touch the monkeys but this nice old guy who feeds some of them takes a liking to me I guess and lets me feed them and gets a baby one to climb on my shoulder for a picture. Her name is Jessica.

You can see Morocco from the rock, but only when the clouds aren't in the way. There are these weird clouds here called levant or something that look like they were made by a smoke machine and that completely block any view. When I first get to the top of the rock it's clear, so I get to see Africa before it clouds over.

6pm. Get me off this fucking rock.
So. I met this nice Dutch boy in Granada. I fascinate him. He's very nice, but he doesn't fascinate me. Whatever. We were supposed to go to Gibraltar together but at 7am he wasn't on the bus so I went by myself. No problem. After the monkeys I came down from the rock and went to the Trafalgar Cemetery, where British soldiers who died after the Battle of Trafalgar are buried. And in the cemetery I hear someone calling my name. It's my Dutch friend, who caught the next bus and somehow found me in the Trafalgar cemetery. If only he fascinated me....

We go back to the rock and see the monkeys. Everyone likes monkeys; it was fun to see them again. But we have a bus to catch (the last bus back to Málaga leaves at 5:30) so after a quick visit with the monkeys we go to catch the cable car to leave. And it doesn't come. And it doesn't come. And it doesn't come. We can see it down at the bottom of the rock, just sitting there. Maybe it's broken? Maybe I misread the signs and it's stopped running for the day? There are cabs on the rock and we passed a restaurant, so we head back to the restaurant to see if we can get a cab there. But the trip from the restaurant to the cable car stop was all down the rock, meaning the trip back to the restaurant from the cable car stop goes up the rock. It takes forever. We're probably gonna miss the bus, but maybe if we can get a cab to take us all the way to the border we'll have a chance. But the cabs don't go down the rock; they only go up the rock. That makes no fucking sense, but whatever, we've got more important things to worry about, like coming up with a Plan B. (Actually, we're on to Plan C now.) We try to hitch a ride. No luck. We try to join a tour group. No luck. At this point we've definitely missed the bus so time isn't such a concern, but the sooner we get to the bus station, the better our chances are of finding an indirect route back to Málaga tonight. We walk. If it takes three hours to walk up the rock, it can't take that long to walk down. While we're walking down, the cables cars start running again. We end up in someone's backyard because we miss a small graffiti-covered sign marking the footpath. We turn around and hike back up for a while. I scream "Fuck you, Gibraltar!" at the top of my lungs and feel a little better. I'm doing all of this in flip-flops.

We finally get off the rock. There's a plane landing so we have to wait a while to cross the runway to get to the border. We wonder if we'll have to hitchhike back to Málaga.

12am. Home sweet hostal.
It wasn't that bad. We had to change buses and the trip took about five hours instead of three, but we did make it back to Málaga. And sucky things tend to make better stories. And we saw the monkeys. Everybody likes monkeys.