Gibraltar Jump

Whew, I thought I might never see decent internet again. In the deeper and coastal south of Spain where I’ve been for the past four days there is an internet “café” on every corner: a room with three or four sooped-up Coleco-Visions and as many VOIP babbling locals. If you’re lucky, which you almost certainly won’t be, one of the machines will be available and you can navigate its lent twisted, grease covered mouse towards an email check.

My new friend, and already merely a memory Piers and I rented a car and drove to the south and to Cadiz just in time for Thursday night Carnival. Cadiz is a great city, possibly my favourite in Espana so far. All the locals and plenty of travelers crowd to the center of town where different fixed and roving groups of entertainers draw attentive crowds with silly, light-hearted song and dance routines. We met some dudes from Holland, drank some booze, roamed the safe, forgiving streets of Cadiz until the early morning, when we went to a bar. Just before sunrise we hit the sack in an awesome hostal that’s basically small apartments complete with bedrooms, kitchen, and living room, all for fifty euros. Really would be a great place for a future holiday with some friends.

In the morning, after Piers surfed a bit and I read on the beach we headed further south through a few even smaller towns, surfers paradise really, though the cold and lack of gear kept me, and even Piers for the most part, out of the water. Eventually we hit Tarifa, a beautiful town on the very south-western end of Spain, directly opposite Africa and Tangier, and followed along to coast afterwards to Algeciras a wretched port town opposite the bay from Gibraltar –the rock/British province. Upon arrival and dusk (now is a good time to point out that the first line about Algeciras in my guide book says to “keep your wits about you”….why wouldn’t I? When don’t I? Why so especially here? Thanks for nothing once more Lonely Planet) we took lodging in the first building we could find that wasn’t part of the port infrastructure or one of the aforementioned cafes: The Hostal Marrakech, known for its opium den living room and fundamentalist dressed Muslim crew. They did not like us, this much was clear, but all we needed was a bed and an ice cold shower, both of which the Hostal Marrakech was prepared to provide.

The next morning we bought tickets for a crossing to Morocco, drove back up the coast to Tarifa, and boarded a twin hulled speed ship for a beautiful 30 minute crossing to Tangier, my 5^th country and 3^rd continent. Yeah, it’s a bit freaky. Yeah, everyone does look at you, especially when you’re a six foot three blonde Yankee. But for the most part I’m here to tell you that the Moroccans are wonderful people. Most anyone with which I made eye contact shouted “Hel-lo…..Wel-come” with a smile. We ate traditional Morrocan food and bought as little cheap tourist shit as they would let us get away without. The real fun came when returned to the port for our return ship to Spain which was cancelled do to inclement weather and a would-be three boat loads of commuters were forced onto one boat which took us to Ageciras over the course of three hours. I stood on the top of the ship and watched the lights of Africa fade away and of Spain grow brighter while the rest slept in the ship, it looked like Jonestown inside, I alone on top felt like a giddy child.

Following a complimentary bus ride back to Tarifa we were able to take lodgings at about five this morning. The beautiful ride up the coats brought us back to Sevilla, my sort of operations base. Piers and I parted, and I’m once again on my own, though I’m back at the hostal where we met and am covered up once again in people with which to talk, spin yarns.

I’m tired, very tired, and this is a boring blog, unable even with full rest and enthusiasm to do reality justice. Go to Morocco. Couscous. Yum.

Concerned about culture shock upon my return. Why don’t we have trains?

DOWN WITH ROADSIDE BILLBOARDS FOR GODSSAKE!