Flying to Gibraltar is a fascinating experience: the plane has to circumvent the famous rock to land on an air-strip that doubles as a highway. One of the locals I spoke to called the place “a little piece of Britain in the sunshine” and it was definitely an apt description, at least on the gorgeous late-May day when I set foot on it. It’s sub-Mediterranean weather, but policemen in “bobbies” and pillar boxes assured me that I was definitely in a British territory.
This British enclave at the southern tip of Spain remains a politically contentious issue. But what adds to the fascination is that right across the eponymous strait, another enclave exists – Ceuta. Along with Melilla, it is a piece of Spain along the Mediterranean coast of Morocco and another diplomatic hot potato.
I spent a couple of days in Gibraltar, enjoying quaint high tea at the Rock Hotel (www.rockhotelgibraltar.com), hiking the rugged terrains and enjoying fish and chips with ice-cold ale. Then, I made my way across the border to Spain, arriving at a backwater town called La Linea. From Main Street of Gibraltar to the border was only 10 minutes on foot, but once on the other side, Pound Sterling and English were rendered useless. After another five minutes walk I reached the bus terminus for the ride to Algeciras – half an hour away and the city where I would catch the ferry to cross the strait.
The g22 (US$29.69) ride, on a spacious boat with chairs and tables as well as a kiosk, was only one-and-a-half hours (there is also the fast boat that takes only 45 minutes) but it transported me to a whole different world.
Under Spanish administration since 1580 but once subjected to constant attacks, Ceuta has many fortifications left from those warring days that have become tourist attractions. In parts of the city, time seems to have stood still for centuries. And although I was technically in Spain, the scent of Africa was definitely in the air and a sizeable Moroccan population was present.
Like in other Spanish cities, the town centre has plenty of tapas bars lining the lanes and streets, which run up a small hill to Plaza de los Reyes where many families hang out. Ceuta is a free port famous for tax-free shopping, but instead, I headed for Morocco. I took the bus marked "Frontera" for the checkpoint and was stunned after I had reached the other side: it was an arid landscape with nothing but rows and rows of taxis waiting. The nearest Moroccan city was Tétouan, one and a half hours away, and the going rate for a return ride was €20 (US$27.5; Moroccan dirham is the local currency but euro is widely accepted).
Much of Tétouan today was built in the 15th century by refugees from the Reconquista and many of the marvelous houses constructed with wealth brought in by the immigrants remain, including the royal palace. With only half a day, I decided to spend it in the Unesco-listed medina where I browsed ceramics and leather goods and sampled some truly amazing goat cheese. For €5 (US$6.88), I had a pie of it that lasted me the rest of the trip.
Back in Ceuta that evening, as I strolled the streets again in search of more vino, I still couldn’t help but be enthralled by where I was, a part of the world where within a day I had managed to travel on two continents and experienced three distinctly different cultures.
