Birdseye View, March 2017. Finding a place to stay in the British overseas territory of Gibraltar turned out to be much harder than I thought! For the dates of my visit, the town’s only hostel was all booked up and I was met with a perplexing dearth of Airbnb options. That left me with nothing but glitzy five-star type hotels, a huge turn-off for a thrifty no-frills traveller such as myself. But then… praise the lord… up stepped the Spanish town of La Línea de la Concepción to the rescue!!! Located on the eastern side of the bay of Gibraltar in the province of Cádiz, this sleepy little town is nestled right on the edge of the border, earning its nickname The Gateway to Gibraltar. This shot of La Línea was taken from Gibraltar Rock.
Local Graffiti, March 2017. It was a bit of a slog over from Malaga city… three hours on the bus with a million and one stops along the way. Disembarking at the town’s tin shack of a bus station, one of the first things I saw was this charming little wall and its heartwarming message to La Línea’s British neighbours. For those straining to read, it says: Fuck you and Your British City. Without wishing to draw too much attention to myself, I thought it best to scuttle off to Hostal Paris, my twenty-five Euros a night Spanish base.
Plaza de la Constitución, March 2017. I hadn’t been expecting much from La Línea, but boy did it have the feel of a forgotten, run down border town. Strolling through its run down streets with its abandoned/under construction buildings, I think I saw more sittin’ doin’ nothin’ here than in all the other Spanish towns put together. This main square had a similarly apathetic vibe. Even its fountain was without water, which brought to mind an analogy about one’s cup being empty.
Alcaidesa Marina, March 2017. La Línea does have a pretty little marina, which one can stop by on the short walking route down to the Gibraltar border. Located within the natural harbour of the bay of Gibraltar, many wealthy British expats keep their boats here.
Border Control, March 2017. Walking over to Gibraltar was a piece of cake. Cars to the left, pedestrians to the right, when I walked through security there wasn’t a soul to be seen. I didn’t even have to raise my passport as I passed the empty security desk and out onto Winston Churchill Avenue on the other side.