I decided for no particular reason to go look at the rock of Gibraltar today. I asked the girl in the hotel last night which was the road to Gibraltar and she pretended to not understand til I pointed at a map and she said “oh yibraltarrr”. Yes, whatever.

I was told it’s nothing but a rock, and in fact when you get there that’s really all it is. It does loom up at you however as you get near. The guide book told me not to take the car in due to long queues, so I parked close in “La Linea” and walked over the border. Yes, it’s what you expect. First thing you see is a red phone box as you stroll down “Winston Churchill Avenue”. All prices are in pounds. To get in you must walk across the runway, so I guess they get very few flights.

I had an overpriced meal in a British pub with some weak expensive beer, yes home from home. The food was reasuringly bad ( chille con carne ).

I fell into conversation with a couple of old Spanish boys who told me they were British. “We never go to Spain”, one said, “I go to England a couple of times a year. Spain is shit”. They then took British bank notes out of their pockets and begain to kiss the queen. They blessed Lord Nelson, and the Battle of Trafalgar, and went a bit bonkers. One of em was 72 and had had no teeth for 20 years. I didn’t understand why he had no false teeth, but his english was not good enough to expain it. He said he only ate soup and well boiled stuff.

The Rock and fuck off

The runway that you must cross, but I didn’t see a single plane, so that’s OK.

The runway

Not much to report today, except I stayed in Rute. I was really looking forward to this, I was promised a visit to an anaseed liquore factory with free samples, a chocolate factory, with free samples, and an unwanted donkey sanctury, which I assumed to be run by a couple of Brits, since as we all know once the Spanish are done with a donkey they take it up the church steeple and throw it off.

Disappointment tho. All the museums needed to you call and make an appointment and I had arrived late. I was reassured to see a poster for the dead donkeys in English, of course. I had a good meal tho “Al fresco” ( that means out doors, it was a bbq ) and I had gazpacho soup with bits to mix in it, and the biggest “ox steak” I ever saw. Pictures are below. Afterwards I felt very sick, I’m sure no one has any sympathy for me.

Cold Soup

Brontosaurus medium rare

Up bright and late today, so I only made the 10:30 train into Madrid. The station was still very unbusy, there was a short queue for a ticket, which some guy may, or may not, have jumped, but the woman behind me went crazy and started shouting and having a fit. So the ticket guy called her to the front and served her, I have no idea why she was in a hurry ‘cos there was half an hour wait for the train, she got on the same one as I did. 14 and a bit euros for a round trip to Madrid in 30 minutes with reserved seat and no Mexicans or vomiting babies, it was very civilised.

Arriving at Madrid, again, the lack of crowds was errie, this is a Friday lunchtime, but all day the place seemed deserted.

Madrid in the rush hour

I took the metro to somwhere likley then got off and followed the brown tourist signs to likley places.
Madrid is not a pretty city, it just about makes it as a capital, but my impression was pretty neutral.

Not as lively or cultured as Barcelona, not as pretty as Granada, not as interesting as Toledo, not much of anything to be honest. Anyway, I can’t say I lived in Spain and never saw Madrid.

In need of a beer I fell into a bar called Caracoles. I usually like to see where I’m falling into, but this one had big doors you had to open then walk in, so I went in blind so to speak. There were no chairs, the bar was metal, like a morgue slab or a fishmongers, and three hefty types were prowling behing the bar. This seemed to be a drinking joint, and I was the only customer. I asked for a beer and got one in under 5 seconds, quickly followed by a small plate of food. I now understand the tactics. The first plate you get is a mouth full, but each time you order you get something different and bigger, a sort of loyalty scheme.

I soon smelled and spied a bubbling cauldren of something on the bar, of course I knew what it was. Snails. I had never expected to try snails, but I sort of felt in the mood, so I asked for a plate of ‘em. They piled it high. So, armed with a toothpick, I pulled out the first snail. It’s best to not think about it, but the first one is the hardest, after that it’s just like eating soft rubber.

Rubber Curry

The place fileld up quickly and almost all the punters were there for the snails. Seemed to be Snail Central of Madrid. The service was excellent, as the three bouncer types behind the bar seemed to be watching the customers like guards at Alcatraz. Any hand movement, or glance and they would be on you like a rash to give you more beer and tapas. All in all a good way to spend an hour.

Some more walking, sitting, looking in shops and drinking and it was time to come back. Which I did. I am now in Toledo once more.

Home

This is a picture of the hostel, Tres Reys. A hostel isn’t what you might thing, I am not sharing with Australian back packers, but it’s a good basic small hotel. The ladies who run it seem to be twins, which is a bit of a problem as when I tell one of them something, I’m not sure if I need to tell here again when I next see here as she could be the other one. After a while tho you work it out. One of them smiles more than the other, but they are both very nice.

I shall leave Toledo tomorrow, which is a pity, but I must move on.