Arriving was very different. The customs agents barely glanced at our passports and didn’t say a word. A casual wave of the hand indicated “move along”. Once past the border, into the UK, we had to walk across the airport runway to get into town. That was really odd and we definitely chuckled about it. Interestingly, they drive on the right-hand side, but with bold letters at every crosswalk to look left. And we saw plenty of red phone cabins, which I enjoyed, even though I can’t imagine anyone using them anymore.
We caught the sunset from the highest spot of the rock we could without having to pay, as the parc closes shortly past sunset. The following day, we visited the parc, but didn’t really have enough time to see everything we wanted in order to catch a ferry to Morocco.
The worst possible thing happened to Sandrine as we walked up the wall, where the wild macaques live, to reach the top of the Rock. A grumpy looking 🐒 liked her hair and pulled some hard, and when she screamed and ran away, the grumpy bastard bit her! Three weeks later and she still has a scar from where the teeth opened her skin! We obviously went to the first aid desk to disinfect her wound, and the lady in charge said we were lucky that Sandrine didn’t need stitches.
After that eventful walk on the top of the Rock, we took a bus to Algeciras, boarded a ferry to Ceuta - while Ceuta is in Northern Africa, it belongs to Spain. Consider yourself lucky I don’t make a tiny three sentence blog post about Ceuta 😜
Upon arrival, we took a taxi to the border, exchanged all of our euros into dirhams with a sketchy looking dude on the side of the road (and gave us the best exchange rate we’ve ever seen in Morocco). Then walked across the even sketchier looking border.