Cruising
Breakfast came with a surprise. Not on the plate — that was the usual hotel buffet — but out the window. A large yellow‑and‑black chimney had sprouted overnight behind the flats opposite. Gibraltar is not known for spontaneous architectural growth, so this could only mean one thing: a cruise ship had arrived. The Costa Something‑Ending‑In‑A, was in town. Probably the Costa Fortuna, but who knows. Either way, that meant my mid‑afternoon event near the port was definitely happening. The Event Host would be in town, because he was supposedly on that ship.
But first, the plan: clear the north and west. Which, in Gibraltar, means another jaunt across the airport runway. At this point I’m crossing it so often I’m expecting to be given a loyalty card.
Gallery Games and Gateways
I began with a trad at the GEMA Gallery. It should have been quick. It wasn’t. I spent long enough circling the place that I was in danger of being mistaken for a performance art installation. Eventually I stood in exactly the right spot and caught a glimpse of the box’s edge. Victory, albeit the sort that feels like the cache is humouring you.
From there I picked up a lab at Landport Gate, then another in the proverbial “dead centre of the town” — which in Gibraltar means “next to the runway”. The airport is everywhere. It’s like a cat: always underfoot, occasionally blocking your path, and impossible to ignore. It’s not the most peaceful of places for a funeral. I guess the recently deceased don’t notice the noise, but… In fact, a plane came in while I was there, and that was quite a loud interruption to the priests words of condolence. I walked on pathways away from the mourners, by the way. They were just entering when I arrived onsite. So I let them go in and then followed different paths to where I needed to be. I’m not sure why the CO would put a lab stage in there, but it’s easy to access, so fair enough.
Spain? Why Not.
A puzzle near the roundabout south of the runway had looked inaccessible on Thursday due to roadworks. Turns out it’s perfectly reachable if you don’t mind weaving through vans like you’re in a low‑budget remake of The Italian Job.
Across the runway again, I failed — again — at the letterbox that had defeated me on Thursday. This triggered the classic geocacher emotional arc: mild annoyance → muttering → full grump → “Fine, I’m going to Spain.”
To be fair, I had two reasons. Firstly, I wanted a cache in the Province of Cádiz. Secondly, I wanted to register for the new EU biometric entry system, which is apparently causing queues of epic proportions elsewhere. I figured it might be quite a quiet place to do the initial fingerprint scan and facial photo. And so it was.
The automated machine didn’t work, so a friendly border officer waved me over and did the whole thing manually. They now have my fingerprints and a photo in which I probably look confused. There’s a cache right outside the border, so I grabbed that and headed back.
Leaving Spain, the photo machine worked but it didn’t ask for fingerprints. Re‑entering Gibraltar was delightfully old‑skool: a man at a desk glanced at my passport and waved me through. No fuss, no drama, no biometric anything.
Portside Wandering
Back across the runway (again), I headed out towards the cruise port. A set of labs and a multi were dispatched with ease. I was early enough that I detoured south to St Bernard’s Hospital for another cache. I assume St Bernard is the one with the big dogs and the brandy barrels, though I didn’t see any. Probably on a day off. Ot too busy climbing mountain passes in Switzerland. I’ve been there too, but I digress.
Even with the detour, I arrived half an hour early for the event. But I’d cleared everything nearby, so there was nothing left to do except loiter like an eager fan turning up early for a gig in the hope of seeing the band arrive.
The event was… intimate. Mostly me, the CO, and his family. He was having a rough day. They’d been to Europa Point and he’d dropped his wallet — containing two credit cards, his national ID, his health insurance card, and his Costa cruise card. Not the passport, thankfully, but still enough to make re‑boarding the ship a nail‑biter. So he wasn’t in the mood to linger, even though the Costa Paqueta wasn’t due to leave for a couple more hours. Fair dos. If you’ve got to negotitae your way back to most of your personal possessions you wouldn’t want to risk it.
Just as he was preparing to leave, a Czech couple arrived. They’d come down from Marbella for the day, parked in La Línea, and blitzed Gibraltar on foot and by bus. It is doable in a day if you’re keen. I, meanwhile, have generously allocated myself four full days. One fewer would have been fine, but at least I haven’t felt rushed.
Gardens, Graves and Getting Hungry
It was only 4pm, and I wasn’t ready to call it quits. So I walked the length of Rosia Road to the bottom of the Botanic Gardens, picking up two trads en route and lining myself up nicely for the many labs between there and the hotel.
The gardens were exactly what you’d expect: leafy, warm, and full of lab stages. Seven, I think, plus a trad. The route back took me past the Trafalgar Pub again, which meant also past the Trafalgar Cemetery — home to a puzzle and three more labs. Gibraltar really does pack things in.
I reached the hotel just after six, declared myself officially pooped, and decided pizza was the answer. Google insisted there was a pizza place around the corner, but I couldn’t find it. Possibly invisible. Possibly imaginary. So I sat outside the hotel with a pizza from their menu and a couple of beers. The cheese was strong enough to have its own passport, but otherwise it hit the spot.
And that was that. I stayed up late typing the first two blog posts of the trip, fuelled by carbs, hops, and the smug glow of a day well cached.
