To Gibraltar

We got past Algeciras—it must be one of the great ports of Europe—and around to Gibraltar early afternoon, finding the aire others had pointed us to with relative ease. But we had no sooner sat down to lunch than the policia approached, cordially, and told us we could not stay. There were half a dozen other RVs nearby also getting so notified. (There is never any signage in these places). So, after I reconnoitered a bit, across the border, we moved on down the beach (now the Mediterranean)(the whole place reminds me of Florida, around Daytona Beach), then to a shopping center, then back to the La Linea area, where we skyped Rebecca and Rachel, and then settled, tentatively, for the night in a large park away from the aire and the entrance to Gibraltar. It rained hard nearly all the afternoon and evening, so we did not venture into Gibraltar nor up the Rock.

This is the somewhat famous runway one crosses, both on foot and in vehicles, 
in order to get from Spain to Gibraltar

Fine. I understand about airport priorities, and I am fully supportive of 
concerns about air safety. Who wants to fly off a runway that is not neat 
and tidy, anyhow? But I do think some sort of pedestrian-oriented 
warning is in order, too, like maybe “PS: move along and make sure you 
do not become prop-wash” or somesuch. 

I am so proud of this shot; Gibraltar is British, 
don't-you-know, and I couldn't resist placing the 
bobby and the double-decker just right, in front 
of the Rock; unfortunately, the fish and chips 
were in my left hand, out of focus...

Huge old (disused) pillbox just next to the border

My, how the world has changed; I'm loving it; well, parts

of it