3rd February 2015

We had breakfast at 7.15 am, and by the time we finished, the ship was securely in the harbour, having arrived in Gibraltar just before 7 am. It was still dark, and from Deck 7, all we could see were the twinkling lights of the town on our starboard side. We disembarked around 8.30 am, just as the sun was rising, with the early morning light beginning to brighten the skies.

The ship was due to depart at 1.30 pm, so there was a mass exodus of passengers. Some had already left on their tour buses, while others were queuing for shuttle buses into town. We, however, decided to join the line of fit walkers and briskly completed our 15-minute journey to the start of Main Street under a brightening sky and a brisk breeze. Along the way, we mingled with children of all ages, chatting away as they made their way to school with iPods in hand. Like us, they had to run the commuter traffic gauntlet at each junction, dodging the busy traffic that was making its way through the streets.

Passing under the arch of Casemate’s Square, we paused for a while to take photos and watch the citizens of Gibraltar hurrying off to work. It wasn’t even 9 am yet, and some were already settling down for a quick breakfast at the many little cafés around us. We slowly made our way up the principal shopping street, Main Street, taking our time to peek through the windows at the merchandise inside, even though most shops were still closed. The shopkeepers were clearly aware that the Oceana was in port, as many windows displayed signs offering discounts on the production of our boarding cards. We were confident that they’d be opening soon.

We stopped to snap photos of the Governor’s House and the British soldier marching outside, but refrained from taking shots of the red telephone boxes, the British Bobbies on patrol, or the traditional British pubs dotted along the route. At the end of the street, we consulted the map, wondering where to head next. Had the cable car been running, we might have ventured up the Rock again, but having been there a couple of times on previous trips, we were after something new this time. Scanning the map, I remembered Rosia Bay, where the pickled body of Lord Nelson was brought ashore after the Battle of Trafalgar, and just nearby, a 100-tonne cannon. That sounded like a perfect destination.

The route to Rosia Bay was fairly unremarkable, taking about half an hour of leisurely walking with nary a fellow intrepid passenger in sight. We spotted the cannon from a distance but decided to leave it for our return leg. After a bit of fruitless searching, we eventually found Rosia Bay and carefully descended a very steep slipway down to the water’s edge. The bay itself was in a sorry state; much of the concrete quayside had cracked and slipped away. You could tell it had once been a rather impressive anchorage, though certainly not for today’s gargantuan modern ships. The waters, however, were crystal clear, and a group of divers were busy suiting up to test the waters.

While we scrambled over a tangle of rocks that had once served as the harbour wall, a couple of the divers submerged, while we took photos of the surroundings. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find any trace of a commemorative plaque. A little disappointed, we retraced our steps back to street level through a small, narrow door set into the wall. It spiralled upwards through what could only be described as a urinary air blanket, which led us to another small door labelled “Military Distillery.” Now that was unexpected! As we were about to retrace our steps, we bumped into another couple from the ship who were heading towards Europa Point and its lighthouse. We decided to follow them for a while, passing through a couple of tunnels before emerging at the picturesque Camp Bay. Chatting to our new friends, they mentioned that the lighthouse was only about another 10-15 minutes away. However, as I spotted the cliffs where the lighthouse sat, I reckoned it would take us well over half an hour. After taking a few photos, we decided to turn around.

On the way back, we came across the cannon emplacement and, much to our delight, discovered the very plaque for Lord Nelson that we’d been searching for. After paying the princely sum of £1 each, we ventured into the 100-tonne Cannon Museum. Inside, we were pleasantly surprised by how well the information boards were presented. They struck the perfect balance: packed with enough detail to keep things interesting.

Making our way back to Main Street, we were pleased to see that all the shops had finally opened. Fortunately, most of our fellow passengers had opted to browse the alcohol and tobacco shops, leaving Sue free to continue her quest for the perfect Christmas tree decoration without any interference. She eventually found one at the very start of the street.

About halfway down Main Street, after a visit to a quaint 15th-century church, Sue spotted an art gallery tucked up a side street (divine intervention at work). We both took an instant liking to a painting by a local artist of Rosia Bay. The price tag was £90, but when we inquired, it was quickly reduced to £80. Sue, ever the negotiator, asked if there was any chance of a further discount, and the price dropped to £75. As we were waiting for the painting to be wrapped, the artist was called, and before we knew it, the price had plummeted to £50. Now, of course, we have the delightful problem of figuring out where to display it!

We returned to the ship and were back on board by 1 pm. Lunch was taken in the Ligurian Restaurant, where I found myself sitting next to an Irishman, who I suspected was part of the Travelling community. He had been in the UK for 19 years, and I had a feeling he worked as a Gang Master in the vegetable fields around Boston, though he also mentioned prawns. He certainly knew how to work his way through a menu. He casually mentioned that his wife was somewhere else on the ship, likely selling lucky heather to the crew after spending the morning tarmacking the Gibraltar runway. It’s amazing the kind of characters you meet on a boat!

Afterwards, we returned to our cabin, Sue to do a crossword and have a sleep, while I settled down with my book. When Sue woke up, we moved to the Atrium where I added a chapter or two to my reading, complemented by a pint of London Pride.

To stretch our legs and clear our heads, we took a walk around the deck as the light began to fade. We crossed paths with only one other person on our windswept perambulation: one of the dancers, probably toning up before the evening’s show, as she was stretching purposefully. Returning to the cabin, we changed for dinner. It was a 60’s theme night for the attire, but like most other passengers, we didn’t bother.

Before the evening meal, we sat in the atrium, listening to some piano music, before joining the rest of our fellow diners at the table. Sue fancied watching a blues singer in the Footlights Theatre, while I was keen on hearing the flautist from the other evening in the Starlight Theatre. We ended up heading to Sue’s choice.

To be fair, some in the audience were quite enthusiastic about the lady’s performance, but I couldn’t help but notice a few issues. She struggled to remember the words to the second verse of a song after singing it and had to peer at a scrap of paper to read the song titles, which seemed like poor preparation. Her vocal range was also limited, and several songs began in the wrong key. The performance was summed up beautifully when she fell down the steps twice at the end of her final song. While some found her bumbling endearing, I couldn’t help but think she wasn’t quite as polished as some of the other performers, especially considering she had appeared on ‘The Voice’. I probably should have left early and watched the flautist, who clearly had more talent.

Tomorrow is another day at sea.