the other side of my family
Got back on Monday from spending Easter weekend in Gibraltar with my dad's side of the family. Although my grandparents had come over here relatively recently, I'd not been to Gib for 8 years, so it was pretty exciting to go back.
I don't see Dad and all his family being Gibraltarian as a huge part of my identity. Partly I think that's because I've so thoroughly internalised Gibraltar's stubborn refusal to let Spain have it, so in my head Gibraltar's just a small annex of Britain :D Partly, certainly, it's because although my surname is distinctively Gibraltarian, you wouldn't know that unless you knew a lot about Gib to start with (which no one does), and other than that I would never ever ping anyone as anything other than white British. I look a lot like my dad in a lot of respects, but I didn't inherit any of his colouring at all (case in point: the tomato red sunburn I acquired within 2 hours of landing :( ). Mostly, though, I suppose it's because it's not like I grew up there, or anything - I just went there a lot as a kid. Going back there doesn't feel like going home or returning to my roots, it feels like going back to a much loved holiday destination, somewhere where you do and see certain things every time, and live a different-but-familiar rhythm of life for a little while. Obviously bits of Gibraltarian-ness have fed into me through Dad - certain foods I like, oddments of Spanish that sneak into my sentence structure, love of the sun and the sea, compulsive interest in the weather (I swear, Gibraltarians are obsessed; must be because the Rock produces such an odd microclimate) - but mostly, Gibraltar's just a lot of happy childhood memories for me.
I am glad to have a connection to it, though. It's a very interesting place, full of military and naval history and odd cultural and political negotiations, and it's a very striking place: the Rock is an appealingly peculiar geographical phenomenon, as are the apes that live on it; the seas and coasts are gorgeous, and the VIEWS - the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic, and the Atlas mountains, and the south-west coast of Spain, and the mountains inland, and just GAH.
Trip itself was great - glorious weather (I was WARM. Warm for the first time since OCTOBER), lots of San Miguel and tapas and cola ice lollies, all my favourite places revisited, and of course my grandparents on that side really are lovely. It was also nice to come back at an age where I could appreciate what the place meant to Dad; he was full of stories about everywhere we visited (all told in the awesome Gibraltarian Spanglish he lapses back into as soon as he starts speaking to his family, that runs on a continuum from just speaking English with a Spanish accent and intonation, to speaking Spanish with odd nouns in English), which were really fun to hear. The only downsides were a) the fact that we all got smacked around the face with that winter vomiting virus thing, which was fun, and when I say fun I mean gross, and b) the fact that I'm not out to my grandparents. It's not really by design, mostly just because it's never come up, and I don't think they'd have a problem with it, but Dad was relatively discouraging about me bringing it up, and obviously now I have a long-term girlfriend who I'm living with that kind of circumscribes the conversation a little :/
All in all, though, it was a lovely weekend - and, of course, I took loads of pictures :D
The view from the balcony of my uncle's house, where we were staying - Morocco, and the south coast of Spain.
The lighthouse and cliffs at Europa Point, the southernmost point of Gibraltar.
Rosia Bay, and the Rock behind it. Also home to some wonderful nightmare fuel:
THE EYES.
I thought this was a lovely waterfall that I'd never noticed before. Turns out it's the overflow from the desalination plant at the top of the Rock :(
Alameda Gardens, the public park and botanic garden that run along the bottom of the Rock.
Gibraltar has marinas EVERYWHERE, all full of terrifyingly expensive yachts. I suppose that's what happens when you're a known tax haven.
Taken from out of the back of the cable car as it goes up the Rock :D
Gibraltar and Spain, from the top of the Rock.
One of the (many) Barbary Apes. Just looking at him gives me vertigo.
On the Sunday, we drove across the frontier into Spain to visit Sotogrande, a marina/resort type thing that was our base for visiting Gib when I was younger. I don't know why we never used to stay in Gibraltar itself, probably just a lack of room. It is a tiny, tiny place - 3 square miles, more or less, and the vast majority of that is a) the Rock, b) the beaches, and c) the Alameda Gardens. Anyway, that's the river that runs behind where we used to stay down to the beach, and the fancy multicoloured marina apartments where the yacht owners live.
We then drove way up into the hills, essentially just to enjoy the countryside and find a pretty village. This is Gaucin, nestled in the hills, and very picturesque it was too. The best part about the drive, though, was that it took us through the orange fields, and as soon as you put the windows down all you could smell was orange blossom. Gorgeous.
The Rock, from La Linea, the Spanish town on the frontier. On a day when the customs people are being particularly arsey, the queue to get into Gib can stretch back as far as here. Thankfully, not this weekend.
We woke up on Monday to a full-blown levanta, the wind that comes up around the Rock and through the Straits of Gibraltar. Not the most fun thing to be flying in, but all went well.
Incidentally, Eleventh Doctor? Big thumbs up from me. Definitely excited for the rest of the series now.
I don't see Dad and all his family being Gibraltarian as a huge part of my identity. Partly I think that's because I've so thoroughly internalised Gibraltar's stubborn refusal to let Spain have it, so in my head Gibraltar's just a small annex of Britain :D Partly, certainly, it's because although my surname is distinctively Gibraltarian, you wouldn't know that unless you knew a lot about Gib to start with (which no one does), and other than that I would never ever ping anyone as anything other than white British. I look a lot like my dad in a lot of respects, but I didn't inherit any of his colouring at all (case in point: the tomato red sunburn I acquired within 2 hours of landing :( ). Mostly, though, I suppose it's because it's not like I grew up there, or anything - I just went there a lot as a kid. Going back there doesn't feel like going home or returning to my roots, it feels like going back to a much loved holiday destination, somewhere where you do and see certain things every time, and live a different-but-familiar rhythm of life for a little while. Obviously bits of Gibraltarian-ness have fed into me through Dad - certain foods I like, oddments of Spanish that sneak into my sentence structure, love of the sun and the sea, compulsive interest in the weather (I swear, Gibraltarians are obsessed; must be because the Rock produces such an odd microclimate) - but mostly, Gibraltar's just a lot of happy childhood memories for me.
I am glad to have a connection to it, though. It's a very interesting place, full of military and naval history and odd cultural and political negotiations, and it's a very striking place: the Rock is an appealingly peculiar geographical phenomenon, as are the apes that live on it; the seas and coasts are gorgeous, and the VIEWS - the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic, and the Atlas mountains, and the south-west coast of Spain, and the mountains inland, and just GAH.
Trip itself was great - glorious weather (I was WARM. Warm for the first time since OCTOBER), lots of San Miguel and tapas and cola ice lollies, all my favourite places revisited, and of course my grandparents on that side really are lovely. It was also nice to come back at an age where I could appreciate what the place meant to Dad; he was full of stories about everywhere we visited (all told in the awesome Gibraltarian Spanglish he lapses back into as soon as he starts speaking to his family, that runs on a continuum from just speaking English with a Spanish accent and intonation, to speaking Spanish with odd nouns in English), which were really fun to hear. The only downsides were a) the fact that we all got smacked around the face with that winter vomiting virus thing, which was fun, and when I say fun I mean gross, and b) the fact that I'm not out to my grandparents. It's not really by design, mostly just because it's never come up, and I don't think they'd have a problem with it, but Dad was relatively discouraging about me bringing it up, and obviously now I have a long-term girlfriend who I'm living with that kind of circumscribes the conversation a little :/
All in all, though, it was a lovely weekend - and, of course, I took loads of pictures :D
The view from the balcony of my uncle's house, where we were staying - Morocco, and the south coast of Spain.
The lighthouse and cliffs at Europa Point, the southernmost point of Gibraltar.
Rosia Bay, and the Rock behind it. Also home to some wonderful nightmare fuel:
THE EYES.
I thought this was a lovely waterfall that I'd never noticed before. Turns out it's the overflow from the desalination plant at the top of the Rock :(
Alameda Gardens, the public park and botanic garden that run along the bottom of the Rock.
Gibraltar has marinas EVERYWHERE, all full of terrifyingly expensive yachts. I suppose that's what happens when you're a known tax haven.
Taken from out of the back of the cable car as it goes up the Rock :D
Gibraltar and Spain, from the top of the Rock.
One of the (many) Barbary Apes. Just looking at him gives me vertigo.
On the Sunday, we drove across the frontier into Spain to visit Sotogrande, a marina/resort type thing that was our base for visiting Gib when I was younger. I don't know why we never used to stay in Gibraltar itself, probably just a lack of room. It is a tiny, tiny place - 3 square miles, more or less, and the vast majority of that is a) the Rock, b) the beaches, and c) the Alameda Gardens. Anyway, that's the river that runs behind where we used to stay down to the beach, and the fancy multicoloured marina apartments where the yacht owners live.
We then drove way up into the hills, essentially just to enjoy the countryside and find a pretty village. This is Gaucin, nestled in the hills, and very picturesque it was too. The best part about the drive, though, was that it took us through the orange fields, and as soon as you put the windows down all you could smell was orange blossom. Gorgeous.
The Rock, from La Linea, the Spanish town on the frontier. On a day when the customs people are being particularly arsey, the queue to get into Gib can stretch back as far as here. Thankfully, not this weekend.
We woke up on Monday to a full-blown levanta, the wind that comes up around the Rock and through the Straits of Gibraltar. Not the most fun thing to be flying in, but all went well.
Incidentally, Eleventh Doctor? Big thumbs up from me. Definitely excited for the rest of the series now.