Sunset Guinness in Gibraltar
Sunset Guinness in Gibraltar
The first drink I ever bought for myself was a Guinness. I was 22 and studying abroad in Morocco—a place I’d picked because it seemed like a fun adventure, but after half a semester of being cat-called every time I stepped out the door, this young blond girl needed a break. For liability reasons, the program had had us sign agreements not to leave the country. But I wasn’t going to let a piece of paper hold me back, so one weekend I boarded a train heading north from Rabat to Tangier, hoping to catch a boat from there to Gibraltar.
As the train slipped out of the city and into the countryside, I ran into one of my classmates, on his own way to Tangier for the weekend. Someone, I figured, ought to know I’d left the country, so I revealed my plan. He promised not to tell—as long as I brought him back a Guinness. Deal!
A few hours later, I arrived in Tangier to find I’d missed the boat to Gibraltar, so I found myself a room close to the port—i.e., not the nice part of town—and took the morning’s first boat to Algeciras, Spain. I stepped off the boat into an industrial terminal, and it suddenly hit me that I didn’t speak a word of Spanish. Using lots of hand signals, I found a helpful stranger to point me in the direction of the bus terminal and another to write down which bus would take me to the border. We drove past what seemed like endless lots filled with imported cars, Whitney Houston and Phil Collins blasting, and after about an hour arrived at the end of the line. I followed a group of people who seemed to know where they were going to a small building in front of a gate. The border guard, leaning far back in his chair, peered up just enough to see that my passport read “United States of America” and waved me in. I walked across the runway of Gibraltar’s international airport onto Winston Churchill Avenue, and looked up at The Rock towering above me. I’d made it.
I spent the day exploring: People spoke English but with a heavy Spanish accent; Japanese tourists complimented my hennaed hands as we rode the cable car; a pair of Barbary apes tried to steal my shoes. As the sun started to head toward the horizon, I made my way to the Rock Hotel, whose bar opened onto an empty balcony, covered in blooming wisteria and overlooking the Bay of Gibraltar.
As I took a chair and sat down, it hit me that I’d never ordered a drink for myself before. What to get? Then I remembered my classmate’s request, so I ordered a Guinness, which the bartender delivered with a handful of dark chocolates. The beer was thick and strong—the ideal compliment to the sunset over the Mediterranean, Spain to my right and Morocco just visible on my left.
Once the sunset faded and my beer was done, I headed back down the hill to my hotel; I had a long day ahead of me if I was going to make it back by Monday morning. Before I left, however, I made sure to keep my promise to my friend, and bought him a Guinness and a chocolate bar to share.