leisure
DOS FINOS, POR FAVOR We don’t cross runways in Los Angeles.
BY STEWART LICUDI
A
s we touched down on the runway, I could see the Union Jack fluttering on Moorish Castle. For me that was always the start of the holiday. Today however was a new experience, I was here to work and not to enjoy the sun, atmosphere and time with family and friends. I was quite proud of myself as I guided my boss, Chuck, through the airport and out into a delightfully fresh, clear day in Gibraltar. He seemed impressed that I knew my way around and by the warm welcome from one of the customs officers in arrivals (we used to play squash against each other at Victoria Stadium). As an American from Los Angeles, Chuck found the notion of walking across the runway astonishing and stopped to take countless photos as we crossed the tarmac and made our way towards Main Street. We were seeing one of the large financial institutions with a presence in Gibraltar and our meeting was in their impressive, if rather old-fashioned, offices. As we sat in their boardroom and discussed our proposal, the 66
faces of Nelson, Collingwood, and Sergeant-Major Ince looked down impassively from their gilded frames. Whilst our presentation was well-received, we were none the less surprised when Sir Ian, who was leading the discussion from their side, asked us to delay returning to the UK on the afternoon flight, stay in Gib overnight and join him and the team for dinner. He had us booked at The Rock Hotel and was clearly not going to take no for an answer.
Chuck found the notion of walking across the runway astonishing. An hour later I was gazing out across the bay and marvelling at the number of oil tankers anchored there, waiting for orders to go and collect oil from who knows where. With Africa within touching distance it was easy to imagine sailing the high seas stopping at one exotic port after another. A sharp knock on the door brought me back to reality:
“Where can we get a cold beer?” asked Chuck. I grabbed my jacket and we headed out. It was 4pm and we had hours before dinner. Making sure Chuck had his passport, we made our way into town, stopping to admire historic Trafalgar Cemetery on the way. Along Main Street and through Casemates and soon we were heading back across the runway into Spain. Chuck couldn’t believe that we had just walked into another country and was now sending his wife selfies with the Spanish flag in the background. We headed into La Linea and, after a few twists and turns on streets I had run around on when I was a boy, we arrived at my favourite bar in Spain - Pepe’s. I had taken friends there before and most of them had thought I was mad when we walked in, and loved it by the time we walked out. Chuck, who was a well-seasoned traveller and knew me quite well, sensed as soon as we crossed the threshold that this would be an experience. He took off his jacket, folded it neatly and then placed it on the counter. This was a classic sherry bar. Small room, bar topped with GIBRALTAR MAGAZINE OCTOBER 2020
