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The Gibraltar Chronicles

A walk on the trail of the

The Mediterranean Steps

04/07/2004

After indulging severely the cuisine of that notable dining institution by the name of Bianca's as a special birthday treat, I endeavoured to accept Paul's invitation to undertake, on the following day, a morning stroll on the Rock: a walk far-famed as 'The Mediterranean Steps'. Despite having undergone its torture on a previous occasion, the craftiness of time's passage seemed to have dulled the memories of the earlier expedition, so that I was quite disposed to walk-off the extra pounds gained during a weekend full of lavish comestibles and items of particular sugariness characteristic of such occasions by contracting our kind host as a guide for the comfortable promenade he had suggested. Little did I realise what was in store for us. Thus I have undertaken the task of recollecting the fond memories of this adventure lest they should once again fall into the obscurity of the past, and so that they may serve anyone keen enough on engaging in a similar enterprise.

The morning woke up fresh and after a light repast, Ronnie and myself set out to meet our scout at his house. Finally taking our leave of the rest of that household, we set off, a peculiar group consisting of two eager children, one adolescent, and two adults. Paul manoeuvred his car up the Rock to a favourable starting point, whence we alighted very near the origins of our trail. The morning sun had not yet risen above the Eastern face of the Rock, and so the shady coolness promised a pleasant amble.

"The keen adventurers on the initial conventional-looking steps; left to right: Rohana, Siddhartha, Ronnie and myself"

The start of the trail at Jew's Gate seemed pretty innocent. Soon enough. though, the steps dissappeared to reveal a rough track leading through dense undergrowth.

The bewildered hikers followed their leader with keen perceptiveness through the initial darkness, lest they should lose themselves or their comrades to the deceitful forest. Our mentor took close record of our misbehavings by means of his digital camera.

Coggling along the trail; from left to right: Ronnie, Sid, Paul and Rohana.

The going soon got prickly as the thorny flora flourished deliberately near our ailing track, and the sun finally made its presence felt on the westerly slopes.

Finally though, we made it to the top of the southern cliffs that overlook the straits, and from where, on clear days, the northern coast of the African continent is clearly visible in the form of the Atlas Mountains. Europa Point, also known as 'The End of Europe', is the most southern point of the Rock, and is distant eleven and a half nautical miles from the opposite African coast

Ships can be seen crossing the straits. Note Rohana's dolphin torch in her right hand, an essential piece of equipment as you will see…

Photograph: front to back: Rohana, Sid and myself getting blown in the wind.

Thus we began our descent now on the sheer Mediterranean face. Steps appeared once again, carved out of the rock.

The steps were far from even, and at times quite steep, which made the going slow and required a certain degree of stetchability on the part of their passengers.

The rock of Gibraltar consists mostly of pale grey limestone. On the western side the slopes are gentler and mush of it is concealed under layers of shale, but the sharp drop of the eastern face reveals stretches of bare rock.

Ro-ro, me and Ronnie descending the steps.

A dead creature. A gull.

At some point Paul claimed to have spotted a rabbit, and after eagerly making my way to his side, I managed to catch a glimpse of "something" disappearing into the undergrowth. Would it be fair to say that today I saw my first wild bunny?

Along the old wall. One of the rare signposts along the trail to guide the disoriented travellers.

Groping out our way along a rise in the path. What path, I ask thee ? Thank goodness we had Paul, our prodgious navigator. The Med glittering in glory in the early sunshine.

Hiking down the ancient path of the Mediterranean Steps, there are numerous caves and caverns, possibly inhabited by people in pre-historic times. Apart from these there are over 33 miles of tunnels in the Rock, carved by the British for the purpose of positioning cannons as a means of protection during the wartime sieges.

Caves are caves, and will not fail to arouse the curiosity of the intrigued adventurer. Hence we were drawn into the interior of some of them, despite their forbidding blackness.

Ro-ro, Paul and Sid exploring a cave.

Sid looking rather wary in the dark cave. Yes, it was dark – the light you see is from the camera's flash reflecting off the walls.

At the mouth of another cave overlooking the Med. A nice place to have a picnic (by this time you are sure to be craving nourishment and in particular some cool beverage, so be sure to pack some in your rucksack) and watch the seagulls gliding in the wind.

It was during these shuddery probes into the pitch-blackness that Rohana's dolphin torch came in handy, for due to the enormous cobwebs we half-expected to meet a hungry – nay, starving Aragog.

Our trail eventually led us through a short tunnel cut through the Rock.

Descending into one of the old gun emplacements. Some of them are over two hundred years old.

Beautiful view of the Eastern side of the Rock overlooking the Med. Me being Rohana's scribe.

This is my favourite view of the Eastern face of the Rock. Behold the impressive water catchments (which have now been phased out -the main supply of water is from the desalination plants at sea level, although the water is still stored inside the Rock) descending into Sandy Bay, and further on Catalan Bay and Eastern Beach. And high above the Levante mist swirling and forming dense clouds.

Back on the trail. Lot's of prickly plants.

The energetic ones cruising along…

…and the chubby ones bringing up the rear.

Yes, Sid, we can't keep up with you.

Elevated to such heights, I temporarily fancied myself a seagull, and tried to join in the flight of my feathered family.

Finally we made it to O'Hara's Battery at the top, a gun emplacement capable of propelling artillery shells from Europe to Africa. Sitting on the ridge whilst savouring the sense of achievement, a sheer 1400 foot drop into the Mediterranean, the cool air currents and swirling mist enrapturing you, and the gulls beguiling you to join them, you take in at once the splendour of the meeting of two bodies of water, on one side the sparkling Med and on the other the calm Ocean, wooing each other with gentle grace.

Alas, our jourey was not yet over, and time pressing us to resume our step, we barely conceded a few minutes rest to our fatigued limbs while perched on the top of that magnificent mountain. Descending the road along the western face was relatively easy, and we made quick progress heading south along St Michael's Road.

A Seagull posing on a branch, gazing out at the Bay of Gibraltar.

But once past the tourist repleted Caves of Saint Michael, near the entrance of which numerous coaches were lined, Paul informed us that our descent was to continue through a jungle trail, and so we once more penetrated the thick foilage and left behind the vestiges of civilization. The track seemed to go on and on, ad infinitum…Strangely enough in all our journey we didn't see any of those knavishly apes. It's a good thing because Paul was carrying a packet of nuts.

Educational insight:

St.Michael's cave is an immense natural cavern which led ancient people to believe the rock was hollow and gave rise to its old name of Mons Calpe (Hollow Mountain). The cave was used during the last war as a bomb-proof military hospital and nowadays hosts occasional concerts, and is an important tourist attraction. The Lower Saint Michael's Cave consists of a series of chambers going deep down and ending in an underground lake.

The upper rock is inhabited by a large colony of Barbary macaques, the only wild primates in Europe, and found only here and in the Atlas Mountains of Northen Africa (note that the continents have been joined many times in the past). Legend has it that when the apes disappear from Gibraltar, so will the British, and so during one particulat stage, when the population started dwindling (probably due to some war) and the last eligible batchelor of that race on the rock had died without producing an heir, a young Moroccan prince was brought over across the strait to solicit the bethrotal of his European cousins. It seems he was successful, for today their numbers are large, and their behaviour towards human visitors not being particularly graceful, attempts are being made to curb their numbers.

Rohana trying to catch a glimpse of our car at the end of the track – little did she realise that we were yet in for a good long trudge.

"Come on Rohana, we're nearly there." "Oy, but I can't." The only one who seemed to want to carry on running was Sid.

And at last we spotted the very gate we had departed from nearly four hours earlier, though somewhat leaner.

I hope you have enjoyed this expedition and contrive to undergo its pleasures personally. Despite the imminent bodily aches of the next few days, it is well worth it. I beseech thee, though, to savour the delights of nature with respect, which is all that is necessary for people to continue enjoying everything it has to offer us for generations to come.

Thanks for visiting.

~Bobby

PS. Paul found a piece of skeleton. He thinks it to be the backbone of a seagull. The actual size is about half of that shown in the pictures. Any suggestions as to what creature it pertains to? E-mail me. Your insight will be added to this page with your permission.

Acknowledgements:

Thank you to the whole crew who participated in this venture, namely: Mr. Paul Dewfall, Miss Rohana Dewfall, Master Siddhartha Dewfall, and Master Ronnie Motwani.

For more information concerning interesting pathways meandering upon the Rock of Gibraltar, contact the knowledgeable Mr Dewfall by clicking here.

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