This is a boat cleaning day. We’re salt encrusted, bow to stern, outside and in. It’s also Jason’s departure day, as he’s got a job that’s pressuring him to be back yester-week. Six hours of sleep felt like a week, so we were all up with the sun (0700…late here).
I know cleaning isn’t very sexy, so I’ll skip to mid-afternoon when we quit. Bob graciously decided to hire a local crew to clean the outside, so we wouldn’t feel put upon…and given that he didn’t want to do it himself, either.
Shar and I walked through a portion of the city (only 2.6 sq. mi. and 32K population). The most unique aspect of this place is the airport. It’s the only place I’ve heard of where a city street crosses the runway! Here’s my proof:
It’s built that way because there’s so little real estate. Spain doesn’t like having the Brits being there, even if it’s only 2.6 square miles, so they certainly aren’t going to give them space to build an airport. The capturing of this territory happened in 1704, so I’ll bet there weren’t any forward thinkers envisioning the need for airport space. It’s placed on the only flat spot, which is a narrow neck of land on the north border. The runway is long enough only because of landfill in the bay, landfill that’s right behind us. We’re the red arrow, eh. We see and hear every flight in and out of G.
Evening saw us at the all-hands dinner at an Indian restaurant, just steps away. It wasn’t billed as such, but it turned into the de-briefing and story telling session. A good time was had by all. And thanks to Bob and Silvio for picking up the tab for 12 hungry, thirsty people. And I must say, not all the stories are fit to blog.