The shooting

Part 1
I should have realised it was going to be a journey with a difference when police stopped our bus on the way to Málaga.

It turned out there was going to be a procession, so all traffic was being diverted. Well that wasn't much use to all the passengers who wanted to get off at the next few stops so the driver asked if it would be a long wait.

(Processions are a way of life in Spain. They are also a very good reason for always getting an earlier bus than you actually need. It is better to wait for 40 minutes or an hour in the bus station than miss your connection by five or ten minutes and have to wait another three hours. Bus stations are full of people who have arrived early, it's probably also one of the reasons why the bus station bars have a healthy trade.)

Apparently it was going to be a long wait for the procession so the driver then asked where the diversion went. Onto the motorway. About a dozen passengers were junked off and we set off exploring the back streets (no diversion signs) to find our way to the motorway.

It wasn't too difficult, and as we approached Málaga, one of the passengers asked the driver if he was going to stop at the port. The port bus stop is actually nearer to the town centre, whereas the bus station is further out, although next to the railway station.

No, we were off straight to the bus station. At this point, a strange woman - who looked remarkably like Linda Hunt in The Year of Living Dangerously - started asking what was going on.

The young lad in front of her explained patiently that the bus had been diverted because there was a procession and we were going straight to the bus station and not the port. For whatever reason she could not understand this, and kept repeating the same questions. Naturally the lad repeated the same answers.

After about the fifth repetition of this, the rest of the bus was in hysterics, while the young lad was patiently repeating the story yet again, although by this time with a smile on his face.

When we arrived at the bus station, the driver announced he would then go to the port for those passengers who wanted to get off there. Well this woman didn't understand that either, so she picked up her stuff to get off. "No, no," we all shouted at her. "He's going to the port next."

But she didn't understand any of us and continued walking towards the door. Then somebody repeated it again and the penny dropped, and she sat down, looking very bemused.

Part 2
I got off and made my way to the bar for the obligatory drink while I waited 40 minutes for the connection to La Linea. This turned out to be a pretty tranquil journey - well, for the first half - until we got to San Pedro (outside Marbella).

A woman got on (didn't look quite so much like Linda Hunt, although there was a vague similarity), and a couple of minutes later a ticket office clerk followed her on and started shouting at her. It seemed she'd asked for a ticket but then left it, leaving the clerk with a (computerised) ticket and no funds to match against it.

The driver nicely told his colleague that he really needed to be going which he obviously couldn't do while she was ranting at one of the passengers. So she stormed off the bus and back to the ticket office clutching the duplicate ticket and deciding how to explain it to boss.

At the next stop (there are only five), the driver obviously wasn't happy with the number of passengers on the bus. "Get your tickets out," he yelled as he stamped down the bus to start inspecting them.

I thought this was quite interesting as I've often thought it would be dead easy to get a ticket to the first stop and sit on to the end. I've never seen an inspector on the buses. I'm the sort of person who can never remember where I have put my ticket so I was busy emptying my pockets and trying to sort out old tickets from paper tissues. I hadn't even unfolded what might have been the right one when the driver snatched it out of my hand. Sigh of relief. It was the right one.

Then we arrived in La Linea. More police, some sort of road block. Two women behind groaned and said we would be there for ages - apparently they had loads of suitcases and if the police were going to go through all their clothes.....

The police waved us on. As we went past the cars they had stopped, I noticed two young men putting their socks and shoes back on. I thought no more about it, jumped off the bus, and started my dash for the frontier so that I could get the 8pm bus. If we arrived by 7.50pm, I know I can catch the bus if there are no border delays.

Part 3
One of the police motorbikes came up to where the road turns into the frontier and blocked it with his bike. Another one came up the pavement.

"Se puede pasar?" I asked. He waved me on. I headed for the frontier. First you go through a Guardia Civil post, then a Policia Nacional post, and then you get to the Gibraltar checkpoints.

There are three lots of police in Spain with varied responsibilities although the Guardia Civil seem to get involved in just about everything. If you want a police career in Spain it is the one to go for, especially as they have some great specialist units - mountain rescue, diving, environmental protection, coastal surveillance and security, and others. Next in the hierarchy are the Policia Nacional, and then you get Policia Local who are responsible to the local council. All three forces carry guns.

As I got about half way to the Guardia Civil post, I heard a ratatatatata noise like bangers or jumping crackers which the Spanish are always chucking around, even without a fiesta for an excuse. Then I remembered the road block and realised it was shooting. I walked even faster to the comparative safety of Gibraltar.

I passed an older couple and a woman. "Que pasa?" I said. (What's happening?). "Tiroteos," replied one of the women. (Shooting).

I love the Spanish and Gibraltarians. They have an amazing capacity for stating the more than blindingly obvious, and then normally repeating it a few times. Not for them idle speculation. So I replied the same way.

"Claro." (Of course).

Another few steps towards the Guardia Civil. The shooting was well behind me, I glanced back and couldn't see anything.

Suddenly the Guardia Civil joined in the shooting. In my direction. It was getting far too close now. There was a gap in the wall next to me. Admittedly it was one of those silly walls made out of bricks with holes in, but it was better than nothing. I hit the deck behind the wall.

Then I looked out. The three Spanish/Gibraltarians were still standing there watching the show. They obviously had more confidence than me in the shooting ability of the various police forces.

I got up. A Policia Local guy motorbike roared up on his motorbike to the Guardia Civil. "Hijos de puta! Cabrones! Que haceis?!" And loads more obscenities in Spanish.

A Policia Nacional car cruised out from their office, followed by countless officers on foot all interested in the spectacle. No, not the shoot-out. The Policia Local guy giving the Guardia Civil grief. Ouch. Police officer responsible to local council giving shit to Spain's elite police force. Not something to do lightly.

Meanwhile I sped through all the controls and jumped on the bus. Still shaking. And told the driver (in Spanish, twice naturally) about the events.

I arrived home and where was Partner? Out dog-walking, actually taking the dog to the pub. The dog likes the pub, people give him lots of strokes and talk nicely to him.

Fast forward. According to Gibfocus on the Internet, the police had stopped a (Gibraltar-registered) vehicle in which they allegedly found some hash. But during the search the driver revved the engine and escaped, crashing through the road blocks and then speeding through the frontier.

I never saw the car. Maybe it was when I was hiding on the ground.

Gibfocus also reports that two police officers were injured, one of them was transferred to hospital in Cadiz with serious injuries.

Whatever the rights or wrongs of the incident, I hope the two officers have a speedy recovery to good health.

Apparently the Royal Gibraltar Police have arrested two Gibraltar residents, a juvenile aged 16 and a 22-year-old, in connection with the incident.



Sources: Gibfocus, me.
The above photos were not taken at the time. They show the frontier/airfield area. I was too busy looking after my arse to take photos.

Bills and bras

I went to pay the (Spanish) bills yesterday. At the moment I pick up any bills when I go back to Spain at weekends and then pay them during the week across the border in La Linea.

Naturally I can't pay them when I arrive home as it is Saturday and the banks are closed.

So I decided to walk to La Linea yesterday - it's about 35/40 minutes down Main Street, across the airfield, through the border and into the town centre of La Linea.

I've found out the same bank as the one in my village has different hours for bill paying. In the village you can only pay bills on Tuesday and Thursday between 8.30 and 10.30am. But there in La Linea you can only pay them between the 10th and the 20th of the month. I have no idea what happens if the bill comes on the 21st. You go to another bank I suppose. Or the post office. I would have thought all branches of the same company would have the same hours but clearly not.

First I walked into the wrong bank, forgetting this silly difference in payment days. Then I made it to the other bank which lets you pay bills on Tuesday and Thursday - up to 10 o'clock. So of course we all stand there waiting for people who are not paying bills messing around and asking a million questions about their account. Once it gets to ten to ten everyone starts looking at their watch. And tutting, and fidgeting.

Anyway I made it by five to, and paid the 'phone bill. I asked the bank clerk if he knew whether there was a Unicaja bank in La Linea, as that is the only bank where you can pay the water bill.

"I don't know," he said unhelpfully but with a nice smile.

"No, I haven't seen one," I said equally mindlessly.

I decided to go on a Unicaja hunt. Fortunately things like banks are usually located in the same street, so I just kept walking down the street, and passed a load - but no Unicaja.

Then, nearly at the end of the street, there it was. Unicaja. And it wasn't ten o'clock yet either. Perhaps they operated the bills-only-payable-the day-following-a-full-moon system. There were no signs. This was promising. The queue was short.

I asked the friendly woman if I could pay.

"No," she smiled back, unhelpfully.

"Well, it says I can at the top of the bill. Look."

"Do you have an account with us?"

"No."

"Oh, dear. If you had you could have used the automatic machine. But you don't so you can't." Another smile. "You need to go to the post office."

I went to the post office. There was a queue of about 10 or 12 people. Then I realised they all had delivery slips in their hands and were waiting to collect something.

So I went to another counter, with only two people queuing. Things were looking up.

"Can I pay this bill?" I said with a nice smile to the grumpy man.

He took one look at it, and the stupid foreigner, and snarled "NO."

But helpfully added "Ki-ee-ki-on-air-a."

I repeated it. He looked at me as though I was stupid and waved me off imperiously with a vague gesture in the direction of Calle Calloneras.

I decided it was unlikely to be Calle Banco (don't know it's real name) so opted for the next one along. Spot on. It turned out to be Calle Carboneras.

First en route I found the town museum. It has a lot of exhibits by Spanish painter José Cruz Herrera who was born in La Linea. I thought I would have a look at that on the way back if I couldn't find whatever it was I was looking for. Presumably a water office. Perhaps they had inter-company arrangements for payments.

I got to a crossroads - literally. This was a particularly naff-looking street. I had visions of the grumpy man in post office rolling around laughing having sent the silly foreign woman off down a back street looking for a non-existent water office.

Sometimes the street names change at crossroads but I crossed over and gave it a go anyway. And there it was. A few yards further down. The water office - and it was exactly the same company as mine. My luck was in. Wow. It had been worth all the effort.

There were only two people in front of me.

"Hola," I said. "Can I pay this?"

"No." Nice smile.

"No?" repeated the parrot. I was getting good at repeating people yesterday morning. "Why not? It's the same company."

"Yes," another nice smile. "But we are not linked," gesturing at the computer. "This is just for La Linea."

"So, what do I do? I only go back there on weekends and the water office is closed then." In fact the water office - and the telephone hours for the public - are only open from 9am - 1pm.

"You have to go back there," she said. Nicely of course, and looked very apologetic.

I went to the museum. It was closed. "For ever?" I asked. The guy shrugged his shoulders.

I am by no means a shopaholic. I do not fill my abundant spare time with wandering aimlessly round boring shops looking at things I neither want nor need.

But I did need two bras. I tried BHS. They were very large (I am not). I didn't like them, even if they had been smaller.

I found one of those awful high street lingerie shops. I decided to go in. It wasn't quite as bad as I expected. I was mildly entertained listening to a woman talking to the shop assistant about buying a sexy basque. I bought two bras. Very nice. I recommend La Senza.

Buses in Spain

Apart from the sun, and the music, and the coffee, and the beer, and the cava, and the scenery, and the history, and..and..lots more.. one of the best things about Spain is the buses.

I guess the services are so good because so many people used not to have cars.

In fact lots still don't, and many women still don't drive. Not where I am anyway.

So I can walk down to the main road out of the village and get on a bus to Málaga, every 40 minutes, for 1.85€. And for 40 or 50 minutes depending on traffic, I can gaze out of the window at the Mediterranean as someone else drives me down the coast. This is A Good Thing.

Alsina Graells in Spanish, English, and French.

In bus stations you buy the tickets from a little ticket office. You need to go to the one for the company you are travelling with. (In Málaga this excludes the airport bus which is a Euro fixed fare paid to the driver when you get on the bus, have the exact money ready.)

On busy buses you may find your seat number is included on the ticket. Invariably the Spanish either ignore this or can't read anyway. This then leads to lots of Spanish hollering at each other and trying to sit on each other's laps as the whole bus has to start playing musical chairs.

I watched this performance last week on the bus back from Gibraltar. On the way down from Málaga it had been pretty quiet, but coming back, on the 2.15pm bus - the Spanish had obviously got out of bed - it was pretty busy.

Anyway, when in Spain do as the Spanish do, so I ignored my allocated seat and cleared off to the back of the bus. I would not normally recommend this practice - I add quickly - but I had all my bags with me and wanted the space. Plus I've got long legs, and back ache...well those are my excuses anyway.

This was a good move although by fluke and not as calculated as it appears. Unless there are 52 people or whatever on the bus you are not going to get kicked out of the very last seat on the bus for taking someone else's seat, but I only worked that out afterwards. I was feeling smug. Those of us at the back looked on patronisingly as 20 people in the middle of the bus suddenly all started mass musical chairs just as the bus was due to leave.

A British guy hastily moved back one seat to join me at the back in case he'd committed the unpardonable of sitting in someone's else place, and then it all settled down, and off we went.

So in the back few seats we were two British, one German, one Austrian, and one undefined with curly hair and a flower pot hat. In front were three Spaniards. We happily chatted away mixing the languages, although the British guy decided to go to sleep not long after the Austrian told us he was a beggar..... He loved the Germans and the English, apparently we are generous, but the Spanish are not too keen on funding his lifestyle. He got off en route - presumably to go and find a nice supermarket to sit outside.

Coming out of Torremolinos and into Málaga we hit a delay. At this point the gypsy family in the middle of the bus decided to entertain us. The kids were obviously bored so the (say) 12-year-old girl started beating her younger brother round the head with a water bottle, on the tenuous grounds that he was behaving badly.

"SON OF A WHORE!!" they screamed at each other, while the said mother sat there watching the performance like the rest of us. Then they got bored with the water bottles as weapons and started fighting a bit more seriously with fists. Mother must have said something at this point as younger brother promptly whacked her one round the head. Father sat peaceably next to mother cradling sleeping babe in arms. And then they must have got bored and it fizzled out. Bummer. Not seen such good spontaneous spectator sport since I went to Elland Road and there were more missiles (mostly beer cans) on the pitch than players. And that was some time ago as Kevin Keegan was the main target.

I love buses. Practical details - 10.04€ between Málaga and La Linea (one way). Four buses a day. Clicky linky thingy here, (well it will be when I can work out how to do it...) Autobuses Portillo - autocares buses transporte de pasajeros Costa del Sol Málaga y Algeciras in Spanish and English.

If you want to go to Gib for a day trip and stock up at Morrisons on whatever you like - in my case Ecover toilet cleaner, cornflower, organic tinned tomatoes, vegetarian Cheshire cheese, and Nando's hot peri peri sauces - there are plenty of organised day trips from the Costa.

I used the Lux Mundi trip in Torre del Mar. Incredibly well organised. Buy ticket in advance, get seat allocated, and turn up to find name on seat too. Most impressed. Bargain price too, 12€ return day trip. Leave Torre del Mar bus station at 7am (about the only down side to the trip - especially if you live out of Torre), get down to Gib about 9.30, and then the queue to get over the frontier is all in the lap of the gods. Set off back from Morrison's car park at 4pm as I remember, and get back to Torre around 6.45pm. Recommended. So is Nando's sauce. Lux Mundi tel: (00 34) 952 54 33 34. Trips usually once a month on a Thursday.

I've posted some info about buses between Madrid - Burgos - Santander.