When monkeys attack

Today I walked to England.  A bus trip through rolling fields, windmill farms, and along the coast of Spain lead me to la Linea: the boarder town between Spain and Gibraltar.  Kirsten and I walked passed "customs" and then into the British colony filled with fish and ship shops, convenient stores, and tons of electronic/alcohol/smoke shops. After exploring around a little, Kirsten and I walked around until we found the cable car going up the rock of Gibraltar.  Along the way we ran into Davide ironically.  He seems to be everywhere.

Seconds after getting out of the cable car, monkeys started springing out of nowhere: from under the deck, from the trees, from behind the trucks.  There were monkeys everywhere.  We continued along the monkey path until we got to the feeding area with an incredible view of the peak of the rock.  The monkeys started attacking each other and viciously howling and bearing their teeth.  The older ones made me very uncomfortable.  Escaping the ensuing terror, Kirsten got jumped by one of the monkeys who then tried to steal stuff from her bag, rip out her hair and steal her scarf.  Vicious little things.

We walked up a dilapidated path to the peak with some of the most magnificent views I have ever seen in my life.  From the top I saw Africa, Spain, and the little British colony.  It was absolutely beautiful.  After hiking around the tourist free trails, almost having the Rock of Gibraltar to ourselves, we started our long....LONG trek down.  We managed to end up in a residential area about as far away from the tourist areas as you could imagine.  We started talking to a local at the bus stop, a kid about 16 years old, who helped us navigate around the city on the bus line.  And after seeing the real Gibraltar I must admit that I felt confused the whole time I was there.

Do I speak English?  Do I speak Spanish?  The people there are Andaluz-Spaniards who consider themselves British...Spanglish is king.  Ketchup packets are in English while Mayonnaise is in Spanish.  Menus are in English while advertisements and place mats are in Spanish.  The locals seems to speak English with a British accent but at the same time speak Spanish almost perfectly.... or they speak Spanish with an andaluz accent and English almost perfectly.  Families walk down streets and when the father speaks in Spanish, the daughter responds in English or vice-versa...¿could this be the future of America?  Is this bad? Is this good?  ....Idenity crisis!