I’m deliciously happy with Mike gone and next to nothing to do but to rest. It is not something I have had much chance to do this vacation and I really need it at this point. I sleep half the day.
When I get up my cough and pinched nerve are somewhat better. I saunter out to buy juice and decongestant and to visit the travel agent Mike has suggested, which of course means that office has the best prices. The news is not good: the flights on the days we want are already full. There is a chance that we can catch a flight later from Granada or Valencia. I won’t book any alternate dates without his approval. I expect him back in two days on Friday evening. I buy a chicken dinner for later, get my hair cut and sleep the rest of the afternoon in my room. 
I feel refreshed when I get up in the early evening. I walk to the border with Gibraltar, through Customs and across the airstrip to get to the town at the base of the Rock. I have an address in my pocket from the Spartacus Guide. From Casemates Square, I walk along Main St and turn up Bell Lane to Castle St. 
I meet a handsome, out-going man in his late 20s walking with three friends up Bell Lane. He asks where I am from and we start a lively chat. He has been living here for several months. He invites me to join his friends for a drink at a local pub but I tell him I am looking for Charles’ Hole-in-the-Wall. “Why would you want to go there?” he asks, his expression suddenly a mixture of alarm and repugnance, as if I was morphing into a warthog before his very eyes. “Someone told me to meet him there,” I lied. He looks me over, trying to decide if I am bull-shitting him. I give him my best look of innocence. “It’s over there,” he points to a purple door off the modest square we have just entered. “Are you sure?” he asks, like a warning. “Well, if it’s dead we can always move on to somewhere else. Where will you guys be?” I ask, pretending to be interested.Charles’ Hole-in-the-Wall, is a very modest pub. From its discreet entrance, a short hallway opens into a single room the size of a large living room. There is a bar at one end. The proprietor, Charles Trico, after whom the pub is named, is also the bartender. He’s a plumpish fellow, about 40, with a pleasant face. He and his two dogs are my only company, except for two solitary patrons seated in opposite corners on the far side of the room.
Charles greets me, asks what I would like and we start to chat. ‘Pretty quiet on Wednesday nights I suppose,” I comment. “No ships in,” he apologizes. He sees my puzzled look and explains that the pub is usually hopping whenever the British Navy is docked in port. Apparently, the pub has a notoriety amongst the Navy boys for its entertaining and outrageous host. They come to giggle and snicker at the many framed black and white photos of Charles done up in drag that are hung up around the room. He camps it up for them, since that is what they have come for, dishing compliments like, “My, wouldn’t you look good spread out naked on my sheets!” They scoff at his suggestions and tease others who receive his attentions, and then leave when they feel the performance is over. He chuckles as he adds, “You’d be surprised how many young beauties return on their own later, saying ‘I’d love to spread out naked on your sheets!”But tonight it is very quiet and devoid of sailors as the British Navy is still lingering near Kuwait, keeping watch after the war. The lonesome patrons in the far corner of the room definitely seem to be waiting for their ship to come in. Fortunately Charles is chatty.
He picks up on my cough and suggests he has a prescription for strep throat if I can stick around until he closes. Two friends of his arrive and they chat endlessly in Spanish. A young fellow named Chris also appears and engages me in conversation. He invites me back to his place for sex. Charles looks very disappointed when I leave with Chris without waiting for closing, but hey, it’s my vacation I tell myself.
Chris’s place is sparse and dirty. In spite of his handsome good looks, he proves to be a closeted bore, ill-skilled at sex and not much interested in others but for their bodies. He is also a compulsive liar, lying about things like his job, his roommate, having a lover, etc, that can’t possibly matter me to me as a drifter passing through. He was fool enough to admit to his lies when I caught him out, assuming it wouldn’t matter. I regretted having possibly hurt Charles’ feelings.
PHOTO 1: Gibraltar and La Linea
PHOTO 2: Casemates Square, Gibraltar
PHOTO 3: building downtown Gibraltar
PHOTO 4: entrance to Charles' Hole In The Wall
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