I’m on top of the rock, just beneath the crest. Here the steep slopes that face West and overlook the town below give way to the sheer cliffs that characterise the Eastern face. I am at altitude and it is dark – black dark. I am perched on one of the narrow laneways that have somehow been eked out up here and I am bent over, bracing myself against the torrential rain and high winds that feel strong enough to blow me off my feet and to my death below.
I am not of a nervous disposition but this feels dangerous – the sodden and lofty views of the lights of La Linea and Algeciras across the bay a constant reminder of dizzying altitude and my precipitous position in this maelstrom. More