Sun Wukong’s Point of view

Thinking about how Sun Wukong declared himself “Great Sage Equal To Heaven”. Not above heaven, equal. He wasn’t claiming to be better than the gods, just equal. He was asking to be seen as a peer and from his point of view he probably couldn’t see why that was so offensive. He was certainly as strong as the gods, (he proved that later on when he beat Li Jing, and Li Nezha) he was well versed in Taoist philosophy, and he was made from the heavens so why was he seen as less than!

In his eyes all he had done was know his worth and not know the proper etiquette due to his upbringing (He was literally raised by animals).

Imagine his hope when he was excepted as an equal. He thought he had finally proved himself, that now he would be taken seriously.

But it was all a lie. A ruse made to truck him into complacency. They didn’t see him as an equal, and they never would! he could win a fistfight with the emperor and still be seen as of lower status. So he decided to make them regret thinking Sun Wukong could be pushed aside and forgotten. he caused as much mischief as he could while also racking up immortality. That way even if they tried to get rid of him they couldn’t. This later worked against him as Bhuddha himself found a way to get rid of him without death.

I imagine him thinking over his life in his head wondering where he went wrong and sure, he would redo a few things if he could but he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t worthy of being an equal before he went of his rampage. and it would take 500 years for someone to show him why and tell him how to be better.

Congrats on 500 followers! Could I perhaps request 8 from the fluff prompts with Present Mic, but platonic? Like he's the reader's unofficial metaphorical dad and something bad happens to the reader and the prompt line is what he says at the end? Sorry if that's confusing.

Thank you so much!  Ngl, I struggled with this one a bit. I’ve never written for Present Mic before, so this was new territory for me.  Also never written platonic before, which was also a good exercise. Really though, it’s because this was INSTANTLY the idea that had popped into my head with your request, and it WOULD NOT BUDGE.  Normally not a problem, but for some reason, I had the hardest time figuring out how to fit the dialogue prompt into it.  BUT I DID IT!  It only took me.... *checks* 1732 words to get there. 🤣🤣🤣

This makes it my biggest one yet for the 500 Followers Event.  I hope you enjoy it!  It’s a bit angst heavy in the beginning because of the nature of your request, but it does end on a happy note!

8. “You are my family.”

It happened. It actually happened.  You had hoped it wouldn’t, but here you were, sitting on a park bench with nothing but a backpack and a duffle bag.  Your mind replayed the sound of your family’s words in your head.  Harsh, cruel, heartless words.

‘Get out.’

Sure, there was more to it than that, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, to let it fester within you and take root.  There was already more than enough damage tied to their memory, and the last thing you wanted to do was carry it with you. After all, you had enough baggage as it was.

Of course, this was easier said than done. The ache sat heavy in your gut, your heart a black void. Questions flew circles in your mind like crows, questions you’d likely never know the answer to.  They mocked you, pecking at your resolution, tearing at your self-esteem. Tears soaked down your cheeks and you let them fall freely as you wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to find a strength you weren’t sure you had.

You began to shiver as the cold night air made its way into your jacket.  You couldn’t stay here.  You knew you couldn’t; it wasn’t safe.  You looked at your phone for the tenth time.  A single contact stared back at you.

Hizashi Yamada.

Hizashi was your mentor, your guide… and quite frankly, the closest thing you had to a good father figure.  He’d helped you through your years at UA, both academically and emotionally, giving you the support you’d desperately needed, the support that was painfully absent with your own family.  He treated you kindly and respectfully, taking you under his wing so that you could flourish. He praised you in your successes and guided you through your failures, all while keeping a light heart that constantly reminded you not to take life too seriously.  It set up the foundation for a strong bond between the two of you that continued after graduation.  It was a bond that you still had, ever evolving with occasional check-ins and coffee shop meet-ups, where he often gave you professional and even sometimes fatherly advice.

Fatherly was what you needed right now, more than anything.  He was the only person you really trusted, the only one who knew about your situation. He’d even said for you to call him if you were ever in trouble.

This counted, right?

Still, you hesitated.  You didn’t want to inconvenience him.  And you’d never ever reached out to him in this capacity before.

But you didn’t really have any other choice.

You pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Y/N?” His voice answered.  No doubt, your name came up on his phone.

You swallowed.

“Um… Hi, Mr. Hizashi…” you mumbled.

“Hey, kid! You okay?  What’s got you callin’ so late?” he replied.  You could hear the concern underlying his jovial tone, and you clutched your phone tighter to your ear, grateful to know that at least someone out there cared about you.

“I… I need some help.” You said.  “They… they kicked me out.”

There was a silent pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber.  “I’ll come get you.  Tell me where you are.”

You thanked him and gave him your location.  He kept you on the phone with him the entire time as he drove over, making you speak to him and describe your surroundings.  Any people who walked by you, specific landmarks, anything he might need to know if trouble arrived before he did.  When you finally saw his headlights pull up into the parking lot of the park, relief flooded you and you nearly ran to his car. He was a sight for sore eyes, his blonde hair pulled back into a casual man bun, his clothing simple.  He stepped out of the driver’s side door to put your things in his trunk before opening his passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” You said as he settled back into the driver’s seat next to you.

“I’m glad you called me.” He replied.

As he drove, he spoke to you.  “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and you shook your head.

“Listen.  I’m going to give you a couple of options for tonight.  I can take you back to my place and you can crash on my couch.  Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can reach out Nemuri.  I’m sure she’d understand.”

You were grateful he didn’t offer to put you up in a motel by yourself or take you to a homeless shelter.  The tension in your spine eased slightly.

“Um.. your place, please, if that’s okay…” you mumbled.

You could see relief smooth the creases on his brow and he smiled at you.  “Of course it is.”

You arrived at Hizashi’s home and he helped you carry your things in.  He retreated to his hallway to grab a spare blanket and a pillow and set it up for you on the couch.  You looked at the space curiously, intrigued at his level of preparedness.

Hizashi noticed the questioning look on your face, and chuckled.  “Shouta crashes here sometimes.  Gotta be prepared.”

You gave a small chuckle at the mental picture.

“How about some tea?” Hizashi asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear the clinking of ceramics and the running of water. “Have ya had anything to eat?” He called out. “Are ya hungry?”

You shook your head, your stomach still twisted in knots. “No, I’m okay…”

“Well, if that changes, feel free to help yourself whenever you want.” He replied.

By this point, the dam of your emotions was beginning to crack, and you sat on the couch with your head in your hands.  You could feel fresh tears filling your eyes, sticking to your lashes.  You blinked at them, letting them fall into your palms.

A few minutes later, Hizashi returned with a cup of hot tea that he handed to you. You took it gratefully and sipped at its contents, letting the warmth coat your throat and fill your stomach.  It helped to slightly ease the knot of anxiety that you felt twisted up inside you.

“I’m so sorry to ask for your help like this.” You muttered. “I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you gave me your number.  I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“It’s okay.” He replied.  “Like I said, I’m glad you called me.”

“I promise I won’t stay long…” you said.  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need to.  I’m not going to let you out back on the street by yourself.” He said sternly.  “I’ll start reaching out to people tomorrow.  I’m sure there are some UA graduates that might be cool with getting a new roommate.”

“Thank you.” You said again.  

Another long silence filled the space as you sipped at your drink.  He quietly sat near you, letting you acclimate to his space and this strange, new situation.  Once the mug was empty, you set it down.

“So… do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

You began to recount all that had transpired hours before.  The things your family did, the things they said… You tried to keep the emotions separate from your words, but it was impossible.  Within a matter of minutes, the dam finally burst, and you were openly sobbing.  As you cried, Hizashi offered you a box of tissues and put a comforting hand over yours. You clutched at it in return like a lifeline, his silent consolation tethering the broken pieces of your heart.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You whispered.  “Hizashi… what’s going to happen to me…?”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.  Together.” He replied.

You stared at him and he stared back, a small reassuring smile on his lips.  He was such a good person.  Already, he’d managed to give you more support in the past twenty minutes than you’d received from your family in months.

You gave a sad, ironic laugh.  

“You’re like the dad I wish I had…” you muttered.

Hizashi’s eyes widened for a moment, and panic filled you.  You hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out, a small confession of tired heart. But then he laughed and scratched the back of his head.

“Haha, really?  Thanks! I guess we have gotten pretty close over the years…”

The tension in the room immediately evaporated.  You gave a small smile, glad that your comment didn’t have the dramatic impact you feared it would.  The man’s positivity seemed as immovable as the mountains.

Hizashi’s chuckles eased, and his expression softened.  “To be honest, I always knew you had family troubles.  When you teach long enough, you start to notice those kinds of things.  And back then, there really wasn’t much I could do about it.  But that’s part of why I wanted to help you, I think.  To give you a chance to grow past that, so it wouldn’t define you.”  

He stared at his hands as he continued.  “I guess, maybe in some way, I did sort of adopt you, in my heart.”  His eyes looked up at you again, holding your attention.  “So, don’t feel bad about saying that, okay?  If anything, it makes this old man’s heart happy.”

Your stared at him, your eyes freshly stinging as new emotions – happy emotions – bubbled forth.

“Hizashi….”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He gave a chuckle and sat next to you before putting his arm around you. You leaned against him, soaking up the physical contact. It drove away the loneliness and replaced it with something you’d only ever really felt in his presence.

Love, strong and familial.

You had thought that you were all cried out, but you were wrong. Fresh sobs shook from your body like the boughs of a snowy tree, knocking loose all that you’d been carrying within yourself.  The anger, the fear, the self-loathing…

Hizashi rested his chin on your head as you cried. “You are my family.” He said softly.  “Only if you want to be, of course.”

You nodded fervently as a laugh bubbled from your throat, pure joy filling you.  You were safe.  You were loved.  And maybe… just maybe… you were home.

The Food Chain Diary

3 December – Location unknown, I’ll be honest But my guides know, and that’s how I’m getting home at the end of this, one way or another. They don’t want to stay here longer than they have to, and I agree. Despite how grand civilization can make a fella feel it only takes one short trip to the Arctic, to real tundra to understand why civilization was built in the first place. Out there on the ice and snow the homo sapiens is, in essence, a slow moving free meal. With the exception of larger hunting parties (who still operate with an unhealthy degree of risk as it is) if you go out there unarmed or even remotely underprepared then there is little chance of anyone ever seeing you again. That is, till you get dug up in the Spring after most of the snow has melted. Say what you will about the grimness of the bodies on Everest, but at least they’ve got company. We’re not on Everest though, this is Northern Canada, beginning in what was once British Columbia, but now is something far, far more savage to the eye. If you’ve never been there before then the culture shock might kill you; best to ease your way into Mooseland slowly. They say there are moose in the Rockies but I don’t know if I really believe that one. I’ve never seen them, but here I saw one on our first day. Caribou too. Pity this wasn’t a hunting party, like I said. A good haul could feed a family for a year, maybe more if it were rationed. But no one wants to live like that, not when there are microwaves in the kitchen. It’s so cold out here. I can hardly think. It only makes sense to start at the beginning, since now, in my current state, hunched over like a bloody gargoyle writing this, it’s difficult to think of the next word, much less the next point. I’m in a tent, shrouded in many layers of warm clothing and blankets, but it’s never enough. Until you’re in the sleeping bag, preferably one that can accommodate two bodies, then the cold you will feel. Bites through anything you might have to protect you from it. Anything. Makes me reevaluate Huskies and other snow-dogs, how they not only survive but relish in the climate. Makes me wonder if Jack London only wrote fiction back then, as well. This hurts. To put it bluntly I needed a break. It had been a good few years on the beat of “nature-reporting” without much past the working class paycheck to paycheck lifestyle. It builds character, and indeed if you want to teach someone the ways of the world then a minimum wage job in some shithole will do it as well as anything, but… I’m not interested in developing something I can’t sell, at least then I wasn’t. Rent had to come first, so it did. The trick, I decided one night at an airport bar (it was dark out so we’ll say night. Truth be told it was closer to four or five AM when I had my last), was to find a lead that not everyone would be able to get. Something so good, so exclusive, that whatever nature-thing it got pitched to would have to take it on the spot. More than that, if I went out and got the article first I could practically name my price, within reason of course. If I got a juicer on my first time ‘round then they might throw me a bone and send me to Brazil to look at some toucans. But I didn’t pick Brazil, because everyone went there, and there was no way to make it in that market. In my infinite wisdom, on that greasy plastic/wooden stool, rewarding myself indiscriminately, I chose to find my way up North, to the real Arctic. People went out there, sure, but past the locals it wasn’t because anyone wanted to. Everyone wanted to be in Brazil, remember? So did I, so once I was clear of any obligations I made plans to fly my butt out there to earn my place. Don’t get me wrong now, I did my research and made sure to pack the required gear, Jack London hadn’t been for nothing after all, but even still as I waited for the taxi to bring me to the airport I wasn’t exactly brimming with hubris. In the same way that resolutions made after midnight never stick, travel plans made under the influence are consistently regrettable. Jesus, what had I been thinking? Maybe if I drank some more I could reconnect with my inner-idiot and find out what exactly, but after half a bottle of wine and God knows how many beers the flight attendant cut me off. She had seen it too many times before to feel sorry for me, tourists who were going somewhere they just remembered they didn’t want to be. Oh well, shouldn’t have bought the ticket then, but I digress. The company chosen to take me on my little trip through the Arctic was handled by two brothers, both fanatic outdoorsmen who were happy to bring a novice like me out and about. Lovely, I thought. A real homegrown thing they had going on there, very nice. They’d even offered to pick me up from the airport, which was very kind, and since I was paying my own bills on this one I took them up on it. Their names were Tom and Pete, which I took to mean they would look like the Canadian stereotype I had in my head: extremely friendly, beer-loving, hockey-worshipping, beaver-hugging folk of the North who walked around in jerseys drinking coffee all day long. However this theory was pretty spectacularly blown out of the water when Pete came to pick me up. He had a little sign with my name on it, and he was dressed in casual-outdoors gear, not ready to head out quite yet but give him 20 and he’d meet you there. What disturbed me greatly wasn’t his garb, or even his frankly rippling physique, but the series of scars that ran from the top of his scalp – where hair used to be – down to below his chin. His toasty smile made me feel welcome, but his weeping eye tore the knots in my stomach apart into open despair. They could take me wherever they liked, obviously, this was their domain, but now I knew that there was only so much they could do to protect me. When something wants you dead out there in the flat, then you’re dead. Bear don’t care, or so Pete told me himself. On the two hour car ride out to where the three of us would spend the night he regaled me with stories of adventures past, far too many to ever hope to write down here, but here’s the gist: “Yeah, see, my brother Tom, he’s the one up at the cabin right now getting everything ready, yeah see we’ve been out doing this thing now for the better part of 15 years, and I tell you ain’t nothing scarier I seen in that time than a 500 pound grizzly hauling ass straight at me. Had my rifle but it was broke from a wolf the night before, which is another story, so it was me with basically a club against this killing machine!” “Is that how…?” I gestured towards his scars, seeing an opportunity to get the scoop. Pete just chuckled. “No no no, that was from the time I almost got gored by a deer,” he said, touching the marks on his head tenderly, like a thing to be preserved. “If a bear gets you you’re dead. That’s kind of the end of it. But back to what I was saying about that last one, it charged me, full on, bat out of hell, and then about three quarters way through it just stops, turns around, and strolls off chilled as you like,” “So…?” I struggled to get the words out, searching for some kind of moral in his God-fueled nightmare. “So, it was a fake-out. Elephants do the same thing I hear, they might charge you but they don’t always go for the kill,” “Like a rattle snake has its rattle?” “Exactly,” Pete said, slapping the steering wheel happily. “Now you’re gettin’ it,” Jesus. Even now as I write this, out in the actual place we were talking about, I’m sure I still don’t “get it” 100%, but I’m also not sure if I ever want to. Not for someone as pasty as I. That was the scene as we pulled into the cabin and met up with Tom, who, barring the lack of scarring, was a virtual clone of his brother. At least it wouldn’t be hard to tell the twins apart, I joked sourly to myself. That first night it was pitch dark by the time we arrived, and the brothers informed me that it’s better to start in the morning, which I wasn’t complaining about. I didn’t want to start at all. We played cards and, yes, indulged in one or two bottles of the frothy good stuff but nothing preventative. If I was going to suffer it would be sober, I resolved. For the good of the article. For the paycheck. Only in hindsight is it obvious that I should have either brought a camera or coughed up the dough to bring a photographer along with me, for no words will ever do the robust architectures of the Cold World justice. The sky, the mountains, the crest, slopes, hills, and all the endless flora and fauna are simply impossible to put into words, not accurately anyway. So I won’t bother here, because it won’t work. Believe me or don’t, but the following is my take on the landscape of the barren North: there is little doubt that the reason for its deadliness is its beauty, for the Gods knew no man alone should possess such a thing. Leave it to the beasts and the wildmen, the things that have nowhere else to go. I mentioned this idea to Pete and Tom, but they didn’t respond, merely smiling at the thought. “Maybe that’s just the world, brother,” Tom finally said. Maybe. Or maybe it’s some mushy-gushy greeting card BS. Not my department either way, thankfully. All told it was only a total of two days (or three, if you count the first night at the cabin) that was spent traversing the landscape, keeping a steely eye out for predators and such. Tom was pointing out different tracks and kinds of scat to follow while Pete could look at a scene and tell you probably what happened: the weather pushed the snow up like this, critters burrowed down here, a predator sniffed them out and got one or two but the rest got away. All from shapes in the snow and the aforementioned scat. Where was I anymore? I couldn’t fathom it, still can’t. There is this world that we choose to ignore, that I do, and the irony is that the knowledge of its existence only drives you further away, unless you were an animal or a wildman, again. For as intense as it all got, what with the awful nights and exhausting days, the beauty and serenity and wonder always remained, even for a layman like me. At one point Pete spotted some tracks and called Tom over to see what he thought. Not more than a few seconds of thought went into it before they both turned around to me and announced that we were going back the way we came, we’re not in any danger but we were going back. I nodded and turned around to trudge back along the same path I’d followed those two on, marked by footprints in the snow. This isn’t really going anywhere, and the wind is picking up outside, again. The brothers discussed it and one of them is going to keep watch overnight, making a little igloo-type configuration in front of the tent. “But we’re not in any danger, not in the middle of camp like this,” Pete reassured me. I nodded and went back to whatever it was I was doing, probably nothing. Clearly since you’re reading this we all made it home okay, but it’s worth mentioning that that was what my last night in the Arctic was like, cold, stunned, often afraid, but never alone, even by myself.

Monkeying around on Gibraltar

The Rock of Gibraltar was referred to by the ancient Romans as the Pillars of Hercules. Legend has it that Hercules pushed up this massive rock out of the water, along with another pillar known as Jebel Musa , and narrowed the strait. This musclebound deity was said to have constructed these promontories to prevent any nefarious sea-monsters from entering the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic.  While Rebecca and I didn’t run into any sea serpents on our voyage to the rock, we soon discovered that the entire place was inhabited by creatures of an entirely different kind.

  Following the collapse of the Roman Empire, the rock fell to Muslim Moorish rule in 711 A.D. After exchanging ownership numerous times throughout history, Gibraltar was eventually ceded to Britain from Spain in 1713. By the end of the 18th century, the Rock of Gibraltar had endured fourteen bloody sieges in a period of 500 years. Although Gibraltar borders the Southern coast of Spain, the British were quick to realize that the rock offered a strategic naval advantage that they were willing to pay any price to keep. By the onset of the 20th century, the Rock of Gibraltar had become England’s most important possession in all of the Mediterranean.

  Big John poses under the Welcome to Gibraltar sign

Rebecca and I didn’t have any concrete plans as we set foot upon shore in this quaint British territory. We just knew we wanted to hike our way to the top and then get a good look around from the higher vantage point. Thankfully we were both wearing good walking shoes for this little trek. That rock was a lot taller than it looked from the onset!

  We don’t really need a map for this one. We’re just hiking straight up until we reach the top!

  Sometimes I just snap the picture when she’s not even looking.

  Rebecca poses alongside the statue of Admiral Sir George Rooke

Admiral Sir George Rooke commanded the Grand Alliance in August 1704, when his victorious Anglo-Dutch forces captured Gibraltar from Spain during the War of the Spanish Succession.

  The rock actually stands 1,398 feet at its highest point. We are in for one heck of a climb!

  Monument of the Evacuation of the Gibraltarians

During WWII, the British government ordered a mass evacuation of all non-essential citizens from the territory due to ongoing war operations and safety concerns. Because of this order, some Gibraltarians found themselves homeless for a period up to ten years.

  Gibraltar Defense Force Memorial

The rock honors those that served to protect her during the second world war.

  She said she had to make a call but I don’t see her talking to anybody.

  “Yes operator, are you aware that all the people not living on this rock are now using mobile phones?”

  Grand Casemates Square

Later in the day we found this courtyard  teeming with people. The Grand Casemates Square features daily shopping opportunities in outdoor public markets.

  What’s with all these stuffed monkeys hanging in all of the shops? Maybe the locals know something I don’t.

  These stairs were pretty intense… especially after learning I walked all the way up them for nothing. Maybe I should’ve listened to Rebecca and purchased that map.

  Oh my God! There’s an escaped monkey sitting right on the ledge in front of us! Somebody needs to run back to one of those red payphones and inform the zoo!

  What the freak! Two more monkeys! What’s going on here? I’ve seen something like this is a movie before. ” Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty apes!”

  This guy appears friendly but it’s probably all a ruse. That whole “I’m just a cute little monkey” bit is real fun until you find yourself locked in a cage at the top of the rock.

The Rock of Gibraltar is actually home to roughly 300 of these monkeys. Officially, they are known as the Barbary macaques. Legend has it that the territory will only remain under British control as long as these rock apes remain a part of the local population. So although these tailless creatures can prove to be a mischievous lot, the citizens living here do their best to simply coexist.

  The Moorish Castle flying the Union flag

The Moorish occupation of Gibraltar lasted the longest in all of the territory’s recorded history. The Moors reigned for a total of 710 years before finally falling to the Spanish in 1462.

  Rebecca poses on the stone bridge leading to the Moorish castle.

  Big John mans one of the two long-standing guns on Queen Charlotte’s Battery

  She likes the big guns!

  A magnificent view of the city halfway from the top.

    Long before the invention of spray paint and aerosol cans, British troops used other methods to tag their graffiti on the walls.

  “Umh, I can see you flirting with him! I’m standing right here!”

  During WWII, Winston Churchill believed that an attack on Gibraltar by German or Italian forces was imminent. A massive network of tunnels were constructed to serve as a fortress within a fortress.

    A communications officer deciphers code deep within the rock.

  British troops bunker up high, monitoring the coastline for any signs of enemy activity.

  A birds eye view from the top.

    How was I to know the cannon was actually loaded? Luckily the ball fell short of striking Spanish soil; although I’ll probably still end up having to pay for that fisherman’s boat.

    A view of one of Gibraltar’s beautiful beaches.

  These Barbary macaques seem to lack any fear of heights.

    It wasn’t nearly as good as it looks. They had already eaten most of the apples and the remainder of the fruit salad was sort of sticky and hairy.

    That little guy was feeling all tuckered out. He had no intentions on walking all the way back down the mountain.

    I found it best to wear sunglasses around the monkeys. That way it’s harder for them to see fear in my eyes.

  A cable car delivers a sweeping view to its passengers as it carries them to the peak.

��   The only road going into and out of Gibraltar crosses right over the runway. Traffic is halted anytime a plane lands or takes off.

  Barbary macaques nursing their young.

    I really don’t appreciate the way that one on the left is looking at me. I clearly already picked up that apple before their kleptomaniac baby tried to steal it from me!

    It looks dangerous, baby!

    The Devil’s Gap Battery was the only gun in Gibraltar to see action during World War 1. In August 1917, she fired upon and sunk a German submarine caught surfacing off the Algeciras coast.

    It’s getting hot up on this mountain and the monkeys seem a bit too riled up for my liking. I think it’s time we should seek out a little R&R back down in town. 

  Look at that! Rebecca has stumbled upon the oldest bar in Gibraltar. How’s about me and the Mrs. step inside for a pint.

  We better not drink too much though, the “bobbies are on the beat!”

  “…and a top of the morning to you, officers!”

  “So many drinks to choose from! I’m so thirsty from our climb I’m tempted to try one of each!”

  The Horseshoe Pub or “Donkey’s Flipflop” is one of the local hangouts and offered a friendly, cool environment to escape the heat.

  Cheers to my wife! She will always be my best mate!

    It may appear to you that beer-drinking was my primary activity whilst on the Rock of Gibraltar. Well actually, aside from that laborious hike up a mountain to dine with some greedy monkeys, I think that is about all I did.

  …but I did bring along this pretty little girl to wash down a few pints with me!

  Must’ve been all of  the beer combined with this ferocious heat, ’cause I swear that motorcycle-man statue just shot a wink at me!

    I hope you enjoyed sharing along in our little trip to Gibraltar. If you ever find yourself on this side of the Mediterranean Sea, allow me to offer you a bit of advice. Visit the markets, see the rock, and take a little stroll to the top. Be sure to take in a few British pubs and certainly enjoy a nice cold pint or two. As far as the monkeys go, I think they’re better enjoyed from afar. Never get into a scuffle with one of the babies over an apple core, it can’t really ever end well. Also, there’s really no need to try to teach them any coin tricks or anything involving a sleight of hand. Apparently they’re already schooled on magic. I started to demonstrate the “disappearing quarter behind the ear trick” with one of the younger ones. Before I could finish my trick, he did a better trick and made my wallet and camera disappear. Unfortunately it ran down the cliff and escaped in a cave with all of my stuff.  I never did learn how he performed that trick.

Thank you for reading my article and I hope you will visit again real soon. Feel free to explore other areas of my blog, leave a comment, and show some love on social media.

Happy travels,

Big John