Departing Seville and enroute to Malaga, the terrain became much more mountainous and, hence, much more interesting. With waterfalls, precipices, and adrenaline pumping roadways, the group on board were unusually quiet. Cathey was reading a book to distract her from her acrophobia. The Mexicans were reminded of their mountains back home, the Brazilians were analyzing a court case, the Argentines were yakking their jaws apart, and the Colombian couple was interrogating Joe as to why he would visit a country where he did not know the language. His response was simply, “wait.” With a few scenic turnoffs, lunch at a small Café, and some group pictures, they pulled into Malaga. Here was a picturesque Mediterranean coastal town with a vast array of European citizens hiding out from their winters. Joe likened it to the west coast of Florida, where those zany Canadians retreated from their polar vortex relationships. Shops and restaurants were everywhere, and various cultural music venues attracted the transplants. With everyone on their own, the pace was set by the individuals who made their way back to their hotel rooms a bit earlier than yesterday’s wild flamenco night. Tomorrow was going to be a little different. Heading over to Algeciras and departing the short bus, the group was going to board a ferry and depart Europe proper. On the way over, Joe saw the English-owned Rock of Gibraltar from all 4 sides and was impressed with its landmark status. Many foreign conquerors had passed by this point over thousands of years giving Spain and the Spaniards spiced blood. By midday, the gang had boarded the ferry and were enroute to Morocco, an Arab nation on the African Continent. As the boat traversed the 10-mile gap, Joe reflected on his last 12 years of travel as his 7th continent lay dead ahead. Looking backwards at the shrinking Rock of Gibraltar, a tear had formed in his eye as his goal of being on all 7 continents was coming to a conclusion. He celebrated silently. 


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