How narrow the narrow straits. That divide us. The width of a new moon. The crescent of a fingernail clipping. The narrows of sea washing between land fringed and scalloped – one side Africa, one side Europe. A shudder of civilizations in that two-lidded eye that opens, washes, blinks at our folly. The crossing of Gibraltar is shorter than crossing mainland Rhode Island to Block Island in the smallest state of America.
To think that orange trees grace the patios on both sides, the same palette of gold and blue asterisk tiles remains from the Almohads – to think that Islamic kingdoms lit up al-Andalus Spain for eight centuries & make Seville’s Alcázar the glittering sister of Morocco’s imperial palaces. Now pulling away from Tangier, the minaret recedes, phones leap forward, midway in the strait, by several European hours. To think that time, that thick-headed concept, could move so radically in a ferry ride that takes an hour!
To think, to think, to think how much rides on such a minor waterway.