A (mini) Lady Gaga with a silver wig and dressed in a blue bodysuit and high silver boots belts out on stage in front of the balconies of the hotel rooms/cabins on the Sunborn hotel/yacht. In front of her, about a hundred middle-aged English people (with a few exceptions) move their shoulders and feet. Left, right, left, right...
Only one group, much younger, probably between twenty and thirty, dares to dance and sing along to the diva's lyrics.
The pints and cocktails are flowing, always in the same direction, from the outdoor bar of the O'Reilly's pub to the tables, a constant flow of alcohol contrasting with the calmness of the crowd. With exceptions, like that fifty-year-old blonde with a too-short pink blouse and sheer fabric who single-handedly tries (with little success, it must be said) to liven up two tables, hers, where she sits with her husband (or whatever he is), and the one next to hers, which occasionally shakes off the drowsiness and joins in.
The O'Reilly's is an Irish-style tavern, very popular with the English, located in the heart of Ocean Village, a kind of luxurious marina where, as guides and some probably sponsored websites say, the nightlife in Gibraltar is concentrated. And within Ocean Village, Lady Gaga giving it her all in front of the sixty-something tourists who were sunbathing just moments ago is the highlight of the party.
Because in Gibraltar, as the natives of the colony, the Gibraltarians, would say in their Spanglish, that mix of English with a southern Spanish accent, there is no nightlife. If someone wants a party, it's better to cross the border, pass through the lax controls on both sides, and disembark in La Línea de la Concepción.
Gibraltar, with a per capita income exceeding 80,000 pounds and a stable population of 34,000 Gibraltarians, is an island of wealth in an environment, the Campo de Gibraltar, whose GDP depends 25% on the colony where the Union Jack flies. Financial services, online gambling, and digital assets drive the local economy light-years ahead of neighboring La Línea de la Concepción, Los Barrios, or Barbate.
Tourism and shopping on Main Street are also assets. Tourists from the metropolis arrive on direct flights to the Gibraltar airport, and Spanish shoppers look for deals in technology or spirits in its stores.
Two residents in the smallest town in Spain: "In summer, maybe 15 of us get together and there's a bit of a commotion"
The DJ of the empty Spain: "The older folks ask for pasodobles, and the young ones, reggaeton"
Not to mention the appeal that, especially for the average Spaniards, taking a photo in one of the strategically placed typical British red phone booths from Casemates Square, the main square of the British-themed park accessed through the tunnel from Castle Road and leading to the Cable Car, the cable car that elevates hordes of tourists to the heights of the Rock, where the Barbary macaques (Gibraltar's monkeys) remain the main attraction.
Gibraltar has pounds to spare, monkeys, souvenir shops, and Fish and Chips substitutes. It also has luxury and a casino. A hotel that is a yacht and a downsized Lady Gaga at the O'Reilly's. Even Elvis Presley and Ed Sheeran make appearances on stage, and "You're always in my mind" plays, the sixty-somethings get romantic, and a couple of couples start dancing, holding each other close. With flushed cheeks as the sun sets behind the Sunborn.
But no, there is no party, atmosphere, or wildness... Nothing that could deserve those names.
This chronicle of the non-existent Gibraltar party ends, in fact, a few meters from the O'Reilly's, which has already closed its shutters before eleven-thirty at night. The Bruno's is the closest thing to a nightclub in all of Gibraltar, but someone must have informed the owner that a reporter and a photographer from EL MUNDO were looking for action this Saturday night because it is completely closed, its lights off, and, just in case there are doubts, a red rope in front of its door.
Next to the unfulfilled promise of Bruno's, there is only a place where music can be heard and through its windows, some atmosphere can be glimpsed. It's called Hendrix, presumably in honor of the great Jimmy, and is actually a karaoke with modest aspirations. But it's the last refuge for partygoers who haven't fled to La Línea...
So far, starting from the end, the Gibraltar night. Or, rather, the pursuit of a myth. It's not always been like this, explains Guy Olivero, a 32-year-old Gibraltarian waiter who knew of times when you could party in Gibraltar. He recounts (why not believe him) that there used to be up to three nightclubs in Gibraltar and you could pub crawl enough to satisfy even the thirstiest.
Next to the O'Reilly's, there are actually remnants of Gibraltar's partying prehistory. There, closed and hidden next to the yacht/hotel, is the last nightclub the Rock saw, opened just over a year ago and didn't survive even six months, explains a waiter - of course, Spanish, from Bilbao but living in La Línea - at the Irish tavern while closing up. "We're already late, they only let us have music until eleven."
If this is the Gibraltar night, what can be said about the daytime party...
Just 80 kilometers away, a little over an hour's drive, is the Costa del Sol and its beach clubs with Balinese beds, daytime boat parties, and beaches, kilometers and kilometers of beach where the music never stops.
Gibraltar also has a beach. In fact, it has three beaches (plus a group of saltwater pools). There's Sandy Bay, undoubtedly the most appealing with its fine sand and transparent water. A 10-minute walk away is Catalan Bay, picturesque with its brightly colored buildings, and Eastern Beach, the longest, next to the huge apartment towers built on the land that Gibraltar insists on reclaiming from the sea, the colony always suffocated by the lack of space, its finitude, and the giant rock that conditions everything but is also its main hallmark, its national pride.
On the way to Sandy Bay, the taxi driver warns: only on this beach can something worthy of being called a beach bar be found. But beware, there's a chance of not finding "a single spot."
Finally! Could it be that the party that is absent at night exists in Gibraltar during the day?
Ten minutes and 10 pounds later, Sandy Bay turns out to be a crystal-clear and refreshing dip into harsh reality. There's a beach bar, but there are barely three occupied tables and as for the atmosphere, it's nowhere to be found.
It's even worse in Catalan Bay, with two bars with views, one closed and the other practically deserted. The shore is crowded, but with Gibraltarian families loaded with young children, camped under overlapping umbrellas protecting food and drinks from the heat. Catalan Bay could easily be mistaken for Chipiona, but in a Gibraltarian version with an English soundtrack.
The same goes for Eastern Beach, where the beach route ends but the party never begins.
All of the above doesn't mean that having a good time in Gibraltar is impossible. After all, the party, in a broad sense, is carried within oneself. It's a matter of willingness and effort... I guess (as the Gibraltarians say, the Spanglish rubs off).
At least that's what it seems watching the newlyweds Aaron and Greg, who flew in from London to celebrate their happy marriage here, on the Rock. The couple and their accompanying friends fill The Horseshoe with laughter at noon on Saturday, as the bars on Calle Real (Main Street in Spanish) start to fill with tourists for lunch, which here is also British in timing, although the kitchen takes longer to close than expected.
Aaron, Greg, Bryan, Pep, Brenda, and Emma say they've been in Gibraltar since Wednesday (and they still seem to be having fun, a miracle), and they look radiant and tanned. "Is it common for couples from the UK to come here to celebrate their wedding?" asks the journalist, sure that he has finally found an informative vein that could give meaning (if that's possible) to a report on fun in this small piece of land.
"It's not usual," Aaron replies, explaining that he lived here a few years ago and likes the weather, the climate, and so do his friends. So he didn't think twice when choosing a place to celebrate his wedding... and here they are, toasting with pints of beer, laughing their heads off, and toasting each other... and the fun they're packing in their suitcases.
Perhaps that's the key, the crux of the matter: you don't have to look for fun in Gibraltar, you have to bring it back in your suitcase.
Another thing is that the plan isn't to party...
There are always the monkeys, the shopping on Main Street, and the photos in the red phone booths. If that's the plan, welcome to Gibraltar!
There are several options to see the macaques, and none of them are cheap. Well, one is: it's free if you risk the fine for not paying the fee to enter the Rock's nature reserve and, in addition, have the strength and legs to walk to the top. If not, the cable car is a good option... as long as it doesn't coincide with the arrival of a cruise ship, which means an hour and a half queue to board. It's faster to sign up for one of the dozens of organized van tours you'll find along the way and right at the entrance to the Cable Car.
A circuit that includes, of course, the monkeys lasts between an hour and a half and three hours. It also includes St. Michael's Cave (a kind of Cave of Wonders in Aracena) or the eerie tunnels carved into the rock to serve as defenses during World War II.
If it's Saturday, you might also catch a parade of Her Gracious Majesty's 42nd Scottish Regiment. It's actually a group of nostalgic people honoring the British troops who defended the Rock during the Great Siege. But it's eye-catching and looks great on Instagram stories.
If, despite all of the above, you don't give up and persist in your endeavor (an impossible mission, I'd say) to find something happening in the colony, here's a piece of advice: make it a Friday. Because on that day, and only on that day, we're told time and again, there's something resembling a party. Especially in the area known as Chatham, where the bars start to fill up as the offices begin to empty out, there's guaranteed music, fun, and even drinks. Who would have told me to come on a Saturday?
Who knows, with the post-Brexit agreement finally announced last June by the Spanish and British foreign ministers a few months ago, the panorama will change and the party will cross the Fence and Gibraltar will import some nightlife from La Línea. Or not, because if it's already easy to cross the border, without physical controls, the La Línea scene will be even closer.
At Hendrix, by the way, the night—that of this reporter, defeated after a fruitless search—ends with a Teddy Swims enthusiast singing "Lose Control." Losing control, how ironic.