Walking in the quiet of the night through Gibraltar evokes in my mind an image of Brigadoon, a town from long ago that emerges from the mist. The walk is absolutely charming – and also culture shock – having come from Fez, Morocco in the morning, put a toe into Spain, and now plunked down into this patch of Great Britain. There are red telephone boxes, Bobbies, English pubs. It almost looks like a movie set, and in fact, is not much bigger – or Busch Gardens Colonial Williamsburg.