It’s an odd thing, to have so much of your time in a place defined by a landmark. Forever within you periphery vision, my balcony overlooks it, my daily commute skirts around it, it’s an obligatory feature on almost every photo of the area, a defining driver of history, and it’s gravitas is powerful enough to define the local weather.

In moving to the southern Mediterranean I’d expected few conversations about the weather. What would there be to say when their are 300 days of sunshine a year, and the temperature steadily somewhere between hot to mild. I was wrong. It may have been it’s military position the gateway to the Mediterranean that first attracted the British to claim it. And it may be the modern day patriotism of the people – British rather than Spanish – that keeps it part of the United Kingdom’s orbit. But I swear that the weather also has something to do with it do. The Costa del Sol is just a few miles up the cost, with sun, blue skies, and calm seas most of the year, yet Gibraltar is erratic. It has strong winds, drizzly rain showers, and sunny spells. Weather that can turn multiple times during the course of the day. The culprit is the rock its self. A small mountain that traps the currents and air masses that mingle here. The melting point of the Mediterranean sea and Atlantic ocean.

Lavante and Poniente are the two new words to enter my weather vocabulary. Lavante is invariably the more eye catching. This is the westerly wind that sweeps westerly across the warm seas of the Mediterranean. It sweeps up and over the Rock of Gibraltar, leaving a trail in it’s wake. A trail of newly formed cloud. While the Rock might only be 400m high, Lavante gives it the conditions to give birth to clouds. Wisps grown on the Easterly side of the rock, rising over to form a thick white disk of a cloud, it’s tail being carried by the wind into the bay. When the wind blows stronger, as it’s happening to do as I write today, it presents an image of a smouldering volcano. The smoke billowing out into a plum that puts most of the west side of Gibraltar into shade.

It gives a pathetic fallacy to my commute into the office. It might be sunny as I leave the flat, but I’m cast in cloud as I approach my office on Gibraltar’s Westside. The local joke goes that this is Mordor. An impenetrable rock that casts it’s surroundings into shadow.

The Lavante is a Scrooge to this August. The wind’s have been strong the past couple of weeks. Whipping the Mediterranean into a red flag zone of swells, big waves, and strong currents. An ambulance has been a semi-regular presence by the beach in La Linea. With a beer, I witnessed a rescue a few days ago. A group incapable of swimming against the currents back to shore until the lifeguards and floats were thrown out to help them. There have been some deaths too along this coast. Holiday makers determined to enjoy the water, regretfully finding themselves on the most permanent vacation of all. As night falls, the sea roars, and the wind whips across the face and through the hair, the Mordor comparison grows.

Poniente is the flip side of the compass. The Easterly wind that blows from the Atlantic. It’s less dramatic. The Rock sits clear, affording great views across to Africa. The sea is calmer – albeit slightly cooler. The wind is dryer, less humid, and it brings less change of rain. I’m waiting for the winds to change. I like my post work sunset swims. A bath to clense the body of the day.

The winds define Gibraltar in multiple ways. No time more so than when you have a flight to catch. The runway of Gibraltar is notorious – for the way it pauses the traffic, the Rock that looms to one side, and it’s short length. It’s a difficult one to land at, particularly when cross winds sweep across it. A plane might swoop down for a couple of tries, shake as the pilot tries to line up the wheels with the runway, but ultimately give up. Two strikes and you’re off to Malaga instead. A coach then takes you back to Gibraltar.

In the winter time this travel delay becomes most common. So does the rain. Thunderstorms whose sounds echo and reverberate off the rock, adding menance to what they bring. Rain that comes down in torrents. Overwhelming the drains, and flooding the roads. For those living in Gibraltar’s Upper Town, the rain pours down the streets, taking over their ground floors in the process. Waterproof trousers and wellington boots are necessary items of clothing for those occasional days when the rain coincides with commuting time.

By the sea, the weather is all encompassing. There is no shelter. Gibraltar is a peninsula, surrounded by whatever the water brings. La Linea a flat isthmus of two shores. Down by the beach a sunny day or a thunderstorm is exaggerated in affect. And occasionally it brings the fog. To wake up with visibility of a few dozen meters. Sight and sounds muffled. Dampness on the breath. The quietness interrupted by the fog horns of the cargo ships feeling their way through the straight of Gibraltar. It comes down at night too. On one of my early days here, I was out in a bar, feeling my way with new company and Spanish red wine. The cloak of fog had fallen by the time I walked home. Bringing with it an eariness as I crossed the airport runway, the frontier, and the border between two countries. It’s no surprise that there are family fortunes built on smuggling here.

The weather here has it’s moments of drama. Times that leave you sheltering inside. Yet even in winter time the average temperature is a balmy 15 degrees. I’m wearing out shorts from heavy use and forgetting where jumpers have been left. I was sun burnt walking in the Andalucian hills in January, and while I might not achieve much of a tan, I’ve certainly gained a few freckles. After all, it’s a very unique sense of Britishness here.