We rolled through the dusty border town joining France and Spain, it was clear it had seen better days. With the development of the European Union it could no longer hold a duty free appeal, so it had clearly reached to darker places to still attract visitors. Prostitutes in fluro spandex lined the highway in pairs, some displaying their business, dancing and waving, others just sitting, watching cars and life speed by. Brothels and clubs advertising dancing girls filled the streets, with shops selling tobacco and marijuana apparatus in between. We had stumbled into a darkly hedonistic hell hole – or haven depending on your preference.
|A lady taking a phone call while on the job|
The other prominent industry in this town was discount stores. Spying one advertising camping gear, we pulled over to take a look. A local youth walked passed the car, sneering at us - I canonly wonder at how people grow up in this place. In the car park police were interviewing a man with a small girl, I hid everything of potential value and triple checked the car was locked. In the 50m between the car park and the shop we crossed 4 police vans, several police officers and two prostitutes, one dancing, one chilling. The police turned a blind eye to the prostitutes, clearly this was not a problem in this strange, forgotten town. Besides, it looked like they had far bigger problems to deal with.
Resolving to not need the aid of the police, we made it a quick visit, not wasting time to marvel at the happenings around us. The town ended as it had begun, whore houses and high time shops thinning, disappearing back into the barren land. The border was marked with 2 final prostitutes, standing on the border bridge, waiting for the first and last potential customers, arriving from or going to France. With that we bid a strange goodbye to Spain, feeling as though it had saved its craziness for last.