On the Way to the Edge: Part the First - Drawn to the Edge

I have of late come to realize that I am intrigued by the edges of things; particularly when those edges are somewhat fuzzy.
 
Take human beings for example.  We like to think of ourselves as a complete entity, hermetically sealed and separated from the big, scary world that surrounds us.  But where does each individual of this us end, and the world begin?   At our skin?  What about the heat and noise we emit, is that part of us?  The air we breathe...when it is inside us, is it part of us?  Yet it came from beyond us, impregnated with hundreds of tiny creatures that are definitely not us.  And when we exhale it again, at what point does it cease to be us?  If the microbeasts we take in aren’t us, what about the plethora of symbiotic beasties that keep our stomach in working order?  And do we leave little usnessess behind everytime we visit the toilet? 

Yes indeed, the edges of things fair fascinate me.

And so you find me en route to the small town of Melilla, which is both very edgy and notably fuzzy.  Nestled in a curve of the North African coast, it is nevertheless a part of the European Union.  Surrounded on all sides by Morocco and at no point touching so much as a grain of mainland Spanish earth, it is nevertheless a part of Spain.  And although Morocco is insistent that the Spanish authorities return this colonial relic to its rightful Moroccan inheritors, it has been a part of Spain since 1497, 169 years before there was a Morocco for the town to belong to, and only 20 years after a Spain came into existence for it to be part of.

Of course, you could argue it differently, as the historical border between Morocco and non-Morocco is also rather fuzzy, but that's another story...