Siesta

Spanish cities go dormant as the sun eases past it‘s crest each afternoon. With the heat of the day, yawns lengthen, arms stretch, and gates on shop windows close. The world comes to a halt, at least within these borders, for four full, decadent, rest-filled hours.

And then, just as spring emerges from winter and the flower emerges from a tightly closed bud, around 7:15 pm each evening Spanish cities arouse from their slumber and reengage with a fervor much of the world cannot imagine as the rest of us begin to wrap up our weary days.

I am on day 11+4 of my hike across Spain, and type from Melide in the a Coruña northwest region of the country. Forty minutes ago I entered an empty bar, restaurant and cafe for dinner, my naive North American ways assuming dinner service started as promptly as the church bells. But no, siesta is not to be hurried, and at 10 till seven the world still slept. The barkeep offered to make me something from his limited skills. “No, it is not important. I should have come earlier,” I replied, thinking of the potato chips and yogurt in my room that may have to unwillingly be my day’s provisions.

“Or come later,” he said.

“Later?” I ask in a bit too much excitement.

Today is Spanish observation of Father’s Day, and earlier hotel barkeeper’s front desk colleague told me bars would remain open but the rest of the town would shut down in observation of the holiday. I assumed there would be dinner for families only, and that in their homes. On a continent and a season separated from my own padre, I assumed I was left out of dinner for the day.

“Yes, perhaps half an hour or so,” he told me apologetically. Ahhhhh. Siesta is not a precise sport. It is more an artistic interpretation. Now I understand.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I can wait here and type.”

With a twinkle in his eye that made me think graciousness is not his customer norm (surely that is incorrect! I am convinced it is his own hospitality-driven spirit!) he told me, “I will bring you nibbles while you wait.”

And he brings me this. Gratis, free of charge. Simply because I am the only one here and, perhaps, he is delighted to have company while the rest of the staff straggles in to the evening shift. But, more likely, it’s just because his English-born now-Spanish hospitality is just that good.

Armed with vino tinto and a keyboard, i contentedly sit by the window to watch the sunset, type, and write.

And now. Now as spring emerges from it’s daily siesta winter, the hotel restaurant and bar has come as alive as the streets outside, a buzz of activity and a low roar of community, connection, family, and dishes clanging in the background.

The city has awakened once again. Evening has started. Siesta is over and now is the time for strengthening connection. Let the festivities begin.

#spain #caminodesantiago #thankgoodnessfordinneriwashungry