The produce section is the first place a visiting American gets it wrong, and it happens within thirty seconds of walking in. Someone reaches for a tomato with a bare hand, gives it the practiced supermarket squeeze, and a nearby shopper glances over. In much of Europe that squeeze is the tell. The rule is …
A family sits down at a restaurant in Seville, orders lunch, and asks for water. A waiter brings two large bottles of mineral water and, at the end of the meal, adds them to the bill: several euros for water that came out of a factory. The family pays without thinking, as tourists do across …
Stand near the sunscreen wall of any Spanish farmacia in July and you can watch the phenomenon in person. The wall itself is impressive, a floor-to-ceiling display of ISDIN, La Roche-Posay, Avène, and Vichy that gets prime real estate in even the smallest village pharmacy. The phenomenon is the American tourists in front of it, …
An American walks into a bar in Rome, orders an espresso, and glances at the price list. The same coffee appears twice, at two different prices. One column says something like €1.20, roughly $1.30. Another says €3.50, about $3.80. Same cup, same beans, nearly triple the price. It looks like a mistake, or a trick. …
In the changing room of a gym in Munich, an American performs a small, familiar ballet. Towel clamped around the waist, he wrestles his underwear off underneath it, pivots to face his locker, and shimmies into fresh clothes without ever letting the towel drop, all while contriving never to be seen. Around him, the German …
A woman born in Spain today can expect to live to around 86 and a half. A woman born in the United States can expect to live to around 80. That gap, roughly six years, is one of the widest between two wealthy, developed nations, and it has held stubbornly for years. Researchers have spent …
At the end of almost every meal, I used to reach for something sweet and packaged. A couple of biscuits with my coffee, a square or four of chocolate, a little pot of some dessert I had bought precisely so it would be there. It was automatic, the full stop at the end of the …
On a July afternoon on a beach near Malaga, the sand is covered with people lying deliberately in the full midday sun, turning at intervals like something on a spit, chasing the deep brown tan that Spanish summer culture prizes. To an American dermatologist, the scene is close to a horror film: hundreds of people …
The oldest building on our street here in Cuenca province grew an air-conditioning unit last summer, a white box drilled into a stone facade that predates the United States, installed by a family that spent twenty years telling every visiting relative that air conditioning gives you a sore throat and a stiff neck. Here is …
For years, my afternoons were a slow, unbroken graze. A handful of almonds at my desk, a biscuit with a cup of coffee, a few crackers while I answered an email, a square of chocolate because it was there. I never sat down to any of it, never really tasted it, and never once thought …
The plates have been cleared for half an hour. The coffee cups are empty, one glass of wine is going warm, and nobody at the table has made any move to leave. In an American restaurant a waiter would have dropped the check by now, twice. Here, in a small place in a Spanish town, …
Watch the evening paseo in any Spanish town and you will see them. Women in their sixties in pressed linen, walking arm in arm at a pace they could hold for hours, faces lined but somehow light. Men the same age in proper shoes, straight-backed, arguing about football with their hands. We see it every …