Spain in the summer is a hot country. Madrid lies on the 4oth parallell, roughly the same as New York, without the moderating effect of the Atlantic which the latter city enjoys at least occasionally. To counteract the effects of the heat the Spanish long ago devised the sensible expedient of the siesta. This can vary from region to region, but in general what happens that all but the largest department stores and most offices, both public and private, and a great many of the museums close their doors and pull down the shutters at half-past-one in the afternoon, not to reopen until five, when everyone goes back to work for another three hours. At siesta time people go home for a long lunch, generally stopping off at a corner bar for a quick glass of wine first, and after lunch lie down for a nap. This state of affairs has two consequences for the tourist: he is left to fend for himself over the long noon hour, practically everything is closed. This is a good time of day to do one's driving, the roads are deserted, the truckers have all pulled off to the side to have their lunches in roadside restaurants. And it means that the dinner hour is very late, much later than Americans are accustomed to. No city restaurant opens its doors until nine in the evening (many but not all of the paradors try to accomodate their foreign guests by starting service in their comedors at 8:30). But of course no self respecting Spaniard would dream of showing up anywhere for dinner at nine. On more than one occasion I have been finishing up my dinner in a provincial restaurant at around eleven in the evening, at which time a family with small children would walk in to start theirs. I suppose this must have been on a Saturday night when the kids didn;t have to be in school early the next morning. We have found it expedient to have a small snack with our pre dinner drinks to ward off the worst of the hunger pains. The ubiquitous bars are a Spanish institution in themselves. One stops in there for a morning coffee, usually laced with a shot of the local brandy, before going to work, and, as I've mentioned, before going home to lunch. The regulars all know one another, conversations are animated and often carried on in carrying voices across the whole length of the room. (There are two rules to be followed when speaking Spanish in public: speak as loudly and as quickly as you are capable of doing). Tapas, small portions of local delicacies such as raw ham, fresh anchovies, Russian eggs, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, tortillas (slices of omelet in which potatoes have been worked in) are consumed along with one's wine and beer. These used to be free, "un regalo", which was your inducement to stop in for the wine. But I last encountered complimentary tapas in a bar in Pisuerga, in the Province of Palencia, in the 90's.( My Charming Dinner Companion has just informed me that I'm suffering from a serious memory defect -- we got free tapas with our wine and beer in a bar in Avila last fall. So it would seem that, at least in Spain, there is still such a thing as a free lunch.
Something else that a foreigner has to get used to in the bars is that all manner of debris, crumpled up Spanish undersize napkins, candy wrappers, even stamped out cigarette butts litter the floors, which are swept only at closing time. The air is thick with smoke, Spaniards being inveterate smokers, so much so that some people in my circle of friends resist having lunch in a bar although it's by far the cheapest, quickest and most convenient solution to the lunch problem when one is on the road. Lunch in a restaurant can easily take up to two hours and I, for one, don't really want to eat two heavy meals a day, three if one is having a parador breakfast. Earlier this year a new law was introduced in Spain, banning all smoking in public places, bars included. I look forward very much to experience the benefits of this law when we shall be travelling in Spain in November.
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