By Carl Sampson
I’m sitting at a table outside a bar in some little town whose name I cannot pronounce. The owner brings out a bucket filled with cooked snails. I pick one up, look it in its beady little eyes and chomp down on its head.
Welcome to Spain.
No matter what I thought I knew about Spain, I was wrong. In fact, I should find my high school history teacher and get a refund, because she was wrong, too.
There are actually two Spains — the one you think you know, a poor country with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza riding around in the desert looking for a windmill.
The other is the real Spain. I would summarize it as pretty cool. And cheap. And great food. And better beer. And tons of history.
Spain may be the most history-intense place on the planet. Cavemen ran around there, and so did the Romans, the Mores and all sorts of other folks.
As in, one Sunday we were sitting in church in Seville. One of my sons, who is the ultimate history geek, nudges me and points 30 feet away. “That’s Christopher Columbus’ tomb.”
In spite of my high school history teacher, I had heard of him. Come to think of it, the day before that we had seen the tombs of his bosses, Ferdinand and Isabella, in Granada, another history-intense city.
Spain had never been on my list of places to see.
My wife and I have a list, but it’s all countries that start with “I.” As in Iceland, Ireland, Italy, India and Indonesia. Iraq and Iran used to be on the list, we’ve put them on hold for a few centuries.
When one of our sons got a job in Spain, we decided to check it out. We figured he knew his way around and the language, so why not?
Our other son, the history geek, joined us, as did the other two. We rented the world’s smallest mini-van — a Citroen Picasso — and cruised the countryside. It was like a clown car that held the six of us and our junk.
What we found was the most endearing place I’ve even been. The culture of Spain is to walk around in the evening, stopping occasionally for tapas — that’s Spanish for snacks — beer and gin-and-tonics. I don’t drink much but I managed to quality-check the beer and gin just for reference.
Evening wasn’t hijacked by loud kids or drunks. Families would be out at 10 or 11 at night, enjoying the cool of the evening and each other’s company. It was a great way to pass the time. I had always heard how expensive everything was in Europe. Not any more. Between the low prices and the exchange rate, we stayed in Seville and Madrid for less than the cost of a budget motel in the U.S. Even the bathrooms were clean.
Driving in Madrid was a problem. The traffic circles were OK, but the way the freeways were laid out made me long for I-5. If we didn’t have one of those navigator thingies in the van, I’d still be trying to get back to the Madrid airport.
The best surprise was that nearly everyone we ran into spoke English. That was good, because then I could tell them what I thought of the snails.
“Not too bad, with a little ketchup.”
Carl Sampson is an editor and freelance writer.
