Life in Spain: Have We Adopted the Sunshine and Forgotten the Spanish Way of Life?

Spain offers more than sunshine, cheaper tomatoes and a slower pace of life. From family meals and sobremesa to putting down our phones, perhaps the real Spanish lifestyle is about reconnecting with the people around us.

We all came to Spain for different reasons. A fresh start. A slower pace. A retirement with fewer cardigans. The possibility of making plans without first consulting three weather apps and a depressed Labrador.

Yes, the sea helped. So did the sunshine. Nobody ever stood on the Mijas hillside and declared, “Lovely view, but what this really needs is sideways rain.”

But surely living in Spain was supposed to be about more than a tan and cheaper tomatoes?

We came for the Spanish way of life. Or at least the version we watched across a restaurant terrace and thought: I’d like a bit of that.

The warmth. The noise. The togetherness.

And right in the middle of it all: la familia.

Spanish Family Life: There Is Always Room for Another Chair

In Spain, family doesn’t simply arrive for lunch. It takes possession of the table, rearranges the chairs, kisses everyone twice and starts discussing dinner before lunch has landed.

Grandparents. Parents. Children. A cousin who wasn’t expected but naturally needs feeding.

Although, judging by some tables, where two can eat, fourteen can squeeze in if somebody fetches another chair.

Food is practically a family member itself. From merienda, the afternoon snack, to a Friday-night cena, there is always something to share, something to discuss and someone insisting you haven’t eaten enough.

You could be holding half a tortilla in each hand and a Spanish grandmother would still look concerned.

But the real nourishment is what happens around the plates.

They talk. About the week. The weekend. Someone’s job. Someone’s neighbour. Someone’s decision to marry someone everyone apparently warned them about.

The children join in. The grandparents have opinions. Several opinions. Occasionally all delivered before anyone else has finished theirs.

Nobody needs to book a “catch-up.”

They are already there.

Family Support in Spain Goes Beyond the Dinner Table

I’ve spoken before about how this extends to hospitals. In the Spanish families I’ve watched, illness becomes a family affair. The medical team handles the treatment; the family rallies around the person.

Helping with washing. Feeding. Keeping company. Staying overnight.

They arrive en masse, establish who is doing what and organise a rota with the efficiency the rest of us can only dream of when trying to arrange one plumber.

And through it all, they communicate.

Now, I am not suggesting every Spanish household is a haven of emotional harmony. Some conversations sound as though a government is being overthrown when, in fact, somebody has bought the wrong ham.

But in the families I admire, people make themselves heard. They disagree. They explain. They raise the volume. Someone says “¡Escúchame!” while three other people are already listening at considerable personal risk.

Eventually, a compromise emerges. Or another plate arrives and negotiations continue.

What a Restaurateur Noticed About Foreign Families

Earlier this week, a restaurateur told me he could often spot a foreign family before they had even ordered.

Not by the accents.

By the equipment.

The children arrive with earbuds, phones and tablets. Enough technology to coordinate an international air strike, all deployed to get through a plate of chicken and chips without conversation.

His Spanish regulars’ children, he said, were more likely to be discussing the menu, defending their favourite dish and negotiating croquetas as though their inheritance depended on it.

They were involved.

Eating with gusto. Talking. Listening. Interrupting. Being reminded not to interrupt. Learning how to sit at a table with other human beings by actually doing it.

Of course, there are Spanish children glued to screens and foreign families who can turn lunch into a magnificent three-hour racket. This isn’t a passport test.

But his observation stayed with me.

Have we become so exhausted by life that, when we finally sit down with the people we love, our greatest ambition is to keep them quiet?

I understand frazzled. I could represent Britain at frazzled. There are days when my phone, the electrician and two Pomeranians all require an immediate answer, preferably before I have located my tea.

A little peace can feel like a luxury holiday.

But there is a difference between needing five minutes and gradually putting family life on mute.

We say children don’t communicate. Then hand them something designed to ensure they don’t have to.

And before we blame the young, how many adults are checking messages beneath the table while saying, “Go on, I’m listening”?

I include myself. My phone is hardly gathering dust in a drawer.

Apparently, whatever has arrived on a screen is urgent. The person sitting opposite can wait.

Until when, exactly?

Sobremesa: The Spanish Tradition Worth Adopting

Spain has a lovely word: sobremesa. The time spent lingering at the table after a meal, talking because the company is worth staying for.

And somehow nobody considers this time wasted.

That was part of what attracted us to life in Spain, wasn’t it?

So perhaps embracing the Spanish lifestyle means more than ordering in Spanish and becoming very firm about which olive oil we buy.

Perhaps it means putting the phone away. Asking another question. Letting the children have an opinion. Listening to the story Grandad has told before, because one day we would give anything to hear him tell it again.

We are foreigners in our adopted land. We arrived with our habits, our expectations and, in some cases, enough teabags to survive a diplomatic incident.

But surely the joy of making a home somewhere new is allowing it to change us a little?

We chose Spain. We can choose to learn from it, too.

Put the phone down. Pass the croquetas. Give the people at your table something you cannot recharge later: your time.