I didn’t move to Spain last year to see what I hadn’t seen before. I’d call myself more of a crisis traveler (a story for another day). Not much raises these sagging eyebrows after the Internet, thirty-eight states, and 55 years, but there have been a few firsts for me in Spain.

One afternoon while window shopping on the cosmopolitan streets of central Madrid, I passed a coiffed woman in a fur coat and heels, shopping bag clutched like a trophy with a long, slender animal leg sticking out the end of it, hoof still attached. There was fur on that leg, which could mean she wasn’t taking it home for dinner, but I didn’t stop to ask her evening plans.

On a cold, blustery evening last December, my two older children needed to be fed after a long day of sight-seeing in Barcelona. Neither was showing any sign of pulling their eyes away from their devices long enough to join me for street foraging, and I headed out on my own to find a market I’d seen around the corner.

I quickly collected a few items and took my place at the back of the line. The cashier was holding up a bundle of large leeks and casually asked a question of the grey-haired woman across from her. Before I could manage a translation, the cashier pulled a foot-long butcher knife (no, really) from under the counter and with a single heavy overhand whack, and stunning accuracy, lopped off the green leek tops, tossed them in the garbage, and replaced the knife under the counter.

No one else in line seemed remotely interested; I checked my groceries for large vegetables.
Pamplona’s well-used public transit buses have wide spaces right in the middle of them, for standing-room-only passengers I assumed. I soon realized every bus ride included at least three gigantic deluxe strollers or baby carriages pushed by adult attendants who owned those spaces like positions in a royal baby parade. Babies are royalty in Spain, even on public transportation.

In a world where you can travel almost anywhere for the cost of the telecommunications bill, you might have seen these yourself. Or maybe you witnessed something on a street somewhere that caused the hair on your arms to stand on end in wonder? I’d like to hear about it. Please share.