I could have been lonely when I moved to Spain. Tapas bar culture meant I wasn't
Every night was a potential meeting of old friends, making new friends and micro-interactions
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I’ve written about my love for Logroño before. This is a small city in the northern Spanish province of La Rioja.
One of the most interesting facts about Logroño — and one of the reasons I love it so much — is that it has one bar for every 15 residents. That’s 1000 bars in a place three-quarters the size of Disneyworld.
If there is a better town for tapas — or, pinchos as they’re called in Rioja — then I haven’t found it. On one 200-metre-long street alone, there are over 50 bars, each with their own speciality. At one place, it’s mushrooms doused in garlic oil. At another, it’s spiced pork skewers cooked over a charcoal grill. Take a pincho and a drink, rinse and repeat until you can’t take it anymore.
I returned to Logroño a few weeks ago, as I try to do every few months. One day, I intend to live there again, seeing out the rest of my days with cafés and cañas.
And meeting friends for pinchos.
It might seem overindulgent, this food and wine-soaked culture. Too much meat and bread. Too many glasses of wine. Too late to bed. Not exactly in keeping with our modern-day preoccupation with wellness and productivity.
But tapas and pincho bars are more than places to get tipsy or over-fed. You could argue that’s not the point of them at all. What they do best is foster the coming together of humans.
Every night, a meeting of old friends. Making new friends. Micro interactions. When I lived in Logroño, this culture made me feel more at home — and less lonely — than anywhere I’ve lived before or since.
Many of us are lonely.
That will probably come as no surprise, it has been documented over and over. 50% of adults are lonely. 22% of Millennials say they have no friends at all. Nearly half of London eat alone every single day.
It may be a cliché, but Spain is a little different.
The stats reflect how different. Nearly 88% of Spaniards say they experience little to no loneliness. Depression rates are lower than the EU average of 7.2%, clocking in at just under 5%.
Compare that to depression rates in the UK — 16%. In America, 29% of the population will be diagnosed with depression at some point during their life.
Of course, there are many reasons for Spain’s lower-than-average loneliness and depression levels. It’s not just about their love of socialising outside the home.
But that is part of it.
86% of Spaniards eat out regularly. Going for a tapeo — a tapas crawl — in particular is not generally done solo. You’ll see large groups of friends down the famous Calle Laurel tapas street in Logroño most nights of the week. And as I wrote recently, eating together is amazing for one’s mental health:
Those who eat socially more often feel happier and are more satisfied with life, are more trusting of others, are more engaged with their local communities, and have more friends they can depend on for support.
It’s hard not to get swept up in the sociability of tapas bars. Every night in Logroño, my husband and I made our way to Calle Laurel and felt it ourselves. I talked to people, both strangers and old friends. I joked with the old-timer bar owners who remembered me from when I lived here.
Even if we didn’t know the staff, each bar came with its own micro-interaction with servers — these interactions are surprisingly effective at combating loneliness.
But the thing I find most interesting about tapas bar culture is how the sheer volume of bars in one small place contributes to the experience of socialising. And why that volume makes Spanish tapas bar culture so unique, it’s almost impossible to replicate elsewhere.
Tapas bars don’t tend to exist in isolation. Often, you’ll find whole streets with nothing but, packed in cheek-by-jowl.
Some of these streets have become famous. Calle Laurel in Logroño. Cava Baja in Madrid. Carrer Blai in Barcelona.
Every single one of the tapas bars lining these streets is a small third space.
A third space is defined as somewhere where:
There is no obligation to be there
Socioeconomic status is unimportant
Conversation is the main activity.
It is accommodating to everyone.
It is full of regulars.
It is not extravagant.
Whilst third spaces are being dismantled in places like Britain or America, they thrive in Spain. My husband and I often play a game called spot the empty bar when walking around Spanish towns and cities. It’s harder to win than you think — I once played the game during a two-hour walk in Barcelona and didn’t find a single one.
Importantly, when you have scores of bars next door to each other, people naturally spill out onto the street, filling it up in a way you might find in a busy bar.
And the street becomes a third space in itself.
This is why it’s rare to see tapas bar culture recreated anywhere else in the world. After all, you can’t tapeo in the solitary tapas bar you might see in an American or British town.
You need the volume. And with that volume comes a different way of socialising. A more informal way. A way that is accessible to almost everyone because you’re a part of it just by walking down that street.
As I was about to snap the above photo last week, I got a tap on the shoulder. It was my old landlord and landlady who had become firm friends whilst we lived in the town. They wrapped me and my husband up in hugs and offered us glasses of wine.
That encounter happened because of tapas bar culture, where whole streets turn into meeting places.
It also happened more than once last week on that street. Every encounter made us feel part of that town again. Most importantly, they made us feel a part of something bigger than our own existences.
All because of a street filled with tapas bars.
There may be no magic bullet for loneliness, but we do know what makes us feel more connected to our communities.
Micro encounters. Spending time with people. Eating together. Thriving third spaces.
Whilst experiences like these may feel increasingly difficult to execute in places like the US or UK, they do happen in Spain. In part, that's because of tapas culture.
It might not feel very “productive” in a modern sense. You will have to go out late. You will be offered bread with almost every tapa. The wine — if you want it — will flow.
But the satisfaction and happiness one feels by being a part of something bigger than oneself, in my opinion, far outweighs any drop in productivity the next morning.
Besides, most of us could do with a bit more fun, joy, and connectivity in our lives right now. Spain’s tapas bars are a good place to start.
First thing I did was Google flights to Logroño from London!
I’m from Trinidad and Tobago where we have a very strong third space culture and after work socialising culture. We “waste time together”. We have a word for it: limin’. I miss it dearly!