They stroll, I bump: the art of wandering in Spain

It started with an elbow to the ribs. Not mine. I was innocently walking down a narrow street in Dénia, thinking I had just enough space to pass someone. But the people in front of me weren’t moving. We’re in Spain, so they’re strolling.

In waves. No straight line, no rhythm, no clear tempo. When I tried to move left, a lady in a polyester floral dress swung her arm back so suddenly that I nearly caught her. And in that moment, I knew: this was going to happen a lot.

Overtaking is not Spanish.

I grew up in a country where the rule on the bike path is: if you want to go faster, you overtake. In Spain, it works differently. You notice it on the pavement, in supermarkets, at the airport. People here don’t walk with a goal — they move. Along the way, they talk, stop, walk back, point, sigh, and often laugh.

Efficient? Nope. And if you try to hurry as if you’re catching a train? Then you’re the odd one out. Not them.

Sidewalks as a social tapestry

The sidewalk in Spain isn’t just a path. It’s a public meeting place, a social tapestry where family conversations take place, neighbours catch up, and children drop crumbs. And that takes priority.

Time and space are experienced differently here. If, as a Dutch person, you think in straight lines, sooner or later you’ll bump into someone casually strolling through it.

The art of stopping

I’ve learned to walk more slowly. To allow myself to stop without reason. Sometimes I even walk aimlessly — just to practice. And when I see a group blocking half the sidewalk, I no longer sigh and walk around. I slow down. I observe.

And sometimes… I fall into the pace. Because what if it’s not a blockage, but an invitation? Strolling seems to be the norm in Spain.

But sometimes. Every now and then…

I still find myself behind someone with a shopping trolley who decides to stop right in the middle of the crosswalk to text. And then I think back to the old days. To the straight lines, the walking paths, the wide, clearly marked bike lanes with dots. And yes — sometimes I still bump into it, internally.

But then I smile. And walk a little slower. Because this is Spain. And in Spain, you don’t rush. You move as if you have time. Or, as they say here: mañana, mañana.