so that's why

Some of the first things Americans hear about visiting Spain are that they have dinner after 10 p.m., party all night, and have siestas everyday. What's that all about?

Within a day of my trip, I understood why. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say that I could come up with reasons for this cultural phenomenon.

Spain is hot. And no, I'm not just talking about the men. On my first day there, I could feel the heat rising as early as ten in the morning. By early afternoon, my delicate body was starting to wilt. I exaggerate. It wasn't my body wilting; it was my gelled hair. My first thought whenever it gets warm is to take a nap. That's when I understood the value of the siesta. What better way to spend a warm summer afternoon than enjoying a beautiful slumber in the comfort of one's cool, Spanish home. I suddenly felt very Spanish. "Hola" rolled effortlessly off my tongue.

After my nap, the sun was starting to set, and I noticed it was eight in the evening. Finally, safe to go out. Almost forgot - I re-gelled my hair before leaving.

I took a nice, leisurely stroll through the streets, finally understanding that calle means street. The shops were in full bloom, as were young lovers and after-work business folks. An hour of walking was sufficient, since I started to feel hungry, even with my jet lag. Why isn't my stomach ever jet-lagged? It seems to readjust perfectly to whatever time zone I travel to. In any case, I realized then that it was a good hour to socialize with friends, have a glass of beer (or milk for me), then gossip about... oh wait, I promised not to tell... then talk about the weather over dinner. Second mystery solved.

It was past eleven by the time I finished dinner. I wasn't tired because of the jet lag and of the long nap I took in the afternoon, so I sauntered some more in the Chueca neighborhood - the Castro of Madrid (that only means something if you know San Francisco). There is a nice plaza there, surrounded by shops, restaurants, and hotels. What a pleasant night it was. The discomfort of the blazing sun had evaporated; it was a perfect evening for a couple to be out - or, in my case, a lonely, single guy. To my surprise, everyone was there. By everyone, I meant chatty teenagers, waddling toddlers, wrinkled grandfathers, weary mothers, and all their cousins and friends. People of all ages were hanging out in the plaza. Could you imagine a scene like that anywhere in the U.S.? Little kids out playing past midnight? Without parents screaming after them? How refreshing! So this was one of the ways to party until the wee hours in Spain. I could get used to this.

Then I noticed them - the first Asians I saw all day. They were definitely Chinese. I could tell because I'm Taiwanese, and not all Asians look alike. Plus they were speaking some Chinese dialect. The strange thing was that they all were carrying either a backpack or a box. What the heck was this? Chinese terrorists?

I quickly found out. But that's a different story for another day.