If you walk a Camino route in Spain and come into a city, you will find yourself being recommended to visit a certain area of the city for tapas or pinchos. It didn’t seem to matter much which term is used for them. What these actually consist of varies quite a lot. They could appear like this in a fancy bar …

Or can appear more like sandwiches …

Or even just be fried potatoes …

I have read that historically , drinks were required by law to be served with tapas. I don’t know whether this is true or not. But in a small farming town, I encountered what looks like the legally minimum tapa.

The names of the tapas/pinchos are sometimes listed outside the bars.

But the tapas in the glass case in the bar are not always labelled so it is not easy to tell which is which. And anyway the names don’t always indicate what they are made of. “Torreznos de soria” anyone ?

And then if you are in the Basque Country… Have a favorite pincho? Ask for it by name !

Each city tends to have a known place for drinking and tapas/pinchos – for some examples: Bilbao : Plaza Nueva , Logroño : Calle Laurel, Burgos : Calle San Lorenzo, León – Barrio Húmido.

My tapas encounters went something like this…
Having arrived at an albergue tired and dehydrated, it seems like it might be nice to find the tapas area.
Some people I know or have met on the camino may already be down there.
But first, need to change clothes. Actually before I can do that, I must take a shower, and also wash the day’s clothes. However to find the clean clothes, I need to unpack the backpack and organize items. But wait, the only place to do organizing (the only private area) is the top of the bed assigned to me. So before unpacking, I need to make up the bed from the bare mattress.

Having done all that, I start navigating with an app using the street address.
It’s early evening. Which means that while perhaps still warm outside, it will be less blindingly sunny, with more of a golden light. This makes for nice conditions whereby seemingly everyone in the city, from small children to 90-somethings in wheelchairs, to take the paseo or evening stroll.

I locate the tapas area, which turns out to be small side street with many bars having narrow entrances. There is a mixture of bewildered tourists and locals milling up and down. It is getting darker now and the bars are dimly lit inside and crowded.

Which bar should I venture into? I have no idea, so I choose one randomly.
There are people thronging the bar, calling to a single harried server for some food items hidden behind them. What is it that they are clamoring for so loudly?
Generally speaking, the less noise and confusion, the better, in my view.
Tourists have come here to Spain and have not learned any Spanish at all beforehand, so are pointing at food items and speaking in English.

I ask what some tapas item is and informed that it is made from a pig’s nose. No thanks.
Another pilgrim gamely orders something with greyish tentacles. It is chaotic enough that I am at a loss and just get a tinto de verano (red wine drink).

I find a table with four nice Englishmen who I had met before. I start to have a nice conversation, despite the crush of people and the din, until a service person comes over and says, “You cannot have five people here! You must move.”

You know, I think he might be right.

Vamos.