Spanish sunbathers have shed their sombreros and donned their weirdly oversized voting berets in a perplexingly puzzling poll that will discern whether the land of flamenco, paella and somewhat late bedtimes will join its European playmates in pulling a severe u-turn towards starboard.
In a land where siestas are sacred and debates about the perfect paella are hotter than habanero peppers, the voting spree was as unexpected as a chorizo in a churro. Amid the caramel-washed laneways of Madrid and the sunny beaches of Barcelona, the local populace, known for their love of every kind of fiesta, found themselves at an unfamiliar sort of party – a voting party.
The election, which enjoys the predictability level of a wild matador on a sugar rush, promises to lay bare the complex dynamics of Spanish politics. Bullfighting might be the national pastime, but the real bull seems to be in parliament. So, will the land of Cervantes trot right, along with its finicky European neighbors, who have succumbed to the allurement of conservative calling?
Just like a game of Spanish Bingo, the outcome could land anywhere. But one thing is clear. If this beautiful land known for its sensationally spicy tapas switches its political recipe, it’s certainly going to change Europe’s whole dinner table conversation.
In the hallowed shadows of the Alhambra and under the bronzed bodies on the beaches of the Costa del Sol, Spaniards have lined up everywhere – from flamenca dance halls to paella stands – to cast their vote. The uncertainty of it all is more gripping than an Almodóvar thriller.
Ultimately, however, paellas swirl, flamencos twirl and life in Spain goes on. The sun will rise, and the next day’s siesta will roll around as predictably as a boisterous round of tapas and flamenco. Yet, somewhere between the clinking of sangria pitchers and the twang of Spanish guitar strings, Spain’s future is being written. No matter the direction of their jaunt, the spirit of Spanish resiliency continues to dance like the endless Flamenco in the heart of the Andalucía dawn.
In saying that, all we can do is to wait, with bated breath and a full pitcher of sangria, to see how Spain decides to step next. As unpredictably thrilling as a bullfight, as tantalizing as tapas on a Tuesday, the elections promise to shake the castanets of Spanish society. When all the voting paper confetti has fallen, will the gazpacho nation have hotfooted it to the right, as many of their European cousins have done?
As the sun sets on “el día de elección,” where the Spanish folk traded their castanets for ballot papers, the anticipation of the resulting political flamenco is as intoxicating as a perfectly aged Rioja. And as the last flamenco guitar echoes into the cool Spanish night, we wait to see if the country of bulls, tacos and late-night fiestas will be two-stepping to the right, just like their neighbors.
