Living in Germany teaches you a lot about structure. Things work, people are punctual, and rules are not just suggestions—they’re a way of life. As someone who’s lived here for years, that rhythm becomes second nature. You absorb the unspoken rule: be on time. You begin to walk faster without even noticing it. You measure your day by how efficiently you move through it. There’s a certain satisfaction in that order.
But it was during our road trip through Spain back in 2015 that I first truly felt the contrast. My husband and I visited Barcelona, Valencia, Madrid, Bilbao, and Zaragoza—and from the very start, I noticed something was different. People didn’t seem to be in a rush. They moved at a pace that felt almost foreign after being steeped in Germany’s tempo. It wasn’t lazy—it was just… unhurried. Gentle.
Even in the larger cities, where you’d expect a more frantic energy, people strolled. They didn’t power-walk to their destinations. They took their time. In cafés, conversations lingered long after the drinks were finished. In parks, families walked together with no apparent goal in mind other than to enjoy the afternoon. And it wasn’t just a few moments here and there—it was the entire atmosphere. Spain seemed to breathe differently.
What surprised me most was how quickly I noticed the shift in my own body language. At first, I was restless. I walked ahead, looked at my watch, felt like I needed to do something. But Spain had its way of slowing you down. You’d find yourself sitting longer. Smiling more. Watching instead of rushing. It was impossible not to absorb that energy.
As a Filipino, that laidback nature wasn’t unfamiliar to me. In fact, it felt a bit like going home. We Filipinos are not known for strict schedules. Time bends where I come from—things start when they start. We talk long, laugh loudly, and don’t mind waiting. I always thought it was just our nature, but being in Spain made me realize how deeply our history with them has shaped us. The easy pace, the relaxed posture, the joy in small things—it was all so recognizable.
So maybe it wasn’t a surprise that I felt comfortable in Spain in a way that went beyond sightseeing. It was a kind of comfort that came from recognition. While Germany sharpened my sense of discipline and taught me the value of structure, Spain reminded me that it’s okay to just be. To sit. To savor. To exist without rushing to the next thing.
We kept coming back. After that first trip, we visited Seville to chase the sun. The city greeted us with that same warmth—not just from the skies, but from the people. It seemed no one walked faster than necessary. Even in the heart of the city, the pace remained slow, the conversations unhurried, the hours stretched.
Most recently, we took our daughter to Málaga. We weren’t on the beach this time—just walking through the vibrant shopping streets. She ran freely, her little feet tapping on the tiles, laughter bouncing through the alleys. No one stopped her. No one rushed her. People smiled, sidestepped, gave space. The entire street seemed to make room for joy without urgency. And that, more than anything, made me pause.
Back in Germany, I walk faster again. I keep appointments to the minute, I plan weekends in blocks of time, and I catch myself gently hurrying my daughter when we’re heading out. But Spain left something in me. A softness. A voice that tells me it’s okay to take my time. That not everything needs to be productive to be meaningful.
And maybe that’s what travel gives us—not just memories or photos, but shifts in perspective. Spain didn’t just show me another culture; it reminded me of my own. Of where I come from. Of the value of walking slowly and living fully.
I may move quickly again, but I carry Spain’s rhythm with me now. It lives in the way I slow down for tea, in the moments I sit with my daughter just watching the world go by. Germany keeps me grounded. Spain reminds me to float.
