A family-run restaurant in the quaint Spanish hamlet of Asturias turned become the site of an unplanned cross-cultural confrontation. An entitled family of visitors insulted the elderly owner and demanded assistance after hours. They soon had to deal with the fallout from their disregard for and ignorance of regional norms, though.
Hi to all of you! I would like to tell you about a little restaurant in Asturias, Spain, that is run by a family. Actually, it’s my grandparents’ home, tucked away in a small community of thirty people.
I visit there every summer to lend a hand, pick up family recipes, and experience rural life. The restaurant is quite quaint and homey because it is situated directly at the base of our house and was opened in 1941.
We truly have a neighborhood hangout here. Throughout the day, neighbors stop by to talk, play cards, and have a drink. We do get some tourists, despite the fact that it’s a little off the main route.
A family who visited one summer day proved to be more interesting than normal because they obviously had no idea how things operate around here. Allow me to explain what took occurred.
Our tiny eatery was full with the usual laughing and talk on one of those ideal summer days when the sun warms everything just so. The majority of our neighborhood regulars had arrived for their extended, languid afternoon get-togethers.
There are just eight tables inside our small restaurant, plus a few outdoors when the weather is beautiful. However, because it’s also a bar, it has a lot of heart and is frequently busy.
The interior buzzed that afternoon, with retirees arguing over cards and drinking wine—a banal scenario right out of a movie. My sibling and I were occupied with fulfilling lunch and drink orders from patrons who were aware of our business hours.
Just as things were coming to an end around 4 p.m., we heard a vehicle arrive. This is not out of the ordinary as sometimes we have lost tourists. However, what transpired was anything from a normal visit.
A family emerged, and it was obvious they were angry—probably from having driven the narrow rural roads in our area.
They walked in and started talking loud English, so I had to take charge as I usually deal with the English-speaking visitors. This is how it transpired.
The mother waved me over as the door closed behind them, saying quickly, “We need a table, and we’re starving!” I was surprised not just by the intensity of her voice but also by how demanding her statements were.
I smiled as if I were providing them with excellent customer service and said, “I’m sorry, but the kitchen just closed.” Meals are only served until 3 p.m. and then again starting at 7:30 p.m. I hoped this would be enough; perhaps they might return later?
No, the mother wasn’t content. My grandfather was eating his own late lunch quietly when she stared at him and said, “If the kitchen’s closed, why is he eating?” “Well, he’s the owner, so he kinda eats whenever he wants!” was my lighthearted response.
That was uncomfortable. The mother looked as though she had bit into a lemon as her face twisted slightly. She screamed, “Are you giving us a table or not?” without skipping a beat. We’ll also require Wi-Fi.
I made the most diplomatic explanation I could: “The Wi-Fi is only for staff.” It’s not actually configured for visitors to utilize.
The father became quite agitated and said, “What the heck?! We have paying clients here! Their little one began to become agitated, pacing and making noise.
My grandfather decided to intervene when it became clear that things were getting out of hand very rapidly.
My grandfather, who has always maintained his composure, wiped his hands on his apron and went to the family when he saw things getting worse.
He requested them to kindly calm down and regulate their child because it was upsetting the other guests in a tough but gentle manner.
“DON’T YOU DARE TEACH ME HOW TO RAISE MY CHILD, YOU DINOSAUR!” was the mother’s stern reply. Everyone in the room looked at her when she spoke something loud. The father did the same, furiously pointing at my grandfather and saying, “DON’T GET CLOSE TO MY CHILD, YOU OLD CREEP!”
There was silence throughout the diner. You could have heard a pin drop and there was an obvious sense of tension. The other customers, who were locals and knew my grandfather well, looked on in shock at the degree of insensitivity toward someone they held un the highest regard.
Maintaining his composure, my grandfather nodded and walked back across the room to join our family. I followed, my heart churning with shame and rage. My grandfather made the decision that this family needed to move out.
Silently explaining the situation, he gestured to two guys seated at a neighboring table who were Guardia Civil officers who were not on duty.
Recognizing the need of etiquette, the cops got to their feet and went over to the family. They displayed their credentials and identified themselves as law enforcement. They stated that the family needs to respect the other customers as well as the regulations of the institution in a stern but kind manner.
Now that they realized how bad things were, the parents reluctantly started packing up their stuff. However, when the family prepared to depart, the cops discovered something else that made their problems worse.
One of the police saw the family grudgingly making their way out the window when they discovered their automobile parked in front of our restaurant’s garage, completely blocking it. It was essential for access to and from our home that it was clearly identified as a no-parking area.
After pointing out the infraction, the cops brought the family outside. Trying to play it down, the father said they didn’t notice the warnings and it was only a brief stop. But when the cops examined the documentation for their rental automobile and found more inconsistencies, the scene became much more heated.
As the cops carefully explained the repercussions of their conduct, the family’s indignation grew. After taking pictures of the car that was parked incorrectly, they started to write a ticket. The high charge for blocking the entry to a private home was 200 euros.
Once they were back inside, the locals muttered to one another, disapproving of the visitors’ actions but yet feeling relieved that justice had been done. Meanwhile, my grandfather had returned to his dinner, wearing a calm triumphant expression.
The ambiance in the restaurant brightened tremendously once the family eventually left. Glasses clinked, conversations picked back up, and laughter filled the room again. My grandfather lifted his glass to express his appreciation to the officers, who nodded in return, their duty done.
The parents had upset the harmony in our little town in addition to offending our family’s sentiments. In the end, they paid a heavy price for their disdain and ignorance—twenty times the price of a dinner.
This event spread beyond the confines of our eatery. It became into a local folktale, a tale used to illustrate the consequences of disobeying the moral principles we uphold.
It was about defending dignity and the community spirit of our village, not just about an unpleasant family receiving a punishment.
It is not my intention to disparage foreign guests in any way by telling this story. The majority of our tourists are kind and thoughtful, ready to explore our culture and take advantage of what we have to offer.
However, this specific instance served as a reminder that, wherever you are in the world, respect for people and their customs is a universal value.
I appreciate everyone who has read. I’m interested in hearing your opinions. If you have encountered comparable circumstances, do share! Whenever we go, let’s carry on the discourse and promote compassion and respect for one another.