I’ve lived in Spain long enough to know that there are certain things you simply have to accept. Lunch at 3pm is perfectly normal. Dinner at 10pm is not particularly late. Ahora doesn’t necessarily mean right now. No pasa nada can mean absolutely everything and absolutely nothing.

And August? August is not a real month.

Okay, technically it is. I am aware there are 31 days between July and September. People have birthdays. Bills continue to arrive, unfortunately. Life goes on. But Spain in August operates in its own little universe.

Every year we know it’s coming. People start talking about their summer plans, calendars begin clearing out, Madrid slowly starts emptying and somewhere around the end of July you realise that if there’s anything remotely important you need to get done, you should probably do it now.

I’ve actually spent years warning people I work with outside Spain about this. “Guys… August is coming. If you need anything, NOW is the time.” After several years, most of the partners and agencies we regularly worked with had learnt. Get your questions answered. Get the approvals. Get the signatures. Get whatever you need from us in July because once August arrives, I make no promises.

The reactions from some of my American, Asian and Middle Eastern colleagues over the years have been hilarious. “But what if there’s an emergency?” “What if we need you to approve something?” “What if we need a signature?” “How do we reach you?” And I’m there trying to explain, as calmly as possible, that obviously Spain doesn’t literally cease to exist for 31 days.

But also…

August. 😂

It isn’t even necessarily that nobody is working. It’s that the particular person you need probably isn’t. You email someone and get an Estoy de vacaciones. Fine. You try somebody else. Also away. You finally find the person who’s covering for the person who’s away, except they don’t really know what you’re talking about and perhaps it would be better if you waited until your usual contact came back.

“When are they back?”

You already know the answer.

September.

And honestly, after enough years living here, you learn the rhythm. You stop trying to fight it. Anything genuinely important gets pushed through before August and everything else can probably wait.

Except apparently I only understand this concept when it applies to OTHER PEOPLE.

Because the moment August becomes quieter, my own brain starts thinking, Perfect. I have time. Let me finally sort my life out. There’s that thing at home I’ve been meaning to fix. There’s some paperwork I’ve been putting off. There’s an appointment I need to make. Maybe I’ll finally deal with that random household thing that has been mildly annoying me for the last six months.

Suddenly August Raulito is feeling incredibly productive. Excellent. Let’s do this.

I call. No answer. I try somewhere else. Cerrado por vacaciones.

Oh, COME ON!

And then I realise I’m doing exactly what everyone else does. Complaining that I only need ONE little thing done and surely somebody, somewhere, must be available to do it.

Nope.

It’s August. I should know better by now. 😂

So yes, even after years of living here, August occasionally drives me insane. But here’s the thing…

I also kind of love it.

Especially in Madrid.

I know plenty of people who want to escape Madrid the second August arrives because it can feel like you’re living inside an oven. And I understand. There are afternoons when you step outside and the heat hits you in the face and you immediately wonder whether whatever you left the house for was really necessary.

But Madrid in August has something that Madrid doesn’t have very often.

Space.

Actual space.

The city empties out. Obviously the centre still has tourists and Madrid doesn’t suddenly become a ghost town, but the difference is noticeable. Madrileños disappear to the coast, to their pueblos, to wherever they’ve decided to spend summer, and suddenly the city feels calmer. Traffic gets lighter. Streets feel less chaotic. Places that are usually packed become manageable. Sometimes I’ll go somewhere I normally avoid at certain times of the year simply because I know there won’t be half of Madrid standing in front of me.

It’s lovely.

Hot. But lovely.

And thankfully, I have absolutely no intention of heroically walking across Madrid at three in the afternoon to prove some kind of point. Taxi. Uber. Air conditioning. Vámonos. 😂 Pick me up from one air-conditioned location and deposit me at the next one, please and thank you.

There is, of course, one slight problem with enjoying empty Madrid in August.

Sometimes the place you wanted to go to has also gone on holiday.

You get there and find the little sign on the door: Cerrado por vacaciones. Volvemos en septiembre.

Naturally.

At that point, what can you even do? You laugh. You find somewhere else. You carry on.

And I think that’s what I’ve eventually learnt about August in Spain. You have to stop expecting it to behave like the other eleven months. Things are slower. People are away. Plans become more flexible. Some things simply aren’t going to happen when you want them to happen, and getting annoyed about it isn’t going to magically bring your gestor, plumber, colleague, hairdresser or favourite restaurant back from the beach.

So you adapt. And somewhere along the way, I think I’ve actually grown to appreciate it.

There’s something quite wonderful about a country collectively deciding that summer should actually feel like summer. People go away. They spend time with their families. They go back to their hometowns. They head to the coast. Lunches get longer. Work gets quieter. Life slows down just a little.

And then September arrives.

Suddenly everyone is back. Emails start appearing again. Offices return to normal. Friends re-emerge. Your favourite neighbourhood places switch their lights back on. Madrid fills up. Traffic returns. Calendars suddenly become frightening again.

September in Spain has always felt a little like a second January to me for that reason. There’s this strange feeling of starting again. Summer is over, everyone comes home, routines restart and suddenly all those things we happily ignored in August need attention.

Including whatever August Raulito tried unsuccessfully to get fixed.

So if you’re new to Spain, here’s my little piece of advice.

If something absolutely needs to happen in August, do it in July. If you don’t manage to? Don’t panic. Don’t send seventeen follow-up emails. Don’t spend your entire month asking how an entire country can possibly function like this.

Just accept it.

Spain hasn’t forgotten about you.

Spain is on holiday.

Nos vemos en septiembre.

— Raulito