My father and I were driving from Galicia to Madrid on Monday when traffic on the A-6 (care-ay-TAY-rah day la nor-oh-AY-stay, according to the GPS) came to a complete stop — and stayed that way for nearly an hour.
The Spanish drivers got out of their cars, stretched and, in the case of almost every male driver, urinated on the side of the road. I ate most of the food I’d brought along for lunch and read a few chapters of my book (“The Known World” by Edward P. Jones: Must. Read.) Finally, I asked a nearby driver what had happened. He let out a stream of Gallego-inflected Spanish from which I extracted the word “mineros” and little else.