Every January, the same conversation happens in expat circles across Spain.
“This year,” someone announces, usually on January 1st around 10:14am, “I’m doing Dry January.”
Nods follow. Supportive murmurs. Someone says, “Good for you.”
Nobody actually believes it.
Because Dry January in Spain is… ambitious.
Take Bob. Bob starts strong. He’s read an article. He’s feeling motivated. He announces Dry January with confidence. Then midday rolls around on January 2nd, and Bob finds himself at the bar for his menú del día.
Now, Bob didn’t order a beer. It just arrived. Automatically. Like cutlery. It would have been rude not to drink it. And besides, it’s lunchtime — that doesn’t count. Dry January is clearly an evening thing.
Then there’s Alice.
Alice is technically doing Dry January. She’s very clear about that. She hasn’t had wine. She hasn’t had beer. She’s proud of herself.
But she does have her little brandy at night. Just one. For digestion. Or sleep. Or nerves. Or because her grandmother did it. It’s medicinal, really. You can’t count medicine.
And let’s not forget the local bars and supermarkets, who absolutely despise the idea of Dry January.
The bar owner looks personally offended when you order a Coke. The cashier pauses when you don’t put wine on the conveyor belt, like they’re checking you’re okay. Even the supermarket offers are mocking you: three bottles of Rioja for the price of two, stacked at the entrance like a test of character.
Spain is not built for abstinence in January. It’s built for sunshine, terraces, socialising, and a cheeky drink that somehow appears whenever you sit down.
Dry January doesn’t fail because expats are weak. It fails because Spain is persuasive. Friendly. Insistent. And always happy to pour you just one.
And anyway… February is only a few weeks away.
