As we pulled up to Lidia’s parents’ house in Autol, they were already outside waiting for us, waving both arms enthusiastically in the air with the kind of joy that instantly makes you feel wanted. Before we had even unloaded the van, we were greeted with hugs, smiles, and an excitement that couldn’t be faked.

Inside, they welcomed us into their home as if we’d been friends for years. The kids were surprised with thoughtful gifts, while Amir and I were each handed an ice-cold Estrella beer—a perfect way to toast the beginning of our stay. We met Lidia’s grandparents, toured the family home, and immediately began to understand where Lidia gets her warmth and generosity.

From there, they took us to the home where we’ll be staying for the next few days. Perched high on a hill overlooking Autol, it belongs to close family friends who graciously share it when they’re away. Lidia explained that this is common here. Many families who live in the compact apartments and narrow streets of town have a second home in the surrounding countryside, where there’s room to gather, a swimming pool, and space to enjoy long summer evenings.

The view was breathtaking. Green and gold vineyards rolled across the valley below, framed by rugged cliffs and dotted with olive groves that have likely stood here for generations. As the sun began its slow descent, the entire landscape glowed in shades of amber and gold.

Dinner was simple, unpretentious, and absolutely delicious. We shared bowls of patatas fritas, olives stuffed with sardines, sharp local cheese, paper-thin slices of jamón, fresh bread, and a chilled white Rioja wine—the first white Rioja I’ve ever tasted. Like so many things on this trip, it challenged what I thought I already knew.

The conversation around the table was an adventure all its own. I stumbled my way through Spanish whenever I could. Amir relied on his Meta glasses to translate conversations from Spanish into English, with surprisingly mixed results. And whenever technology or my high school Spanish failed us, Lidia effortlessly bridged the gap, translating with patience and a smile. Somehow, between imperfect Spanish, artificial intelligence, and a wonderful human interpreter, we all managed to understand one another.

As we watched the sun disappear behind the vineyards, I found myself thinking that the most memorable moments of travel are rarely the ones listed in guidebooks. They’re the evenings spent around a table with people who open their home, share their food, laugh with you through language barriers, and make you feel less like a visitor and more like family.

There is a Spanish word—sobremesa—that describes the time spent lingering around the table after a meal, talking and enjoying one another’s company. Tonight was my first real experience of it, and I can’t think of a better introduction to life in this little corner of La Rioja.

A tour of the Rioja winery

This morning, we were given a behind-the-scenes look at the heart of Lidia’s family’s livelihood: their winery.

Pablo, Lidia’s cousin, welcomed us and took us into the vineyards that have been in their family for generations. Along with his brother, Javier, and their father, he now runs the winery, carrying forward a legacy while thoughtfully embracing the future.

Standing among rows of vines stretching across the hillsides, we learned that making wine in Rioja is about far more than simply growing grapes. It is a region defined by tradition, regulation, and an unwavering commitment to quality. Production is intentionally limited, ensuring that only the highest quality grapes become Rioja wine. Every authentic bottle carries an official Rioja label and its own unique identification number, certifying its origin and authenticity. That protected designation allows growers to command a higher price—not because they produce more, but because they produce less, and they produce it exceptionally well. It was fascinating to see how an entire region has chosen to prioritize excellence over volume.

At the same time, Pablo showed us that tradition and innovation are not mutually exclusive. The family is continually exploring organic and environmentally friendly farming practices. One of the highlights for Oliver was meeting—and getting to drive—the vineyard’s bright blue electric robot. The compact machine quietly moves through the rows of vines without producing emissions, helping reduce the vineyard’s carbon footprint while performing tasks that would otherwise require larger equipment.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the morning was learning that the family still considers the phases of the moon when caring for the vines. Pablo explained that as the lunar cycle changes, the movement of water and nutrients within the plants changes as well, influencing when certain vineyard tasks are best performed. Amir and I exchanged glances—we had never heard of such a thing. Whether discussing centuries-old traditions or cutting-edge technology, it became clear that every decision is made with incredible intention.

What struck me most wasn’t simply the wine itself. It was the pride. The vineyard isn’t just a business; it’s a family story. Every generation has added its own chapter, honoring the work of those before them while preparing something even better for those who will come next. Watching Pablo speak about the land, it was impossible not to admire the passion he has for preserving both his family’s legacy and the future of Rioja winemaking.

After returning to the pool house, the afternoon slowed into one of those perfect summer days. The kids spent hours in the swimming pool while the adults relaxed in the shade. Meanwhile, Amir and Lidia’s father, Jesús, embarked on a culinary adventure together. Armed with their Meta glasses and real-time translation, they somehow managed to cook an incredible paella.

Tomorrow promises to be another unforgettable day. We’ll return to the vineyard—not for work this time, but for celebration. Lidia’s parents are celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary, and family and friends will gather in the vineyard gardens we saw today. If the warmth we’ve experienced over the past two days is any indication, it’s sure to be an evening filled with laughter, good wine, and the unmistakable feeling of family.

A Village Comes Alive

After an afternoon siesta back at the pool house, we headed into Lidia’s village just as it was coming alive. The streets had been closed to traffic, and there was an unmistakable buzz in the air as everyone prepared for the weekend festival. Families filled the plazas, children darted through the streets, and every café seemed to spill onto the sidewalks.

We found a small café, ordered cold Estrella beers, and settled in to wait for one of the evening’s traditions: the vaquitos. Unlike the famous fighting bulls, these are small bulls with no horns, making them a much safer introduction to the sport. A temporary ring had been set up in the middle of town, and nearly every child in the village seemed eager to test their courage. They perched on the fence surrounding the ring, taking turns jumping inside to tease the vaquito before scrambling back over the rails at the last possible second. It was equal parts bravery, chaos, and laughter.

The only real excitement came from outside the ring. A woman watching the festivities suddenly collapsed. Without hesitation, Amir rushed over to help until the ambulance arrived. She briefly lost consciousness again while he was assisting her, but thankfully she recovered and was eventually okay. It was a reminder that sometimes the biggest drama isn’t the one everyone is watching.

With the excitement behind us, we wandered over to the carnival. The kids tried a fishing game using long poles with hooks to catch floating rubber duckies, each marked with points on the bottom. Every one of them walked away proudly clutching a prize. But the biggest hit of the night was a trampoline attraction where they were harnessed to giant bungee cords and launched high into the air, soaring, bouncing, and even attempting flips. #1BigSister declared it the best part of the entire evening.

As darkness settled over the village, we found ourselves at the aptly named Dublin Bar, a lively gathering spot with a playground for the kids and plenty of outdoor seating for the adults. The contrast made us smile—children climbing and laughing while parents lingered over food and drinks well into the night. We finally sat down for dinner… at 10:00 p.m. In Spain, that’s perfectly normal. For us, still operating somewhere between American and Spanish time, it felt incredibly late.

Tomorrow morning may come far too early, but tonight we experienced exactly what makes small-town Spain so special: traditions passed down through generations, children with endless energy, neighbors filling the streets, and a community that seems to come alive only after the sun begins to set.

~Steph