A rooster crows as day breaks over the surrounding Cantabrian Mountains. He crows every few moments, singing an anthem to morning, his voice ringing throughout the tiny village of Cornellana.

I am in a bar, drinking morning joe. My bartender is working his buns off.

Cornellana is a charming town. The yards and apartment balconies are adorned with clotheslines, weighted with fresh laundry. Tiny, little-kid clothes. Boys’ underpants, tighty-whities, flapping in the wind. Pink frilly nightgowns, multicolored socks, old-woman dresses, aprons, red brassieres, blue jeans, T-shirts.

The terra-cotta rooftops, stained with age and black mildew, host ferns growing between the tiles’ crevices, and old-school TV antennas mounted to each ridgeline, which blanket the roofline of this small village.

It’s mostly silent this morning, except for the gabby rooster, of course. This is because this town, by and large, has no A/C. Thus, no humming compressors drone in the ever-present background, no thrumming 16-ton monster units belching out a middle C for hours, days, months, decades on end. Only quiet.

The two guards park their cruiser and enter the café. They have a seat next to me. More men enter, both young and old. These are locals, not pilgrims. They all enter the tavern for coffee and bocadillos and socialization. They do this every day.

Namely, because socialization is an important thing here. No. It’s THE important thing here.

This is why bars and cafés are perpetually crowded with locals who surround sidewalk tables and lampposts, laughing and carrying on. There is no special occasion for this. Life is the occasion.

“We do this every day,” says my bartender. “For many hours of each day.”

They socialize more than work. They socialize as often as they eat or drink. The Spanish live to socialize. Elderly people, teens, middle-aged. Doesn’t matter. They must be together.

Nobody chides them for spending their money “eating out.” Nobody tells them it’s smarter to stay home and cook for your family. This community IS their family. And besides, the bars only charge a few euros for full service. You can still actually get a cup of coffee in Spain for less than a buck.

“Spain has the second highest life expectancy in the world, trailing only slightly behind Japan.” I am told by the bartender that this has little to do with diet and exercise.

The Spanish, as a rule, do not exercise unless you count chewing their meals. Also, they consider ham to be health food. They smoke liberally. Wine is their most important food group. But they still live long and prosper. Well into their 100s. Why, one must ask.

“Socialization,” says the barkeep. “We are social animals.”

In a recent study, 80 percent of Americans admitted to feeling lonely and isolated. Isn’t there something wrong with this? Shouldn’t we be more concerned about this epidemic of American loneliness? Weren’t we made to be together? Made to mingle? Made to hang out?

In Spain, you can see their cultural values in action, in every city, in every rural pueblo, in each township. You can see young people, hooking arms with elders, guiding them down the sidewalk toward the local taverns. You see children, forming respective groups in the streets, riding their bikes like it’s still 1979.

The workmen do more than just work together. They drink together. They sup together. They spend weekends together. Local waitresses do more than just serve tables alongside coworkers. They vacation together, plan baby showers together, and they are each other’s godmothers.

And so it is, we begin our hike a little after sunrise. As we make our way through the ancient streets, the sun peeks above the summits of impossible mountains we must climb today.

And yet, although it is early, each café and bar in each town we pass is already heavily patronized. This is the lifeblood of the Iberian Peninsula, swelling its capillaries and arteries. People spending time together. I can see them all inside the warm glowing windows, smiling and laughing, sipping and hugging, smoking and pumping hands.

“We need each other,” says my bartender. “Here in España, we have a saying. We say ‘Life begins the moment we find each other. Until then, you are not yet born.’”