Pontevedra Hospitality: Spanish Tourists Compare Prices, Foreigners Spend Freely

Spanish tourists check the bill; foreigners pay without looking

On San Julián Street in Pontevedra, a scene repeats every morning this summer: customers walk the entire street with menus in hand, comparing which terrace offers cheaper squid or tortilla rations before sitting down. Arbey Salazar, who runs two venues in the historic center and another in Combarro, describes the situation. The sector’s consensus is unanimous: there are many tourists, but they consume less. And the spending pattern is uneven. "Foreigners arriving have money to spend, while domestic tourism has less," summarizes chef Iñaki Bretal, holder of a Michelin star and owner of a tapería in Plaza de la Leña.

What hospitality owners say about tourist spending in Pontevedra

The account coming from Pontevedra’s terraces has three pillars. First, bad weather at the beach pushes visitors into the city, filling the streets but not necessarily the cash registers. Second, domestic tourists have become more cautious with their bills, sharing dishes or even bringing food for children from outside. Third, and most uncomfortable, is that foreign pilgrims—those staying in hotels and dining out—have become the most profitable clients of the summer.

Isabel Reboredo, who runs Marco Gastrobar on Fernández Villaverde Street, describes it without drama: sometimes an salad is shared among three people, or parents order their portion and bring pizza for the kids from a nearby stall. "You don’t get angry, logically, but I think it’s a symptom that we travel more but don’t want to spend as much," she notes. She adds the key point: this happens more with domestic tourism than with international visitors.

Félix Caeiro, who has run his tavern on San Julián Street for 34 years, provides a nuance that breaks the stereotype of total frugality. "Sometimes they order two rations for four people. But here they’re lucky because our portions are quite large. Curiously, they don’t skimp on octopus... they like it so much that they always order it." In other words: savings are not uniform; they concentrate on dishes perceived as dispensable and vanish when faced with products the client considers essential.

The pilgrim who spends and the myth of the non-spender

Bretal insists on an idea that contradicts the common belief held by much of the sector: "I am surprised when they talk about pilgrims not leaving money in cities... there are increasingly hotel-staying pilgrims who come to dinner and spend money." The chef even points to the profile: most are from abroad, "from Andorra upwards," he says laughing. The distinction between hostel-staying and hotel-staying pilgrims is, according to this reading, more relevant than nationality when predicting average ticket size.

Salazar’s comparison between Pontevedra and Combarro introduces another variable: the environment. In the city, clients compare prices terrace by terrace; in the coastal village, that dynamic fades. Visible competition—a straight street with all menus in sight—turns the stroll into an exercise of menu comparison that did not exist with such intensity before.

Why clients now check the menu before sitting down

Inflation, utility bills, and the proliferation of outings have narrowed the discretionary spending margin for families. The result is a client who does not give up going out but manages every euro carefully. The sector perceives this as an anomaly; in reality, it is the logical response to a context where leisure competes with other budget items.

The phenomenon has an uncomfortable reading for the business itself: if the client compares prices, it is because prices are comparable and visible. The transparency of terrace menus, which for years was a marketing argument, has become a selection mechanism for consumers. The hospitality owner who raises the price of tortilla discovers that the neighbor next door has not done so.

The balance between average ticket and customer volume

The equation facing Pontevedra’s hospitality industry this summer is simple to state and difficult to solve: more visitors, less spending per visitor. If domestic tourists cut back and foreigners maintain or increase spending, the business depends on its clientele composition. Venues oriented toward local proximity and domestic tourism feel the adjustment; those capturing hotel-staying pilgrims or foreign visitors feel it less.

Some argue that the problem is not the client but the price, and that menu comparison is simply the market working. Against this weighs the argument that the sector carries costs—energy, staff, rent—that cannot be absorbed without passing them on to the menu. Between these two positions, the summer leaves a disorienting data point: the dish the client considers identity-defining is untouched, while the one perceived as interchangeable is shared or sought cheaper.