I used to think I understood social hierarchies. Then I moved to Madrid.
Fifteen years of tracking primates in the forests of Bossou, Guinea, had given me a deep respect for how chimpanzees navigate power, alliances, and the delicate dance of survival. I had watched young males posture and bluff, elders enforce unspoken rules, and high-ranking females broker peace over stolen fruit. It was complex, dynamic, and, at times, brutal.
Then, one afternoon in Madrid, I stood at a tapas bar, watching two men argue over whose turn it was to pay for the table’s drinks. Hands were waving, voices were rising, honor was at stake. It was a ritual I had seen before—just in a different setting, with a little less Iberian ham and a little more shrieking from the trees.
Dominance Displays (and the Art of Getting Served!)
Chimpanzee society is built on status. High-ranking males assert dominance through loud vocalizations, strategic alliances, and the occasional well-placed smack on a rival’s back. In Madrid, I’ve discovered a similar hierarchy—but in the context of ordering a beer.
Take a typical Friday night at a crowded cervecería. The bar is packed, and there’s no formal queue. A newcomer steps up, feigns patience, then subtly leans in, makes eye contact with the bartender, and delivers the all-important nod. A low-ranking individual (tourist, perhaps) waits politely, unsure of how the system works, destined to remain beerless until the end of time. The dominant figures—locals with an instinctive understanding of how things function—navigate the scene effortlessly, claiming their place in the order without hesitation.
In Bossou, a young male chimp who waits too long to assert himself gets nothing but scraps. In Madrid, the same principle applies. Hesitate, and you’ll be drinking air.
Chimpanzees reinforce bonds by sharing food—though “sharing” is a generous term. In reality, it’s more like tolerated theft. A lower-ranking individual may carefully inch toward a high-ranking male, hoping for a scrap of fruit. If the timing is right and the mood is good, they’ll get a small portion. If not, they’ll get smacked. It’s all part of the delicate balance of social currency.
In Spain, food operates in much the same way. Tapas culture, at first glance, seems generous—plates of food passed around, everyone getting a bite. But look closer, and you’ll see the politics at play. There’s always an “alpha” at the table who ensures they get first pick. There’s always someone who subtly avoids paying. And there’s always a moment when an outsider—me, usually—reaches for a croqueta at the wrong time and earns a look that could strip bark from a tree.
Conflict, Resolution, and the Iberian Way
Chimpanzee disputes can be loud, dramatic affairs, full of charging, screeching, and chest-thumping. But more often than not, they’re resolved with strategic grooming. One chimp picks through another’s fur, offering a peace gesture, restoring order. It’s a system that works—touch reassures, reinforces alliances, defuses tension.
In Madrid, grooming takes the form of a hand on the shoulder, a laugh, a round of drinks. A tense disagreement can dissipate in seconds if someone offers to pay for another’s caña. At first, I assumed these social rules were just a European flair for dramatics, but the more I watch, the more I recognize the pattern.
Social bonds are reinforced through small, symbolic acts. It’s as true in the rainforest as it is in a Spanish plaza at 2 a.m.
Living Among the “Troop”
When I first moved here, I assumed I’d be an observer, the way I was in the forests of Guinea—documenting, studying, analyzing. But unlike my years with the chimps, Madrid doesn’t let you stay neutral. You get pulled into the social dance whether you like it or not.
I’ve started to find my place in the troop. I’ve learned when to assert myself at the bar, when to let someone else “steal” my food, when to put a hand on a friend’s shoulder and defuse an argument before it starts. I still make mistakes—sometimes I hesitate too long at the tapas table, sometimes I misread a dominance display at a café—but I’m learning.
And somewhere in this city, I think, a group of chimpanzees is sitting in a clearing, grooming one another, reinforcing bonds, sorting out their own hierarchies. Different setting, same instincts.
The wild isn’t as far away as we think.