When you work in Spanish real estate long enough, you stop being surprised by most things. Buyers forget their passports, sellers disappear mid-deal, and cats occasionally attend viewings (uninvited, of course).
But nothing prepared me for the German couple who tried to pay in cash.

They were lovely people — punctual, polite, the kind of clients who bring neatly printed lists and measure terraces with laser precision. They fell instantly in love with a small villa outside Torrevieja: whitewashed walls, lemon trees, the faint smell of sun cream and desperation.
We agreed on a price, shook hands, and I started the paperwork.

Then came the fateful moment.
The husband leaned in, lowered his voice as if revealing a state secret, and said:

“We will pay… in cash.”

I smiled politely. “Of course,” I said. “Your lawyer will let you know where to transfer the funds when it’s time for the notary.”

He frowned.

“No, no. Cash. Real cash.”

And then, with the confidence of a man ordering tapas, he opened a canvas tote bag — filled, to the brim, with €500 notes.
I stared at it like it was a bomb.
Which, in a way, it was.

I explained that, in Spain, you can’t just show up to the notary waving around what looked like a prop from Narcos. The legal limit for cash transactions is €1,000. Anything more and the the Spanish tax office would happily confiscate both the money and my license.

The wife looked genuinely heartbroken.

“But we brought it all the way from Munich,” she said.

“In the car.”

It took the better part of an hour, three espressos, and several deep breaths to convince them to return to Germany and make a proper bank transfer.
They did, eventually.
The sale went through, and they even invited me for sangría on their new terrace.

But every time I pass that villa now, I can’t help but imagine the scene that could have been — me, the notary, and a suspiciously large canvas bag on the table.
Just another day in paradise.