Amalia and Charo go out to the same bench every afternoon to get some fresh air and pass the time. Together they have been together for over 160 years and have seen how their town, Villoslada de Cameros, in the north of Spain, has gradually become depopulated.
“The village is almost empty,” they tell me as, in the distance, the ringing of cowbells can be heard, the only noise at 6 in the afternoon.
The first to migrate left in the years following the Spanish Civil War, especially to Chile; later, as happened to Charo, to Madrid. All in search of better opportunities.
Villoslada has just over 300 registered inhabitants, but its permanent population is usually around 200. In winter, they barely reach 100.
In recent years, however, new residents have been bringing more life to the town: several Venezuelan families.
Although they may seem few, around 20 in total between children and adults, they are revitalizing the town with new businesses or taking over others that, due to lack of hands and interest, had closed.
“Nobody wanted to take care of the bar, but a married couple [venezolano] “They took it and reopened it. That is what matters, that it is open, just like the school,” explains Amalia.
Of There are 11 students, four of whom are Venezuelan. “Now you see children running up and down the street,” Charo says.
Villoslada is an example of the many small rural areas in Spain that are gaining new momentum thanks to Venezuelan migration.
The emptied Spain
To get to Villoslada de Cameros, this small town La Rioja, 50 kilometres from Logroñoits capital, you have to take a winding road, marked by the majestic mountains of the Sierra de Cebollera —full of pines, beeches and oaks—, and which crosses the Iregua River several times.
The village, with just a hundred houses with thick stone walls and red tile roofs, is accessed via a medieval bridge that spans the river.
Villoslada could be considered part of what has been called for a few years “empty Spain”areas in the interior of the country that have been left without people due to a lack of births and migration to urban areas, with more job opportunities.
Depopulation affects three out of four municipalities in the country, especially rural and small ones.
There is only one pharmacy, one bakery and one butcher’s shop here. On some houses there is a sign saying “We have honey” or “We have wine of the year.” There are also many saying “This house is for sale.”
It’s Friday before lunchtime and We don’t see a soul on the street. Still, not even an hour goes by before the neighbors learn that two “strangers” are in town.
But we won’t meet anyone until later, when we reach another establishment that is the true heart of Villoslada: the bar-casino run by Venezuelans.
From pork rinds to torrezno
Fridays in the village are for pincho-pote, that is, for each drink you order (the pote), they give you a small portion of food: the pincho.
Like the chanterelles, the crowded mushrooms that grow in heaps in the mountains, all the regulars from Villoslada that we hadn’t seen until now appear in the bar.
There is a hustle and bustle, warmth, people coming and going, some leaning on the bar, others playing dominoes or Parcheesi at the tables, others further away grabbing their glasses of wine and taking them to the terrace.
Behind the bar, a woman who is a whirlwind of 38 years, neatly made up and coiffed, moves from side to side and sings the pinchos of the day, a list that is the best example of the Riojan-Venezuelan fusion: “My love, today we have ear, stuffed peppers, marriage, hamburger, torrezno and arepa de reina pepiada or shredded meat.”
It is Soraida Ledezma, who is in charge of the La Paz bar-casino.
He arrived from Valencia, a city of almost 900 thousand inhabitants in the central region of Venezuela, to Villoslada in July 2021on the first commercial flight from the Caribbean country after the pandemic. She did it with her husband, Carlos Escalona, and her two girls, now 15 and 9 years old.
“The impact at first was very strong, but we have adapted,” he tells me.
And this adaptation by Soraida and her family ranges from modifying the language and saying torrezno instead of chicharrón, to researching, traveling to other towns in the area and looking for a way to cook a piece of pork so that it is more to the local taste.
For a Riojan, food and drink, their products, are part of their essence, so Getting into Villoslada’s stomach was essential for this Venezuelan family.
This is mainly the responsibility of Soraida’s mother-in-law, Nureya Rodríguez, 66, who runs the kitchen with the support of her husband, Eliud Escalona (71 years old) and two other girls, also Venezuelan, who recently arrived in the town.
Nureya makes all kinds of dishes “in the style of the kitchen,” she tells me in the kitchen. But she clarifies: “I give them my special touch… Venezuelan seasoning.”
When she says this, she puts her hand on her heart and a few tears escape.
Back at the bar, Virginia Muela, another local, praises the fact that they have managed to mix the products so well, that they have integrated them into the wine culture – essential in the area – and that they have achieved “Venezuelan-Riojan experiments that are delicious.”
Another customer orders a white wine from the other waitress, Patricia, Soraida’s sister-in-law.
—What can I get you for a snack?
—I love everything you do. Look, give me an arepa.
This neighbor, Jesús Sáenz, but whom everyone knows as “Coco,” goes to the store religiously every day.
“This bar was unmanageable. Thanks to them we have the school and the bar open. But, In addition, they have opened a store in Torrecilla [otro pueblito muy cerca]”We have to thank them,” he added.
Coco is not just anyone. He was the first to welcome the Escalona-Ledezmas when they arrived in Villoslada.
“We arrived in summer and we were still cold”
“It was 11pm, there were hardly any lights in the village. My wife and I stood there looking at each other. Where had we gotten ourselves into? We felt so much contrast,” recalls Carlos Escalona, Soraida’s husband.
“And to think that we arrived in summer and yet we were still cold, very cold. We had to take out our sweaters and we saw everyone in their summery T-shirts,” adds Soraida.
In Valencia, Venezuela, temperatures are always around 25-30 °C. In Villoslada, in the mountains, they can drop to -10 °C in winter, including snow.
When I ask him why they left Venezuela, Carlos tells me, “Well, you know, the broken record of all of us: the economic, political, social crisis.”
In recent years, 7.7 million Venezuelans have left the country in what is considered the largest recent migration in Latin America. There are almost 520,000 Venezuelans registered in Spain, although many already have Spanish nationality and count as such.
“I had always said that I would not leave my country unless there was a war or my daughters and wife were in danger. And we had to leave.”
The illness of a family member precipitated everything. After an operation, they managed to get it under control, but the doctor was clear: “If this happens again, they have no chance here.”
The economic crisis that the country is going through is causing many infrastructures to fail and even hospitals to lack supplies. The government of Nicolás Maduro attributes this to the sanctions applied by the United States, although the shortages began to be seen long before the sanctions were applied to the oil industry in 2019.
The family sold everything they had and used it to buy tickets and travel insurance, and arrived in Spain with 5,000 euros (about US$5,400).
A family of entrepreneurs
Carlos and Soraida opted for Villoslada de Cameros because a cousin had come before them who, in fact, ran the bar they now run.
“There are more jobs in the city, but it is more expensive. And he needed someone trustworthy in the bar. Then he went to Ortigosa [a 15 minutos de acá] and there he took charge of another bar and we took charge of this one,” explains Carlos.
They were also attracted by the tranquillity of the village, especially for their daughters. This is what convinced Carlos’ sister, Patricia, to come to Villoslada a year and a half later with her two children.
“Then my parents (Nureya and Eliud) came to visit and I tried to convince them to stay. When they saw the peace and quiet, they loved it, and they help out in the kitchen. And now, a year ago, my brother arrived and, in Lumbreras de Cameros [a 7 minutos] “He runs another bar,” explains Carlos.
So, recalculating, This family and their close associates alone are in charge of three bars in the area.and, more recently, a supply store that Carlos acquired in Torrecilla, 20 minutes from Villoslada, a business that had been closed for two years because the owner retired and his son “does not want the town.”
“They are entrepreneurs, very hard-working and have adapted really well,” says neighbour Virginia Muela, who also has all the town’s Venezuelan children in the theatre group she directs. “In this community we were almost running out of small children. They have given us a joy,” she says.
And it is a mutual joy. Soraida repeats all the time that Villoslada is “a magical little town.”
“You bring joy to the people”
Alexander Hernández, a Venezuelan born in Caracas, has a similar story. He went to live in Caracas in 2017. Cubillo del Campo (Burgos)a town where his entire family makes up 20% of the population.
And the math is simple: there are 100 people in the village, and 20 of them.
Like Soraida and Carlos, Alexander (60 years old) and his family run the only bar in Cubillo del Campo, where they serve, above all, Venezuelan food and hamburgers with great acceptance.
“Villages are easier to work in than cities. Almost no one wants to work there, especially in winter. There are many towns looking for waiters. And at the same time, we have a lot of customers because they come from the surrounding areas because there is nowhere else to go,” he tells me over the phone.
And the response she gets from the residents, who in this case do not even have a pharmacy or other business to go to if they do not travel to the city of Burgos, 20 minutes away, is very positive: “People have been very open with us. They tell us that it is good that we are here because we have brought joy to the town.”
Further south, in Sigüenza (Guadalajara, central Spain)There is a reception centre run by Accem, an NGO that cares for refugees and asylum seekers. Many Venezuelans who stay in the village arrive there.
Like José Elio and Irene Josefina, who are a couple. He now works on a food delivery programme and she has set up a small supermarket. Or Sara Jaqueline, who works as a cook.
“It is a wealth for everyone, for those who arrive and those who welcome. Here in Guadalajara there are many small municipalities that are achieving cultural wealth. Venezuelans bring everything from gastronomy to music. And those who welcome also contribute a lot.” many values and, in the end, A village offers a simpler integration network than a big city.”, Braulio Cerlén, territorial manager of Accem in Castilla La Mancha, the region where Sigüenza is located, tells BBC Mundo.
To the rhythm of drums and bachata
Back in Villoslada de Cameros, if on Fridays the liveliest thing is the bar, on Saturday afternoons the thing moves to the school. But instead of lessons, what is heard here today is pure Caribbean rhythm.
For those who visit the north of Spain, they will soon understand that, in general, that of Moving the hips and feet to dance is not very widespread.
That is why the energy and rhythm that the students – or rather, the female students and one male student – put into coordinating following the instructions of José Gregorio Montero, another Venezuelan who began giving dance therapy classes in Villoslada and has now extended his activity to two other small towns in the area, is even more striking.
“I started in winter and we tried to break the idea that nobody comes to the village during that time. The point is to have different activities to do here,” he explains.
He throws in as many Latin rhythms as he can, including Venezuelan tamborine, but points out that people here especially love bachata.
“I don’t move my hips like you do, but I’m trying here,” says one of the students as a Shakira song plays and she steps back and forth.
Another dancer, Ana Rosa, told us at the end of the class that the activity clears her mind and that “it means a lot because there are very few activities in the town.”
“It brings us all together and in the end the music cheers us up, we are super happy.”
At the end of class, José Gregorio has a surprise: a tray of sweets made by Priscila, his wife, who contributes to the family economy by selling cakes (tarts in Spain) and sobadas (sponge cake) to order.
It was not so difficult for José Gregorio to migrate, he says, because This is your second experience. First it was from Venezuela to Chile and then from Chile to Spain. However, he did find it difficult to cope with the cold, the snow and having to change the pace and intensity of Latin American cities to the tranquility and low speed of Villoslada.
Now, he smiles, he feels like another Spaniard.
“I have an international family. My wife and I are Venezuelan; my first daughter is Venezuelan; the second is Chilean. And now, soon, with God’s help, the third will be born, who will be from La Rioja.”
“The Venezuelan essence”
The plan is not to return, but to try, as far as possible, to have the whole family together, including Soraida’s, who is all in the United States, along with Carlos’ sister, the only one of the Escalona clan who is not in Villoslada.
“I wish I could be in my country, but I can’t. And here, we couldn’t have landed in a better place, in La Rioja, in the mountains… it was wonderful,” Carlos lets slip, not without a crack in his voice.
“Things have turned out wonderfully. This town has its charm, it attracts you,” says Soraida, this Venezuelan Graduate in Education who had to retrain in the hospitality industry: Despite not drinking, he learned about wine, and although he has “lived through it all,” he maintains a smile and a strong and courageous attitude towards life.
“If at some point we have to leave here, we will do it in the best way possible and we will take our essence, our Venezuelan identity, with us wherever we go,” he added.
Here, in the Cebollera mountain range, with temperatures below zero and snow in winter, the vegetation has to be resistant, humble but strong. Even so, it is impossible for the beauty of its colours to go unnoticed.
Something similar happens to those who come from the Caribbean and have to start a new life in the middle of these mountains.
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