The heart of Spain: it may be emptying but it still beats warmly

Our gradual introduction into Spanish life continued this weekend. Indeed, we went for a deep dive to the very roots of Spain: a visit to a mountain village on the border of Castille and Aragon, right in the Spanish heartland.

I say Castille although the official title of the region to which it belongs is Castilla-La Mancha. The place is full of wind farms and I made a weak joke about where was Don Quixote, the man of La Mancha, when we really needed him among all those windmills. All I got in return was a faint smile and the tired reply: “this isn’t La Mancha. Here, we’re in Castille”. The region may embrace two historical provinces, but the old attachments die hard.

The comment was from our host, Teo, in the village of Tartanedo. He and his wife are dear old friends, but that didn’t stop us failing to catch up with each other for 25 years. In many ways, it’s a real test of friendship when one meets someone after that kind of a gap, and the conversation simply starts up again as though it had never been interrupted.

The first connection between us had come when Ernestina, his wife, had travelled to England with their daughter Leticia as part of a teacher exchange. Although Tartanedo has a great spiritual pull on them, especially on Teo who was born there, they actually live down in the plain at Guadalajara, a proper town just about within commuting distance from Madrid. Ernestina had been teaching in Guadalajara back in the eighties and she swapped with a teacher from Luton for a year.

Now Guadalajara is warm and sunny, with a lovely centre and deep cultural roots. Why, at our first visit to our friends after that long gap, Ernestina took us to an inspiring flamenco concert in the town’s well-appointed and attractive theatre.

Luton, on the other, has all the joys of English weather, a depressed and depressing town centre, and only a middling-sized room in the library to act as a theatre.

This made it amusing to learn that Ernestina had happily returned to Guadalajara as soon as her year was over. On the other hand, the teacher she’d exchanged with met and married a man from Guadalajara and, to the best of our knowledge, never went back.

In a Tartanedo street, looking at St Bartholomew’s Church

As for Tartanedo, it’s a lovely if embattled place. The houses are mostly built of sandstone and many are beautiful: in excellent repair with fine façades and an air of permanence. But many of these are holiday homes, uninhabited most of the time. Around the edges of the village, there are buildings, many agricultural, but some residential, that are falling into decay, with caved-in roofs, glassless window and doors falling away from their hinges.

Tartanedo is suffering from the same phenomenon that affected many British villages in the past: rural depopulation. The work opportunities are in the cities, as are the bright lights, the restaurants and the main sources of entertainment. Tartanedo had 500 inhabitants at the start of the twentieth century; today there are only 50 permanently living there. 

It has to be said that those who remain, and even many of those who return at holidays, are from the village and have strong roots there. But there were once two shops and a bakery; now there are vans in the summer that come to sell fresh produce but otherwise there is only a bar and a church. It does have to be said that the church is remarkable: it is crammed with breathtaking works of art, in an architectural setting that mixes styles from several centuries of Spanish development. But even the church is struggling. We were there on Sunday and the congregation was just five strong.

Superb baroque altar. But there were only five worshippers

As Teo explained, Tartanedo is part of “España vacía” – empty Spain. In Tartanedo’s case, that has helped a little: the emptiness around it makes it an excellent area for wind farms, and the taxes they pay have provided a much-needed financial boost. But still, emptying is never easy for a village, and leaves it trying to define what kind of future it might have.

Empty Spain: the surroundings of Tartanedo - big sky, big space
With the ubiquitous windmills and no Don Quixote
Oh, and our poodle Toffee in the foreground

Some of the other aspects of life there are familiar to an Englishman. Of the 50 permanent inhabitants, 25 are from Morocco. Why? One of the few businesses still flourishing there is sheep breeding. There are 4000 sheep, providing work for five shepherds and a living for their families. All of them are Moroccan. It seems the Spanish, like the English, aren’t attracted to certain jobs which have to be carried out by foreigners instead.

As in Britain, Spain sees some racism directed against such immigrants, who come over to take “our” jobs even though “we” don’t want to do them. The Spanish, however, are managing to keep such xenophobic feelings mostly in check for the moment. Spain remains a far more welcoming place, generally, to foreigners than Brexitland has become. There’s no talk, certainly, of Spexit – or perhaps, in España, I should say no talk of Espexit. In Tartanedo, there is far more: there is a warmth between all the inhabitants, displayed in hugs and handshakes, whether the individual’s roots are in Spain or in North Africa. The Moroccan children are even being educated, by volunteers, in the old school house which had long been closed.  

A degree of openness, a level of tolerance, and a willingness to work with her neighbours. They make Spain a refreshing place to live in after Britain. And it was encouraging to come across much of that spirit even in a small place like Tartanedo, which has to find a future for itself.

It’s particularly encouraging because, in Tartanedo, we were deep in the very heart of the nation.