The aroma of hallacas and the familiar melodies of Venezuelan Christmas carols usually fill the homes of the Venezuelan diaspora in Madrid during the festive season. This year, however, a different scent hangs in the air: that of shattered dreams and reorganised plans. The unexpected suspension of flights to Venezuela has left thousands of exiles grappling with an emotional and financial blow, forcing them to redefine what Christmas means when home is out of reach.
Christmas Disrupted: A Collective Effort Undone
For Andreína Crepsac, 29, the countdown to Christmas began in early October. Her ticket was booked for December 17, a return trip on January 7. This wasn’t just any journey; it was to be her second Christmas in Venezuela in nearly six years, a special reunion where her entire family – parents from Venezuela, a brother from Mexico, and in-laws from other countries – would gather. “It was a collective effort,” she recounts, her voice tinged with disappointment. Now, none of them will fly.
The cancellation and reduction of flights between Spain and Venezuela intensified in late November, following warnings from the US Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) about deteriorating conditions in Venezuelan airspace. This led to several international airlines suspending or reducing operations. In Spain, this reinforced the decision to halt the route, with Iberia extending its suspension to Caracas until at least December 31, and Air Europa and Plus Ultra also ceasing operations. What were once 36 weekly direct flights between Madrid and Caracas vanished overnight.
Financial limbo and emotional toll
Four days after the cancellations, affected passengers are still stranded. Airlines have informed them that reclamation processes could take months, offering a choice between a refund or a ticket for a later date, likely after December 31. For many, this option comes too late. Some have resigned themselves to losing their money, while others have opted to buy new tickets to Colombia, continuing their journey to Venezuela by road. Andreína estimates her personal financial loss at between 1,500 and 1,600 euros. “These trips are not easy to plan, neither economically nor emotionally,” she says. “We made a huge family effort for this reunion.”
Mare Pimentel, 40, a consultant and founder of Hyggelink, shares a similar story of disruption. Living in Madrid with her husband and three-year-old daughter Sofía, Mare left Venezuela in 2016. This year, for the first time, they planned to bring her mother, sister, and five-year-old niece – whom Sofía has never met – to Madrid. “Fortunately, we hadn’t bought the tickets when the massive cancellations began, but we had to put the whole plan aside,” she explains.
For Mare, the impact isn’t just a lost ticket, but a broader paralysis. Her husband, who planned to travel to Venezuela, applied for his passport renewal over two months ago, paying nearly 300 euros. With flight suspensions, they assume diplomatic pouches with passports are also affected. “We are in limbo: without a passport and without certainty of whether he can travel,” she states, describing it as “silent chaos.”
A Fragmented Life: The Cost Beyond Receipts
“My daughter is three years old and doesn’t know her grandparents or her aunts and uncles. We celebrate birthdays via video call,” Mare laments. She’s normalised working during the holidays, a decision that would have been unthinkable before. “It shouldn’t be normal, but it has become our reality.” Her story reflects a fragmented life, witnessing her parents age and her nephews grow up from afar. This constant risk calculation is accompanied by fear. “If something goes wrong, we don’t just lose a vacation; we could lose everything we’ve built in eight years.”
While some plans are thwarted before they even begin, others are halted with tickets already paid. Samuel Urbina, 28, a musician, writer, and researcher, experienced the chaos firsthand at Barajas Airport. On November 18, delays were already evident. Iberia rescheduled his flight for the 24th, but on the 22nd – his birthday – he learned of the suspensions. His bags flew without him, leaving him with only a carry-on. He estimates losing over 2,000 euros on accommodation, food, transport, and winter clothes. “The hardest part was the uncertainty,” he says.
Iberia eventually re-routed him via Bogotá, Cúcuta, a border crossing on foot, and then a flight from San Antonio to Caracas. A long and arduous journey, but one that will allow him to reunite with family. “Despite everything, I’m lucky. I know people sleeping at the airport, with their bags on the cold floor,” he shares. “It hurts me that many brothers and sisters cannot spend these holidays with their loved ones.”
Traditions Endure, Memories Keep Them Connected
This Christmas will be marked by the rupture of a route that sustained the bond between two worlds. With 36 weekly flights gone, there’s no space to re-accommodate everyone, no money for alternatives, and no strength to re-plan. Those who remain in Madrid will do what they’ve learned to do: uphold tradition far from home. Andreína will likely spend the holidays with her best friend, also Venezuelan, making pan de jamón and preparing chicken salad. “I use it as barter with whoever gives me pernil,” she jokes. They will also sing carols.
At Mare’s house, they will celebrate the birth of Jesus with a traditional dinner, children will receive Santa Claus, and they will write letters to the Spirit of Christmas, asking – “more than ever this year” – for freedom for Venezuela. On the 31st, they will eat 12 grapes and act out leaving with a suitcase to attract travel. “The irony is not lost on me: we simulate traveling when what we want most is to be able to do it,” she comments.
What hurts them most, they agree, is not just the special day, but that daily life remains on the other side: hugging a mother, meeting a niece, watching parents age. “It hurts me that Sofía celebrates her first years without knowing where her mom comes from,” Mare says. “That she experiences Venezuelan traditions as something exotic.” Andreína summarises it succinctly: “It hurts me not to be able to go back.” The Venezuelan exiles in Madrid will toast with hallacas, pan de jamón, and video calls that, for a few more days, will continue to unite two worlds separated by a sky without planes.
Source: https://elpais.com/espana/madrid/2025-12-23/el-exilio-venezolano-en-madrid-que-reorganiza-sus-navidades-por-la-suspension-de-los-vuelos-estos-viajes-no-son-sencillos-de-planificar.html
