Andreína Crepsac, 29, spent weeks counting the days. I bought the ticket at the beginning of October: I left on December 17, I returned on December 7. This was not another trip. Since arriving in Madrid six years ago, I have only been to Venezuela once for Christmas. It would be the second, and it had a special meaning: for the first time in years, his whole family would be reunited. His priests came from Venezuela, his brother – recently become a priest – from Mexico, and members of his sister-in-law’s family were also gathered, scattered in other countries. “It was a collective effort,” he said. But he won’t be able to fly.
The cancellation and reduction of flights between Spain and Venezuela accelerated at the end of November following a series of warnings and decisions that left the route suspended in the middle of high season. The United States Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) issued a statement warning of deteriorating conditions in Venezuelan airspace, recommending extreme precautions in the face of risks to civil aviation. As a result, several international airlines have suspended or reduced operations. In Spain, the recommendation made to operators ended up reinforcing the decision to stop the line. Iberia has extended the suspension of its flights to Caracas until December 31. Air Europa stopped operating the route and Plus Ultra also left the operating system. Until then, Madrid and Caracas were connected by daily direct flights: at least 36 weekly frequencies which disappeared overnight.
At this point, none of those affected have yet received a refund. Airlines have indicated that complaint procedures could stretch for months and they must choose between seeking a refund or accepting a ticket for further closures, likely from December 31, when the restriction in theory ends. For many, this option came too late. Some lost their money and others chose to buy new tickets to Colombia and from there they continue their journey to Venezuela.
According to data from the National Institute of Statistics (INE), the Venezuelan diaspora is one of the largest in Spain, with more than 400,000 people residing in 2025. In Madrid, the city that concentrates a large part of this community, estimates exceed 200,000 autonomous Venezuelans, consolidating the region as one of the main exile destinations.
Crepsac lives in Arganzuela (Madrid) and works at marketing gastronomic. He takes theater and music as a passion and describes his life in Madrid as “very middle of the road”: a stable job, little margin of time and a routine adjusted between exercise and friends when time permits. For this trip, he had accumulated all his vacations for the year and had even asked for a few extra days to plan the itinerary. Your family helped you pay the bill. When I assumed it wouldn’t be possible to travel, it wasn’t viable to reschedule anything. The economic impact for her is estimated to be between 1,500 and 1,600 euros. “These trips are not easy to plan, either economically or emotionally,” he says. “We worked hard as a family to be able to organize this reunion.”
I spent weeks coming as the situation became more complicated. Even though his family was traveling with other airlines, the news forced him to think – “with great regret” – that he probably should cancel. In Europe, many acquaintances have tried to save money on their trips by paying for longer routes or looking for alternatives. It also offers an option, but it involves a higher cost. I couldn’t allow it. “Since I thought it wasn’t possible, I remained apathetic,” he admits. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see his family next, or if he’ll be able to reunite everyone as planned.
On the other side of Madrid, Mare Pimentel is experiencing another version of the same blockade. She is 40 years old, a consultant and founder of Hyggelink, a digital transformation company, and lives in Madrid with her husband and three-year-old daughter Sofía, born in Spain. He left Venezuela in 2016, traveled to Tenerife, then Ireland and finally returned to Madrid in search of a culturally closer environment to raise his daughter. Spend three years in the city.
“With a lot of effort, I achieved professional stability,” he says. “But that stability is not filled by the void of family distance. Every success comes with the wish that my mother was there to see it. This year, for the first time, they had planned a few birthdays in reverse: when they weren’t traveling, they betrayed their mother, their sister and a five-year-old niece they hadn’t known before. “Luckily, we hadn’t bought the tickets when the mass cancellations started, but we had to cover the entire project,” he explains.
In this case, the scam is not measured by a lost invoice, but by a paralysis that even affects other procedures. Her husband, who only planned to travel to Venezuela, applied for a passport renewal more than two months ago. Paid around 300 euros and never arrived. “With the suspension of flights, we assume that diplomatic values with passports are also affected. We are in the dark: without a passport and without certainty of being able to travel,” he says.
Pimentel describes it as “silent chaos”: “You paid, you met the conditions and now you just have to wait, with no closure or clear information.” When they tried to look up flights for their family, they found the same thing: itineraries disappearing from web pages and confusing answers. “There is no official apology, only silence and sentences that tell us what the assessment of the situation is.”
The highest cost does not appear on receipts. “My daughter is three years old and I don’t know her attackers or her uncles. We celebrate our birthdays by video call,” he says. It also normalized decisions that would have been unthinkable before: “I’m working on vacation because, totally, I’m not going to be with my family.” He calls for resignation: “This should not be normal, but there is a return to our reality. »
His story reflects a fragmented life. One of his sisters returned from Chile to Venezuela “because she couldn’t find a home” and now lives in an “increasingly complicated” country with her three children. Pimentel, from Madrid, lives with the helplessness of watching his nephews grow up and seeing his parents age since their childhood.
This discomfort is accompanied by a constant calculation of risk. “There is fear. If something goes wrong, on the ground we lose some vacant positions: we could lose everything we have built in eight years,” he says. Her husband has Spanish nationality and her daughter has Spanish nationality. “We cannot do without playing our game in stability, but we can also take them if the routes are canceled overnight.”
While some plans are thwarted before starting, others are blocked with the ticket already paid. In Barajas, some live in ambush in their own flesh. Samuel Urbina, 28, musician, writer and researcher, was trying to travel from Madrid while still speaking. On November 18, I was at the airport and there were delays. Iberia rescheduled the flight for the 24th. The previous days, the 22nd —the day of their cumpleaños—, I guess the flights were suspended. Attention lines collapsed. They responded on the 24th, but without clear information.
From that moment on, everything went downhill. His suitcases flew away and were left alone with a carry-on pocket. He calculates that he lost more than 2,000 euros in expenses: he had to go into debt to pay for accommodation, food, transport and winter clothes. “The hardest part was the uncertainty. I don’t know how long this is going to last or how long it’s going to last.”
Eventually, Iberia took him on an alternative route: flying to Bogotá, from there to Cúcuta, crossing the border on foot, and flying from San Antonio to Caracas. A long and tedious journey which, in your case, will allow you to find yourself again. “Overall, I’m lucky. I’m one of those who sleep at the airport, with their suitcases in the cold ground,” he says. “It’s because of me that many brothers and sisters cannot spend these holidays with their friends.”
There will be Navigations crossed by the rupture of an itinerary which maintained the link between two worlds. With 36 weekly flights missing, there is no space to replace them all, no money to pay for alternatives, no energy to get back to planning. Those who stay in Madrid will learn what they learned to do: carry on the tradition close to home. Crepsac will probably spend the holidays with her best friend, also Venezuelan. Harán pan de jamón together and prepare your chicken salad: “I use it with truth that gives me pernil”, bromea. They will also sing about the bad guys.
In Pimentel’s house they will celebrate the birth of the Child Jesus with a traditional scene, the children will receive Santa Claus, they will write the letter for the Spirit of the Nativity and, “more than ever this year”, they will ask for freedom for Venezuela. The 31st will eat 12 grapes and go out with a suitcase to attract travel. “The irony does not escape me: we simulate a trip when what we want most is to be able to do it,” he comments.
What’s more, the duel, by chance, is not only the appointed day, but everyday life becomes something else: hugging a mother, meeting a niece, seeing the priests age. “I’m sorry that Sofía is celebrating her first years without knowing where her mother comes from,” Pimentel says. “May Venezuelan traditions live as something exotic.” Crepsac sums it up in one sentence: “Fight me in my power to come back”. The Venezuelan exile in Madrid will toast with hallacas, pan de jamón and video calls that, for a few more days, will continue to unite the worlds separated by a sky without planes.
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