The first thing you notice in an abandoned Spanish village is the swallows.
Outside, they swoop zestfully up and down in wavy crests and troughs, cutting through the air, darting through broken windows and front doors at reckless speed, slipping through holes in the masonry with astonishing precision, and alighting, casually, in their chosen nests. It’s as if they know every corner of the building. It’s as if they own the place.
And they do. There’s no one else here. By some estimates, Spain has more than three thousand abandoned villages. I was in one called Las Casillas de Bezas, in the eastern half of the country, in the province of Teruel, high-stepping over brambles, ducking as swallows darted around my head, and wondering if I was striding into the ancient past or the deep future.
I was on the trail of abandonment, particularly what follows when humans leave the countryside, which is happening not just in Spain, but across Europe, and
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