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Feature: Rural Spain's male `singletons' seek females in wake of urban migration

"It would be nice to have a woman to share things with ... Really, what I want is someone to take care of the house. Not so much me. I've been doing that all my life."

Ramon Sanchez, 54-year-old bachelor

Ramon Sanchez is not a great believer in the powers of Cupid. But when Sanchez, a wiry 54-year-old bachelor, heard that dozens of women would be coming to this quiet village for a blind date with the local men, he happily signed up.

Sanchez, who lives 17km out of town on a farm with no telephone and with only sheep and cattle for company, said he had come along in the hope of meeting somebody with whom he could spend his old age.

"It would be nice to have a woman to share things with," he said, his dark skin polished by wind and sun. "Really, what I want is someone to take care of the house. Not so much me. I've been doing that all my life."

At lunchtime on a recent Saturday, Sanchez stood with a throng of single men and other villagers awaiting a bus that would bring 62 women from Madrid for an evening of dinner, dancing and -- all involved hoped -- a little romance.

As the bus rumbled to a stop next to the village's stone church, the crowd pressed around it, cheering and whooping. Firecrackers split the air. The 66 local singletons from La Vinuela and nearby villages, who each paid 50 euros (US$67) to take part in the mass date, presented their guests with red carnations and led them to a marquee hung with brightly colored bunting.

"Let's hope we get some results this afternoon," said Serafin Garcia, 48, who helped organize the date in the hope of finding soul mates for some of the 15 single men -- including himself -- who live in this village of 137.

A migration of young people from rural areas to cities in the 1960s and 1970s led to a scarcity of potential spouses for the men -- now middle aged -- who stayed behind to farm in Spain's rural areas, several villagers said. Women, drawn to the cities by the lure of nonagricultural jobs, left in larger numbers than the men.

"Women didn't want to live here anymore -- they didn't want to marry us farmers," said Jose Valiente Perez, 60, a farmer with a wide, ruddy face who lives with his 63-year-old brother about 10km from La Vinuela. His four sisters moved to Madrid and married, while his third brother lives alone on a nearby farm.

Local residents said La Vinuela, an unprepossessing village set among gently sloping olive groves and fields of wheat and barley, had been deserted during the week, and desolate in winter when relatives now living in cities stop visiting. The village has three bars and a bakery.

Inspired by a village in northern Spain that staged a "women's caravan" 20 years ago, Manuel Gozalo set up the Association of Women's Caravans in 1995. The events have gained momentum in the past two years as word has spread and local governments eager to breathe life into their communities offer subsidies, he said.

Garcia said the local council provided a band and portable toilets, donated 300 euros and charged nothing for the marquee and outdoor bar. Donations from local businesses included a wild boar, a sheep and about 2,700 euros.

Gozalo, who has organized more than 30 caravans, acknowledged that, with their middle-aged subscribers, the events were unlikely to set off a rural baby boom. Some of the villagers dismissed the event as a gimmick and said the men were only looking for a bit of fun.
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