Sandra Ruiz once managed a railway station in Venezuela. Today, she navigates the busy roads of Valencia as a national truck driver, a change driven by necessity and ability to recover as she started from scratch. Forced to leave her homeland in 2017 due to Venezuela’s economic collapse, Ruiz first landed in the Dominican Republic, where she struggled to find work in her field. Spain soon became her next destination, though she arrived with little knowledge of the country’s climate or job market.
Her early months in Spain brought financial strain and uncertainty. Ruiz survived on minimal income during the pandemic, working as a telemarketer for just €1,000 a month. The turning point came when her partner, already a truck driver, suggested she join the industry. Despite her initial hesitation, “In my country, it’s unusual for women to do men’s jobs,” she recalled, Ruiz invested €8,000 of her savings to obtain the necessary driving licenses. The process was far from straightforward: long waiting lists in Valencia forced her to travel to Extremadura to complete her training.
Ruiz’s first experience was in international freight, working “a dobles” with her then-partner. The grueling schedule, with up to 21 hours of availability and only four hours of rest in the cab, quickly took its toll. She discovered a genuine interest in trucking, but the strain of working and living in close quarters ended her relationship. “I like what I do, but not the company,” she admitted. Searching for solo work, Ruiz encountered skepticism from some employers and curiosity from others, with some reluctant to hire a woman and others intrigued by her profile. “It’s a matter of luck and contacts,” she explained.
Her breakthrough came via a social media ad: a Valencia-based employer offered her a chance to lead container trucks. The first month was overwhelming. She cried daily as she struggled with complex maneuvers at the port. Swallowing her pride, Ruiz sought help from colleagues and gradually mastered the skills required. After a stint in international night transport, she chose to specialize in daytime container work at the Port of Valencia, prioritizing quality of life over maximum earnings. The port’s 8 p.m. closing time means she returns home every evening, a rare privilege in the sector.
That choice comes amid labor-market pressures, including recruitment difficulties and barriers to entry. Estimates of Spain’s truck-driver shortfall vary, ranging from roughly 15,000 to 20,000 drivers to more than 30,000 vacancies, depending on the institution and methodology. A sector analysis published by El Español, citing IRU data, puts women at about 2% of Spain’s truck drivers, compared with around 3% across Europe. It estimates approximately 5,000 women work as truck drivers in Spain, while about 25,000 hold the relevant driving entitlement. That gap shows why a qualification does not automatically lead to professional employment. A separate figure reported in March 2025 found that women received 11% of truck-driving permits issued annually, a measure of access to qualification rather than the share of employed drivers.
National truck drivers in Spain can earn up to €3,000 a month, often at the cost of long absences from home. Ruiz accepted a lower net salary, between €1,800 and €2,000, in exchange for daily family life. That trade-off feeds a wider debate about recruitment and retention. Veteran driver Begoña argues that the basic problem is employers’ failure to offer decent working conditions, not a lack of potential drivers. Ruiz’s move from international routes to daytime container work shows how schedules and time at home can shape whether a driver stays in the profession. Her story echoes the experiences of other women entering Spain’s transport industry, including those featured in reports on women who left low-wage jobs for trucking.
Other women describe different experiences in the same traditionally male field. Andrea, a 25-year-old regional driver in Galicia, has spoken positively about the help she receives from colleagues on routes serving the ports, from Vigo to Marín and Vilagarcía. Their accounts show how workplace experiences vary. Ruiz’s early struggles with port maneuvers and employer skepticism also point to obstacles women may encounter. Her journey highlights the barriers and opportunities facing women in Spanish logistics, along with the personal choices behind every career move. For many, success means earning a paycheck while building a stable life in a new country.
