Activist Sindy Takanashi: "I find it appalling that mothers traveling with a crying baby have to endure the unpleasant looks of some passengers."

Sindy Takanashi was born in Venezuela, but her life is marked by movement: from one country to another, from one project to another, from the darkest and most difficult period of her life to the current light of activism. From her nail salon in Madrid to becoming a presenter and podcaster, Sindy has continued to push herself to the limit, facing whatever is necessary.

On her travels, she not only crosses cities, but also personal borders. With each journey, she has rewritten her story, always asking the same question: what can I learn from this? Traveling is not only a necessity for her, but a tool for self-discovery, allowing her to see the world and herself from different perspectives. Travel has become her ally, and each destination represents a new chapter.

Sindy, you're a person who's always been on the move. What does driving mean to you, beyond transportation?

For me, it's incredible. I don't travel by car, but in a converted Volkswagen Transporter T6 van, which I use both for my daily commute and for getaways. It's my office and my home at the same time. I often hold meetings from there, as I've converted the back into a small living room with a table set up, ready to work. I can say that the most wonderful moments I've had in the last two years have happened in the van.

While we're at it, tell me about some of those beautiful moments.

I have a six-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. I separated two years ago, around the time I bought the van. I remember suddenly being faced with spending weekends alone with them both and having to organize plans that, up until then, had been with my children's father. Many people might think it's crazy to travel in a small camper with two such young children, but I think it's when they're most well-behaved. Plus, these outings have helped me a lot to get them to spend less time on screens. They'll open the van door in the middle of the woods and start playing with stones, sticks...

For me, waking up in the middle of nowhere and hearing my daughter say, "Mom, this is life," is the best. It's also helped them realize how dirty we humans are, because when we go somewhere nice and it's full of papers, my son says, "Mom, people are so dirty." It's great because it helps them realize how important it is to take care of the earth.

Transporter T6 camperized… House, office, and summer apartment…

With all the pain in my heart, I'm now thinking about upgrading to a larger one so my partner can stand up in it. I'm 5'6" and the raised roof is great, but my boyfriend isn't. I also want to replace it so it has an ensuite bathroom so we can shower. I didn't know you could feel so much love for something material, like a car or a van.

Sindy, who's driving?

Always me. Darío, the father of my children, got his license when he was 30 when I told him, "You're going to take me to the hospital to give birth when I'm having contractions, and you'll have to drive."

Do you like running?

Since becoming a mother, I run much less. Now I usually put it in cruise mode and don't touch the accelerator, but I've been a bit reckless. Being a mother helped me a lot to realize that I can't be that crazy.

What's the craziest thing you've done in a car?

You can imagine that, having a van, I've done everything in it. It's the same thing you can do at home, in a bed. I'll leave it there.

Let's look back. What are the car trips you remember most fondly with your family?

Curiously, the ones I remember most are the ones I'm least fond of. It was when my parents separated. I was seven years old. I stayed with my mother, and my father went to Marbella. When I went to see him every other weekend, the trip seemed endless. It was about eight hours by car. I get extremely motion sickness, and I remember those journeys as terrifying, because we had to stop up to ten times to vomit.

You're followed by hundreds of thousands of people. What would you recommend to those who struggle behind the wheel?

Let them ask themselves why. It may sound subconscious, but I consider the car a super safe place. In fact, when I'm stressed, one of my favorite things to do is take the van for a fifteen-minute drive. Sometimes, when I arrive, I even park and stay in the vehicle for a while. Maybe it's because of what I've experienced or what I've learned, but it's never felt like a closed-in place to me; on the contrary, inside, I feel like I'm in a super-open space.

That moment in the conversation arrives when I give you a series of feelings and you tell me the last time you saw him or even starred in any mode of transportation...

Injustice:

On a plane. There are times when I fly to Coruña, and I find it appalling that mothers have to go through such a difficult time, not because of their own babies' cries, but because of the grimaces of the people around them. I think it's incredibly unfair that mothers have to feel uncomfortable over something as normal as a child crying.

Friendship:

When I went to Asturias a couple of months ago to climb Picu Urriellu with my best friend, the drive there and back from Coruña, talking nonstop in the van, was incredible.

Rage:

In those meetings I have in the van, when something doesn't go the way I'd like, I sit there for 20 minutes in silence, like this, with my arms crossed, trying to analyze what's happening.

Pain:

When I bought the van after my separation, you can imagine how many times I've been there, suffering tremendous pain and going through the grieving process of this personal situation.

Laughter:

This happens in the mornings, when I take the kids to school. I have two children with a comedian, so they've inherited his sense of humor. They're very funny and tell me some silly things in the morning that are spectacular. They help me a lot to start the day off right.

You've traveled and filmed in both large cities and smaller towns. What differences do you notice in the way mobility is experienced depending on the environment?

We just premiered my TV show, Señora , on Atresmedia. To record it, we went to a ton of places. We were in Barcelona interviewing Pilar Eyre and also in a remote village in Catalonia with Yaya Bushcraft. One of the topics I discussed with Yaya was precisely this: how it affects her to live in a place with such poor connections to other towns and to the nearest city, which in this case is Barcelona, ​​so far away.

I think it has a huge impact on life, but—this is a theory I just made up—I sincerely believe it improves the quality of life for older people, because it ultimately forces them to move more, to not be so sedentary, to walk and get around on foot. I don't mean to romanticize how neglected rural areas are.

By the way, which travel colleagues do you ask for advice when deciding on a vacation destination?

To my friend Laura Escanes, because she's traveled much more than I have. Also to my manager, María Cordero, who directed The Wolf is Coming, because she's traveled all over Spain.

With so much traveling for work, filming, and events, how do you manage to maintain a healthy relationship with the pace of getting from one place to another?

I can't do it. My life is a bit chaotic right now. I'm in the midst of a life process where I've realized that, ever since I started the production company four years ago, I've been prioritizing ambition over mental health. Because of this, I'm trying to tip the balance more toward mental health than the other extreme.

One of the decisions I've made is to stay permanently in Madrid, with a heavy heart, because I love Galicia. I'm an adopted Galician, and many of the people I love most—not counting my children—live there, but living in Madrid will take me away from this chaotic life.

What do you remember about the first big trip that marked your life?

It was the trip to Chile I took when I was about four years old. I'm from Venezuela, but my mother was raised in Chile, so she also had a lot of family there. Since my mother's entire family ended up emigrating to Chile due to the terrible situation in Venezuela, we went to visit them. I was very young, but I remember it clearly because I lived through a lot of earthquakes, and I was incredibly surprised to see that people weren't caught off guard. The tremors would start, and they would duck under the door frame as if nothing had happened, and life went on. I remember it fondly because I was a little girl discovering the world.

Spain, Mexico... How do you start a life in such different places?

Spending part of my adolescence split between two such different countries was hard, especially because of their cultural differences. When we moved to Mexico, I was 12 or 13, and my brother was about five. We didn't have any family there, and it was a difficult time. My brother took it a little better at school, but I suffered a lot of bullying. At school, friend groups were already formed, and I was from a different country, with a completely different culture, so I didn't fit in.

When I returned to Spain, something similar happened to me. I missed out on a lot of that stage when girls start going out on their own, going to the park, and all that. The difference is that in Spain, I felt Spanish, even though I was born in Venezuela. That helped me, because although high school was also tough and I suffered bullying, at least I loved the food, my family was there, and I understood the language. Culturally, I connected more, and that made it a little easier.

At what point did you feel “grounded”?

I'd say 30. It may sound crazy, but I've had a very complicated life. Since I returned from Mexico, my life has been absolute chaos. I grew up with a very sick mother, constantly in and out of the hospital, during a very difficult time until I became a mother. I'm 32 now, and I think we could practically eliminate my age from 15 to 30.

Have you ever taken a trip that has helped you find peace with yourself?

Yes, it was a trip I took after a breakup. I was about 20, and I went to Indonesia, the Philippines, Australia, Thailand... Standing on a beach, I did a lot of reflection and had one of those super transcendental moments of self-realization. I realized I hadn't cried in a week, and I thought, "I think I've gotten over it and I'm okay with my breakup."

What place have you visited where you felt most at home, even though it wasn't really your home?

In Morocco, I made the decision to separate myself. That feeling of home I felt there was what made me realize that my home wasn't truly right. I was in the Agadir and Taghazout areas, places that later caused a lot of controversy because they started criticizing the influencers who were traveling with us because, apparently, tourism was making people there homeless. Homes were being destroyed to build hotel complexes, and I felt terrible for having contributed to that. It was one of the trips that made me start questioning how we travel, the impact we create, and the responsibility we influencers should have when promoting certain places.

Since then, I've thought a lot about the concept of travel and whether it's really necessary to travel so far away. I've been to Mexico, Chile, Venezuela, Australia, Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand, Morocco... and a ton of other European countries. Even so, I didn't know Jaén! Now I do, because I worked there last year, but it's like... "How come I didn't know such cool places in Spain?" I've realized that I can also nourish myself by traveling here, in a more responsible way, without polluting so much and without bothering the locals. Since Morocco, where I went two years ago, I haven't left Spain again, and I don't miss it at all. I still travel a lot, but domestically, and it's benefiting me a lot.

Your work has taken you to venues all over Spain… A Coruña is one of them, the one you visited with Queridas Hermanas . What is it about that city that fits so well with the intimate tone of the project?

When I come to A Coruña, it's because of my best friend Elsa, who's Galician, but I was living in Madrid when I met her when I was 19. I made a group of Galician friends who kept coming back here over the years, so I've always kept coming back. When I separated, this was a refuge. I realized that you can live more slowly, that time passes differently depending on the place, and that in Galicia it passes more slowly. Not in Madrid; the quality of life there is terrible, people are in terrible shape, with very poor mental health, everything is far away... I would live in the middle of the countryside if I could, but since I can't, I live on the outskirts. I'm in love with Galicia. I talked about it with my boyfriend: my feelings for A Coruña are incredibly intense.

What is your dream related to Galicia?

I would love to accompany mothers to meet the Galician women who fought against drug traffickers, those women who stood up when they saw their children destroyed by drugs. I tried to tell that story, but in the end I told something else: the story of women who have spent their entire lives caring for others, often without even realizing it, and on top of that, in rural Galicia. As a producer, I can tell you that on a shoot in Galicia, even if the workday is the same, everything is experienced differently. I don't know what it is, but time stretches and you enjoy it more.

Your work as a presenter requires you to travel frequently. Filming "Señora!" took you to cities like Motril, Seville, and Girona. Has any city surprised you more than you imagined before arriving?

Seville was very special; I'd already worked there, also for a wonderful program I did for Turismo de Andalucía called Nonina . It's one of the most beautiful cities in Spain. The only thing that saddens me is thinking that, with the current heat, in a few years many people will have to leave because it will be unbearable. They'll be climate refugees, remember that, and we'll talk in 2035. But if it weren't for that, I'd live there.

On that show, I interviewed Dragones' grandmother, and she was a real crybaby. I'm a big fan of Stendhalazos; it happens to me in museums, seeing monuments, and especially with older women. So imagine: a city like Seville, filled with beauty everywhere, and on top of that, that woman. It was incredible.

You've said that traveling allows you to better understand the realities of other women. What has feminism taught you based on geographical context?

More than just traveling, you understand it when you know that there are girls whose clitorises have been amputated, or that right now there are children dying who have witnessed authentic atrocities that will be studied in history books for centuries to come. The fact that this is happening in Palestine, in Gaza, shows that geographical context is everything. Just a kilometer away, children are celebrating the murder of other children. That short distance confirms to us that place radically shapes reality.

Prostitution is a very present topic that you've consistently addressed. How have your travels influenced your perspective?

I've also traveled extensively to be a prostitute, so I know what it's all about. In Spain, people tend to use Switzerland or Germany as examples, which claim to be pro-rights or pro-sex, but in reality, they're prostitution-regulating countries that are used as models for how things should be done. I've lived through that hell, and I assure you it's the same shit, just with a different smell and disguised in different ways.

Taking these trips and experiencing them from the inside, and being dissociated, taught me a lot. We prostituted women share one thing: we resort to dissociation in order to survive. Not all victims of sexual violence end up in prostitution, but many women and children who have suffered abuse resort to this mechanism. How can a prostituted woman go out to dinner with friends or watch a series at night? Because she dissociates, and that process was what sustained me for many years.

I started working as a prostitute at 17. I spent five years being exploited and then ten years suffering the consequences. Until I turned 30, I didn't stop dissociating and began to connect with what I experienced. Before, those trips didn't have as much meaning for me, but now, looking back, they help me understand that there's no such thing as high-end prostitution, but rather different degrees of sexual violence and exploitation. The entire prostitution system is violence against women, although there are different levels. Obviously, prostitution on Montera Street or in industrial estates like Villaverde is much harsher than so-called high-end prostitution. On the street, women are raped, coerced into having sex for just 10 euros. It's important to tell the story this way.

You often share your travels on your social media. What do you choose to showcase and what do you prefer to keep to yourself?

After five years of being prostituted and sexually exploited, I started working as a manicurist. Blanca Suárez walked past my shop one day, and I did her nails; from then on, I began treating more famous people. I know I'm known for that, but I've also contributed a lot of feminist, activist, and advocacy content, created for and from activism.

That's why I know a lot of people follow me, and sometimes, when I share things that might seem trivial, I feel guilty because I think about how I do it. For example, it seems contradictory to talk about a day when they've dismantled a human trafficking ring and then show how I make matcha tea. I think about this a lot because, by showing trivial things, I'm afraid it might be misinterpreted.

I also think that many survivors of various forms of sexual violence, who are stuck in a hole wondering if they'll ever be able to climb out and recover, might see hope in me. Knowing my past and the hell I lived through might help them know that I can now indulge in simple things like drinking matcha tea. I live with this constant contradiction about what to show and what not to, and my tendency is to show less and less, to avoid oversharing.

What would you say to someone who wants to embark on a journey, not just physical, but life-long? Something you wish someone had told you before you started.

First, I would ask him what he's running away from, or if what he really wants is to move to escape or to discover. I spent a large part of my life traveling to escape. However, when you change that perspective and reflect on it, you begin to travel differently, more consciously, with a desire to discover yourself and even to return home, which is also very beautiful.

Talking to Sindy is like understanding that travel isn't just a physical journey, but a process of personal transformation. Every city, every trip, every route seems to mark a step forward in her constant reinvention. For her, mobility isn't just an act of changing places, but a way to heal, connect, reclaim, and fight for the many people who don't have a voice. Without a doubt, this is where Sindy finds herself.