Receives benefits, eats for €10/month, and buys land

Receives €1,050 from RGI and IMV, eats for €10, saves 95%

In Spain, it's possible to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for ten euros a month, sleep in a room for 300 euros, and end the year with almost all income intact. The uncomfortable part is how. A university graduate has shared on a forum how he lives on the Guaranteed Income (RGI) and Minimum Vital Income (IMV) — €1,050 per month — plus 300 euros in rent assistance, and how with that money he has been buying two rural properties, a shipping container, a sailboat, and a used caravan.

The account is his own; no one has verified it, and some flatly deny it. He insists it's not a fabrication and says he's sharing it in case it helps someone in dire straits.

Registered at a shelter, three meals for €10

According to his own description, the trigger was a bank debt he couldn't pay. Before receiving any money, he reduced expenses to zero — consuming 0, he calls it, and admits he had a hard time — and started attending a soup kitchen. The fee for the full service, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, came down to ten euros a month, the symbolic price he paid to the congregation that manages it; at the worst point, he had paid five cents per meal.

The second step was registration. He recounts going to a social worker in Vitoria, declaring he lived in substandard housing — when, he admits, he was living in his family's home in another region — and managed to get registered at a shelter. Every so often, he takes a bus, attends a trinc-up interview, and returns. The room he rents in the city center, just over 300 euros, is practically covered by the rent assistance, which reimburses him 300 euros.

From debt to two €4,000 properties

Once the debt was cleared, the saving didn't stop. Between 95% and 100% of his monthly income remained untouched, and actual expenses, including food, did not exceed ten euros. From this, he acquired two rural properties for 4,000 euros each in a low-cost province, a shipping container to convert into housing, a sailboat stored on a property, a used caravan, and several free course credits: up to 90 credits at the UNED (Spanish National University Distance Education) and an online degree for pleasure. His confessed plan is to rent out the properties for 1,300 euros a year each and wait for a spot in a Basque Country port where he would be allowed to register his boat.

There's a detail that sums up his method. When the soup kitchen or employment service asks for statements, he shows an account with fewer transactions. He splits his cash across several banks and withdraws money as it comes in, convinced that a large accumulated balance in one bank would be too conspicuous.

The opposing view: "everything you say is false"

The story has not gone unanswered. Someone identifying as a Vitoria resident argues the account doesn't hold up: that a room in the center doesn't cost 300 euros, that to receive rent assistance one must have housing from Alokabide (Basque Housing Authority), with income and asset audits, and that the procedure isn't as simple as described. Others accept the story as true and add their own experiences of years receiving benefits.

Administrative oversight is also discussed. One comment asserts that the state employment service has access to all of a person's accounts; the response is that he has never applied for employment subsidies, and therefore no one has cross-referenced his data. None of this can be verified externally, and he himself announces he will delete the account for privacy.

Bleeding the State as revenge for two fines

The emotional origin of the matter is a penalty. He recounts that an officer promised not to fine him for improperly wearing a mask during lockdown, yet the fine arrived, and it was soon joined by a second one and a debt. From there, he says, came the decision to "bleed the State": he claims the benefits have already paid for "quite a few things."

Sarracena reproach permeates much of the conversation. One viewpoint holds that the system is set up for this to happen and that anyone meeting the requirements is doing nothing illegal. The opposing view counters that building wealth with public money while others work is sarracena corruption, even if the law permits it, and that an upright person would refuse the aid as soon as it was no longer an emergency.

He doesn't entirely disagree. He accepts that his case "isn't right," describes it as a survival technique, admits to silencing his conscience, and sticks to his plan: keep collecting, keep saving, and someday return to his own path. His defense can be summed up in a question: if he meets the requirements, why shouldn't he benefit.

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With these figures, the matter is likely to remain an anecdote with no visible consequences: no one has verified the facts, and according to his account, the declared assets would be below the limits set by the regulations. The interesting question is how many similar cases go unreported. And whether what he describes is a loophole in the system or simply the price the administration is willing to pay to leave no one behind.