The Blackout

12:30 pm

The supermarket’s parking lot is pitch black, which gives it an eerie vibe as I drive into the darkness. I saw that my friend had called me while I was driving, so I parked close to the exit and called her back.

As I walked towards the supermarket and talked on the phone, I saw a loud group of workers trying to fix the supermarket's gate. Inside, people in the aisles walked around with the help of their phone’s flashlights, while the cashiers waited at the front, their arms crossed.

“Sorry, it's a little loud over here,” I said. “Looks like there’s been a power outage.” In sign language, I asked if I could come in and do some food shopping, and received an immediate "no,” followed by a shrug.

“Oh, looks like here too.”

“What?”

“All of Madrid is out.”

“Oh.” I looked back at the supermarket, then observed the scene in a different light. The men I thought were doing construction work are trying to pull the blinds down at the mall. That also explained the eerie parking lot.

“Oh well.” We kept making plans, thinking this would be over soon, but by the end of our conversation, we were distracted by the unfolding events around us.

When I hung up, I read a text message from Kevin: “The whole of Spain and Portugal are out.” I gulped, and a weird feeling started trickling down my spine.

I drove home and called my sister, who was at the gym, but the call sounded choppy; on my iPhone’s screen, the 5G logo turned into a satellite icon and an SOS. I felt guilty since Von der Leyen warned us to have some supplies at home, and there we all were—Monday morning, no electricity, no food in the fridge, no supplies.

I went for a drive with my dad, in search of answers. I was already feeling agitated, as my partner and son were in the city; however, this was the reason why we chose a co-working space five minutes away from his school. (The apocalypse.) We observed that in the Spanish village where we live, life continued its usual course: quiet, with people on terraces and small gatherings in the streets of those whose routines had been paused.

I shared with my dad my concerns about how unprepared I felt for something like this: “Northern countries tend to be more prepared for these situations, but in Spain, we are better at improvising.” He’s right and seemed to maintain the calmness that those around me showed, but I failed to share.

Luckily for us, the shops that are run by the Chinese community were still open and operating. In the store, I tried to be clever and think of things we needed, but I couldn’t think of anything. My brain and thoughts were as dispersed as the items in the store. We bought the last radio, batteries, torches, water, and some miscellaneous items (not toilet paper, my mind really doesn’t go there).

I’m not going to lie, the recent movies and shows of apocalyptic events were running through my head: Leave the World Behind, Paradise, and when night fell, The Last of Us.

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It was by the store that I got some signal, and I called Kevin, asking him to get Miles and jump on the highway immediately before they either cut the roads altogether or get clogged. They were not going to fix such a massive blackout in a couple of hours, and everyone wanted to return home. I noticed that I was slightly on edge as I talked, barely letting him speak. I hung up and called the school to let them know that Kevin would pick up Miles, but the signal dropped again. All I wanted was for the family to be together when whatever was about to happen, happened. (Those movies and shows were still playing in my head.)

Finally, when Kevin came home with Miles after being stuck in traffic for an hour, I felt a sense of gratitude and relief. It was a rare occasion when all the members of our family were together. Dad, Grandma, sisters, we gathered around a radio placed in the centre of the garden table to understand the situation better. Grandma shared a similar scene, but instead of news, listening to names during the Spanish Civil War. I explained to Miles what a radio is, realising that he’s never seen one before.

Miles was ecstatic that he got to leave school early. “I’m so happy!” He kept saying, blissfully unaware of what was going on, while jumping on the trampoline. The truth is, everything was the same—The kid kept playing, dinner needed to be made, routines still had to be followed, and jokes were still shared.

Feeling restless, I went for a walk across the countryside. I saw more kids than usual on bikes with their parents. It was almost like a little scene in paradise, so quiet and pristine, but I wasn't sure if I was seeing it through a different lens on such a day.

I was reminded that when the electricity goes off, we are met with a kind of silence that we are no longer accustomed to. Some are even disturbed by it, and maybe that’s what was happening to me. There's always that omnipresent hum of a current nearby.

This reminded me of Nyepi, the Day of Silence that precedes the Balinese New Year, which we experienced on our trip to Bali. On this day, in respect for their faith, some households even turn off their electricity for the day.

Looking at the horizon and with my anxiety at its peak, I started developing an irrational fear of the sun suddenly distancing itself and disappearing. Or maybe it was inspiration and uninterrupted imagination that I was feeling. I headed back home.

On the radio, we kept hearing about people stranded on trains and elevators. We are asked by the newsmen to please refrain from calling 112 unless it’s a life-threatening emergency. My grandma is connected to an oxygen machine, and the news informed us that it was now time to go to the hospital if she ran out of it, but she held onto what she had left in her portable oxygen machine. The president delivered a speech and asked for calmness until the cause of the incident could be determined. And surprisingly, calmness is followed.

It all just sounded like a movie.

When night fell, still without a sign of electricity, a natural sleep enveloped us, as the melatonin hormones could finally work the way they should. As I was putting Miles to sleep in a deep darkness, I heard the loud beep of the dehumidifier signalling that the light had returned. It was around 10:07 p.m.

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I experienced mixed feelings—happy that the electricity was back, yet sad that only during blackouts can we achieve a clean sense of clarity and presence, a liquid kind of darkness like Chinese ink. I'm a romantic, so I wanted to linger there a little longer, but I had to check on the rest of my family before unplugging, this time voluntarily.

On Instagram and TikTok, I saw reels of young people having a blast. Some adults took the party to the streets, using loudspeakers to create a dance floor and, of course, indulged in day drinking and card games. Others were playing soccer with their neighbours in the middle of the streets.

Had I been ten years younger, I would’ve done the same.

My social media feeds were quickly filled with memes and conspiracies. Ugh. When did our phones become pipelines for misinformation, and why has that become a dopamine hit for so many? I threw my phone to the other side of the couch and started writing down all the thoughts and lessons I learned that day, feeling inspired.

The next day, I woke up in a haze. Like it was all a dream. As I showered and came back to reality, I replayed the scenes from the day before. When I opened a drawer, a giant spider fell on my shoe, and I shrieked—still a little on edge.

At the co-working space, all the chatter was anecdotal; all our stories were memorable and worth listening to and sharing, some to relieve that lingering state of shock. Some might have lived through scenes they only saw in movies, such as walking through the dark alleys of the underground, or seeing business people return home after walking more than six kilometres, holding their shoes in one hand and their shirts and jackets in the other. Some had to be aided by an NGO for food, water and shelter, after being stranded at train stations with no access to cash.

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It has been a wake-up call to me, and probably to others, to depend less on technology and electricity, and to learn to be self-reliant. I’ve always felt more connected to the analogue anyway, but I must admit that I was falling into the commodities of the digital everything.

It was shocking to see how my expensive and daily items, like my phone, car, and computer, became useless. This was eye-opening, and it helped me rethink the uses of these goods and the fragility of online careers. During this blackout, everything turned tactile. Pen and paper. Money. Documents. Torches. Radios… a 72-hour safety kit is only going to get us so far. We should probably start rethinking ways to revive the skills and items our ancestors mastered centuries ago, which we have deemed outdated due to our streamlined lifestyles.

The truth is that all of this advanced technology can become impractical or even work against us.

Local shops continued to aid the people with trust and a “pay me when you can” spoken voucher; meanwhile, multinational chains had to reinforce their safety with security guards.

The next day, we didn’t wake up with significant casualties, accidents or deaths. Society worked accordingly. It echoed an underlying need that technology is stripping us of: We can do this when we come together in the real world, as a community.

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Hi, it’s Ana! If you're new here, hello and welcome! You can start by reading my welcome post and what I’m about here. Sometimes I write an exciting travel plan, and at other times, a more extended essay on travel, culture or creativity.

I’ve been a little quiet the last couple of months. For starters, it’s the school holidays, which means that I’m always busy with the little one. Secondly, I’ve been taking my photography to the next level. After saving for so many months (and waiting for so many years), I upgraded my gear! Now I’m in the process of curating my Instagram @anagutierreznsue. Please follow along!

I haven’t had a lot of time to read on Substack or publish newsletters or notes, it’s basically impossible to be everywhere, everything all at once (or whatever that movie was called…) so, I have the feeling that for the next couple of months, I might be posting sporadically and at random times (like now, I’m writing you at 1 in the morning because… motherhood!)

My last newsletter was Overrun, an essay on travel guilt and the uncomfortable truth about the places we love to visit. It’s a good one, go check it out!

The previous Travel Plans edition was about what to do when you are tired and have to entertain a toddler in NYC.

Let’s connect on Instagram for Substack updates and travel photography. Take care of yourself and see you in the next one!

Ana.

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