The Day Spain Went Dark
It started out as a day like any other, though I suppose most days do. I was working on my book at the Centro Federico García Lorca in Granada when suddenly, the lights went out. I checked my phone: it was 12:33 pm, and weirdly, I didn’t even have cell coverage. The librarians and I shrugged, saw what a beautiful day it was outside, and decided to call off work. As we headed downstairs, one of the security guards informed us that there had been a massive power outage all over the Iberian peninsula, maybe even further than that. Cell towers were also affected, and with no wifi or any kind of cell coverage, we were effectively plunged back into the 90s—but without all the infrastructure that the 90s would have had for us to still communicate. We had effectively gone back in time.
What followed was one of the strangest and most surreal days of my life, one that sounds like a fantastical story from one of my favorite magical realism authors. The word on everyone’s lips was “apagón”: blackout. Rumors swirled through the air about what could be going on. Was it Putin? A cyberattack? Something else entirely? Were the rumors of outages as far as Greece true? Some people still had the rare bar of cell coverage that allowed a stray SMS to get through, but I wasn’t one of them. With no way to communicate other than face-to-face, people took to the streets. The reactions were mixed. Some people were worrying and panicking, others enjoying the beautiful late April weather and the free day off from work. If there was a perfect day for a total blackout to happen, this was it. The summer heat hadn’t arrived yet, but the winter chill had fled the stone buildings, leaving everything at a perfect temperature despite the lack of electricity. I walked around aimlessly, chatting with anyone who seemed like they wanted to talk or might know something. The street lights were out, making crossing tricky in theory, but drivers were generous about letting pedestrians go, and soon traffic police arrived to help direct things.
The overwhelming reaction was something along the lines of “the beer isn’t getting any colder, let’s enjoy the day.” Bars and restaurants stayed packed despite the lack of electricity, with waiters serving sandwiches and putting all their beer on ice. With all the credit card readers down, the only way to pay was with cash, or via an IOU scribbled on a piece of paper. The one working ATM in the city center had a line down the block, but eventually that building’s generator also ran out of power. All the cafes, bars, and restaurants were left to simply trust in the goodwill of others and take their word for the fact that they’d be back to pay. While I’m sure it was stressful for those trying to get places, there was something oddly beautiful about that day. I spent most of it walking around, taking pictures and observing. Groups were huddling around radios, and lining up for shawarma and ice cream. So many tapas bars and convenience stores stayed open, and for many people the day quickly became a day off of parties, drinking beer before it got too warm and eating whatever might spoil quickly. There was a kind of thrill to it, and we all joked we were going back in time to an era before cell phones, credit cards, GPS, and even electricity. My only information came from cab drivers who were blasting their car radios on high, and I vowed to buy my own radio for the future, just in case. As night fell, the only light came from busses, flashlights, and candles, and the city was blanketed in quiet blackness. We were able to cook on our gas stove and eat by candlelight and flashlight, imagining the last time Granada looked like this at night. The darkness was so absolute, so complete, that you couldn’t see anything when you stepped outside into the tiny medieval streets of the Albaicín. Finally, at around 4 am that night, the lights were restored, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.
I was so amazed at how neighbors and communities came together, how no one panicked or stole, and how the party never really stopped. That’s Spain (and the Mediterranean) for you, and I’ll never forget the day the clocks stopped. The next day, it was like nothing happened, and we were moving through the world again like normal. But for a few hours, it was like visiting a different time.
