Lisbon power outage

It was my first Monday in the city. I was in the library, Lisbonʼs Biblioteca Camões, when around noon the wifi dropped. A member of staff came round and made an announcement. Barely understanding a word of Portuguese, I assumed she was saying the internet would be back up and running soon, and switched to my hotspot. I finished up some editing before heading back home for lunch, cursing the penny-pinching council as I slipped on a step down the unlit marble stairs.

It wasnʼt long though before I realised what had happened. I called into a vintage clothing store on my way back. “Have you have heard about the power cut?” the owner suddenly burst out in English, my “BoN dee-uh” immediately giving me away. “Thereʼs no electricity across the whole country! The shop next door canʼt lock up because their shutters are electric. The office across the road canʼt get in because their door has an electric keypad.” Then, through the door came a heavily botoxed woman wearing a baby-blue velour tracksuit, dragging a still defecating Pomeranian in tow. She appeared to be a regular and ran over to the owner. “What are you going to do, darling? How are you going to stop the thieves?”, she said in an American accent. “Well, you know, Iʼve been here before with New York in the ’70s”, continuedthe lady with the squitty dog, alluding to the New York City blackout of 1977, a 25-hour power outage, which led to widespread looting.

As I threw some leaves on plate back home, Alexander and I hurriedly searched the internet for more concrete information – we still had signal at this point but reporting was limited. The BBC said, power was down in Portugal and Spain and parts of France, though the cause was still unknown. According to a Whatsapp circular going round Alexanderʼs tennis chat and a local residents group, the power outage was caused by a state-backed Russian cyberattack. The official-looking message headed up “CNN (Brussels)” said, 15 countries were affected, mentioning Germany and Poland, as well as those we already knew about. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen was quoted: “This is a direct attack on European sovereignty”, with the Kremlin dismissing the accusations as “baseless and provocative”. At the same time, it was said that “six Russian naval vessels, including two destroyers and a submarine, were detected maneuvering near critical undersea cable routes between Europe and North America.” This seemed unlikely I said to Alexander, because Russia had only the same day announced plans for a 3-day ceasefire, but the country has been recently accused of sabotaging European undersea cables, and, I admit, I was taken in by the drama and historicalconsequence of the story. It turned out to be completely false though. According to the BBC, the reason for the outage is still unknown but the Spanish grid operator has ruled out the possibility of foreign interference.

My tired, old 2014 Mac was on 30% and almost instantly ran out of charge after lunch. Alexander invited me to play padel in the sun with friends but the imperative to work was too strong and I decided to spend the day reading for an upcominglecture at the Lusófona University. Progress was slow. I periodically nodded off, deprived of my usual post-lunch caffeine hit and unable to use Instagram to supply me with flashing colour and image. Time drifted on.

The day began to offer a different set of possibilities. I was stirred from my stupor by the sound of a guitar coming from the apartment above us, where a couple live withtheir young daughter. Alexander told me she is adopted and implied itʼs been tough for the parents. Two days ago when they came down to say hello, the dad seemed caring, but slightly vacant, no doubt as a result of the bedtime wars we sometimes hear from below. Yesterday, however, during the power outage, freed from work calls and emails, I heard him and his daughter laughing. He was playing the guitar, very eloquently, a delicate finger-picking piece, his daughter tunelessly singing along, deliriously happy and full of excitement!

Soon after, I heard chanting from the window, coming it sounded like from the nearby parliament building, only a 5-minute walk. I rushed out the door expecting to find an angry crowd demanding the return of electricity but, at the base of the steps, surveilled by heavily armed police, there was an upbeat, happy spirited group of teenage climate activists. Despite the earlier evocation of New York and looting, the day never threatened to descend into violence, and the outage in Lisbon, at least inthe immediate area, seemed to actually foster community care and selflessness. There were very long, polite queues for cash, and I saw a grandma being helped to her door as neighbours exchanged updates from their balconies.

Later, the sun setting fast, Alexander and I went for a walk to try and get phonesignal from the top of a hill. There were no lights from any buildings. There wasbarely anyone around then, the streets were almost empty, except for a few people drifting aimlessly, without motive. Barring the hotels with their noisy generators, expelling hot diesel fumes, the only businesses open were a few candlelit-convenience stores, which are mostly run by the South Asian diaspora here. In that moment, not knowing how long the outage would last, they were essential sources of survival in our new life.

All I felt was the immediacy of the thick, still air. It was sometime after 8pm but it feltlike dawn. I had lost all track of time. We sensed our way home, my eyes darting from one side of the street to other, feet following jerkingly behind.

Back home, blissfully showering by candle light, the power turned back on. Mutedcheers echoed around the city. I was strangely disappointed.

Before I went bed, I wrote these words, savouring the day before this feeling was gone.