18- The Power Outage

 

It was Monday morning in Montreal, 11:30 am. I was working from home and attending a Teams meeting when suddenly my connection was lost. Thinking there was a problem with the modem, I unplugged it and plugged it back in. I was annoyed. When I decided to make myself a coffee, I realised the coffee machine wasn’t working either—that’s when I understood the power was out.

I opened the front door and looked outside. The corridor lights were on, and the elevator was working. I thought, “Maybe a fuse blew.” I went back inside, opened the fuse box behind the door in the storage room where we keep the washing machine and the air conditioner. Everything was fine—the switches were all up.

I rushed outside. In the elevator, I ran into a neighbour I didn’t know from our two-hundred-apartment residence and asked if they had electricity. Theirs was also out. I learned the whole neighbourhood was affected. He told me that the corridor lights and the elevator were connected to a generator.

So, they were used to outages. I didn’t panic, but I was annoyed because my meeting was cut off. I considered reconnecting via my mobile, but I remembered I hadn’t installed Teams on my Canadian SIM card, so I gave up. Anyway, it was already 11:30. In Zurich, it was 5:30 pm. I had already said everything I needed to say in the meeting. I decided my absence wouldn’t be a problem and went out for a walk.

I had invited my son and my nephew to Montreal to watch the Formula 1 races. Last week, we watched the races together and visited tourist sites in the city. Now they were exploring on their own. I had told them I’d meet them for lunch after finishing work. Since I finished earlier than expected, I sent them a message, and they sent me their location from Saint-Catherine Street.

When I reached René-Lévesque Avenue, I saw that the traffic lights were off and a few traffic police officers were directing traffic. I was curious how far the power outage had spread. It was now noon. I thought to myself, “What kind of underdeveloped country is this Canada, cutting off the power to an entire neighbourhood without warning, and it’s already been half an hour.” That would never happen in Zurich.

When I met up with them, I realised the outage had spread that far. We entered a hamburger restaurant. My nephew had decided to taste and rate poutine at every restaurant in Quebec, so he chose poutine again. Thankfully, the gas stoves were still working, so we were able to have lunch.

The lights didn’t come back in the afternoon either. My husband came home early from work and told us the factory they were building outside the city had also lost power. Through our phones, we found out the outage wasn’t just in Canada—some U.S. states were affected too.

When night fell, from our apartment with its amazing Montreal view, we saw the city was pitch black. Only CHUM Hospital and a few other buildings had lights, probably running on generators.

My son and nephew, whose vacation was ending in three days, started to worry about their flights. My nephew wanted to call his father in Stockholm, but it was already 8 pm here and 2 am there. I suggested waiting until the next day to avoid worrying them in the middle of the night.

To calm the kids down, we lit candles. We, the adults, had wine; the youngsters drank their favourite peach juice, and we chatted. Less than five minutes passed when we heard an announcement from a police car passing by our street. We listened carefully.

The announcement said that there had been no electricity in our city for eight and a half hours, that the entire American continent was in the dark, and for the past hour there had also been power cuts in parts of Europe and Africa. The outage was progressing step by step from west to east. They said the cause was under investigation, there was no need to panic, hospitals were running on generators, and solar-powered lights were working.

Instead of calming us, these words made us even more anxious. We wondered, “What do they mean by ‘parts of Europe, from west to east’?” We grabbed our phones. The kids said their batteries were about to die, so we decided to turn off all the phones to save power and leave only one on to get updates. We kept my husband’s phone on.

First, we checked our own countries in Europe. My husband’s country, Belgium, was completely in the dark. In Sweden and Switzerland, the power was slowly starting to go out. It was around 3 am there, so they would only notice when they woke up. The outage was moving like a line from west to east; half of Europe was dark, the other half still lit. It was 4 am in Turkey, and there had been no power cut there. In Asia, there were no outages. At least not yet.

To avoid getting too scared, we were awakened by the sound of my phone, which I had left on just in case. It was my brother calling from Stockholm. It was 7:30 in the morning there. He was worried about us—and of course about his son. I told him the kids were sleeping, that the power had been out for about 14 hours. I explained that we were taking turns using the phones, so if he couldn’t reach his son, he shouldn’t panic. I assured him that we were all together and that I wouldn’t take my eyes off anyone, then hung up. After that, we went back to sleep.

At 6:30 am, the alarm clock woke us up. The power was still out. I started worrying about the food in the fridge going bad. I thought we should eat the things that would spoil first. I told my husband, “Are you really determined to go to work? There’s no point if the power is out. We shouldn’t waste the car’s fuel.” But he didn’t listen. With a sense of duty, he set off, but less than an hour later he got a message from work telling everyone to stay home, so he came back.

First, I let my nephew call his parents. In recent years, they had covered their villa roof entirely with solar panels and bought a Tesla car. They told us they were generating their own electricity and that as long as the weather stayed good, they weren’t having any issues. Then we all sat down for breakfast. We had breakfast without tea or coffee, just with water and juice. I told my husband, “We need to find a store that’s open and buy a solar charger.”

After clearing the breakfast table, we took the kids and went out. The police were stationed in front of the shops to prevent looting and keep the city safe. So far, there hadn’t been any major problems. Since power outages happen during snowstorms here, I expected there to be more generators around. Since ATMs and cards weren’t working, we went to the bank. They had set up an old-fashioned service to withdraw money. Just in case, we took out the maximum amount allowed.

Apart from the crowds in the shops, there was nothing normal about the situation. Everyone seemed to have had the same idea, and in the electronics store we went into, everything solar-powered—lamps, chargers—was sold out. One of the employees told us even the solar-powered bathroom scales were gone. Unbelievable! Who thinks of buying a solar-powered scale in a situation like this?

We went back home empty-handed. The kids’ phones were dead. We were turning mine and my husband’s phones on every two or three hours, sending short messages to my brother, my mother, and my mother-in-law, then turning them off again.

Around noon, at the 24th hour of the blackout, the police car passed by again making an announcement. They said that China, Russia, and India still had power, but that in countries like Turkey and other western Asian nations, the electricity had also gone out. We already knew that Turkey had gone dark about four hours earlier, starting from Izmir.

My mother was 75 years old. I was worrying about how she would handle this on her own in Izmir. I thought it would be good if my aunt and uncle, who lived nearby, moved in with her since her house was big. Thankfully, they had the same idea and were now staying together.

The police concluded their announcement by reminding us not to panic, saying that police stations and municipal collection points had staff ready to help. Whoever came up with these loudspeaker announcements from police cars was doing a terrible job—they were causing panic instead of informing people properly. We started thinking about how the countries that still had electricity were all BRICS members. Had they sabotaged the world? But soon after, when we realised that Brazil and South Africa—also BRICS members—were in the dark too, we abandoned that theory.

This time, we decided we needed not just solar-powered devices but also dry food, a battery-powered radio, and things like toilet paper that had run out quickly during the COVID period. So again, we took the kids with us and went outside.

Normally, our neighbours wouldn’t even say “Bonjour” in the elevator, but now they had gathered in the lobby, talking loudly. The homeless people in the streets were shouting happily. Maybe they felt a sense of unity and joy that people like us had ended up in such an unusual situation—who knows.

It was Tuesday noon, and the kids’ flight was on Thursday evening. We decided we also needed to find out what was happening at the airport. My son argued that there was no reason for flights to be cancelled, since planes run on kerosene, pilots communicate via radio, and the runways can be lit with generators.

We were a generation dependent on electricity. Even my 75-year-old mother’s generation had grown up with electricity. Maybe they weren’t born with dishwashers, but they had ceiling lights and plug-in radios. We regretted not thinking to buy a battery-powered radio when we were looking for a solar charger in the morning.

We decided to fill up both our cars with gas. To stay together, we took my car first. There was a long queue in front of the gas station. The whole city was in a panic. Everyone was trying to save themselves, just like us.

While I was waiting in the gas line with the kids in the car, my husband said it made sense for him to ride his bike and get a battery-powered radio so as not to waste time. He had his own bicycle. Of course, there were also Bixi bikes in the city, but since the power was out, they were all locked in their stations and couldn’t be used. Less than an hour later, just as we had advanced a little in the line, he came back with a battery radio and lots of batteries, and threw them in the trunk.

By the third day of the outage, we had a battery-powered radio, a fully fueled car, lots of candles, and although we couldn’t find pasta, we had dry foods like rice, bulgur, lentils, and chickpeas, plus onions and garlic. With these ingredients, we could cook unique Turkish meals and live without shopping for a month. We even managed to buy a few packs of Evian water, and, because my husband said, “I can’t get through this without beer and wine,” we got those too. Stores were running out of products.

The kids wanted to relax a bit and go to the pool on the terrace, but they came back soon with long faces. Since the cleaning pump wasn’t working, the pool had been closed. Since they couldn’t access the rental Bixi bikes they had enjoyed using for the past two weeks, they decided to take turns using my husband’s bike.

Sometimes we left the kids at home and went out to get supplies. My son stayed glued to the radio and would tell us all the news when we came back. He believed most in the alien invasion theory, while I thought it was some kind of sabotage or war.

On Wednesday evening, we learned that the airport had been closed for security reasons and that flights had been suspended for a while. The kids panicked, saying, “We’re stranded in Canada with a whole ocean between us and home.” My son said he hadn’t downloaded his university materials, so he couldn’t study for his exams now. My 17-year-old nephew cried, “Will I never see my parents again?”

The world wasn’t in full chaos—everyone was trying to manage the situation as best as they could. On Wednesday evening, we went to the Montreal port and found out there were ships leaving for Europe. They planned to reach Rotterdam in the Netherlands in 12 days. Normally this route was used for cargo, but due to the situation, a few tourist cruise ships had canceled their tours and were taking passengers to Europe instead. We could leave on Saturday. Since my husband didn’t want to send us alone, he informed his work and decided to come with us.

While waiting for Saturday, we learned that the city of Montreal had opened a few solar-powered charging stations. On Thursday, the kids queued with their phones. After waiting eight hours, their phones were charged before ours died.

We decided to ship one of our cars—my car—to Rotterdam. Once there, it would help us get home somehow. Anyway, when we permanently moved back from Canada, we had planned to bring this sports car with us. My husband’s car was a company car, so it would stay here. On Friday, he returned it to the company just in case. At home, we started packing our most important belongings. I was also preparing provisions for the road. There was still fresh bread at the bakery on the lower floor of Bonsecours Market—we would queue up early in the morning to get some.

During those days, we realized how dependent humanity is on a regulated life—and of course, on electricity. In Stockholm, the weather hadn’t been great either, so my brother had started using solar energy more cautiously. Even after four days, no clear explanation for the blackout was given—speculations were everywhere.

My sister and her husband’s house was in the southern suburbs of Stockholm, eight kilometers from my brother’s. They said they would sometimes bike over to charge their phones from my brother’s solar panel. In Stockholm, things were more intense; looting had made people uneasy.

In Canada, although some local grids managed to come back online briefly, they would crash again after a few hours. Satellites and GSM were still functioning, and the internet hadn’t totally collapsed. We didn’t know how long this blackout would last. Maybe a few weeks, maybe a few years, maybe forever.

On Saturday morning, we loaded our Saab Cabrio to the brim and went to the port early. Now, with the car below and us on deck, as we slowly set off into the ocean, I looked back. I didn’t know if I would ever see this city again. Some of our belongings were still in our apartment here, but we were happy to be heading home—to the old continent.

Deep inside, I felt that humanity was entering a new era. In this era, there might be no electricity or internet, but love, friendship, and imagination would always remain.

That night, my son, my nephew, my husband, and I leaned back-to-back on the ship’s deck and looked up at the stars. They were still shining.