Portugal: Surviving a Blackout (Abroad)

First, the lights went out. Then, the bodybuilders showed up.

Here we go again.

Yesterday I woke up, checked my watch: 7:30. Weird — I didn’t remember feeling tired, let alone napping until evening. And. if it really was true that it was 7:30 p.m., why was the sun still blazing so brightly?

Then it hit me: it wasn’t Sunday night. It was 7:30am on Monday morning. Somehow, I’d forgotten that I’d had a lovely, full Sunday night and went to bed at a reasonable hour. I immediately texted two friends back home.

Partly because it was silly — forgetting an entire evening is funny, but also odd. Partly because I was freaked out. I’d never had a lapse like that before. Was this early-onset dementia? A brain tumor?

Little did I know that would be the most normal thing to happen all day.

The Day the Lights Went Out

Mondays I work from the beach—no meetings, just catching up, supporting my team, and setting a solid foundation for my week.

Watching the sea clears my head, and it makes space for better ideas and creativity. The only problem? Yesterday, I’d forgotten my sunglasses.

So much can change in 30 seconds. That’s how long it took to head back home to get the shades:

• I exited the elevator.

• Unlocked my front door.

• Walked to the bathroom to grab chapstick.

• Noticed the lights were out.

• Checked the microwave — it was dead too.

Assuming it was a blip, I locked my apartment and pressed the elevator button. Nada.

Right, of course. No power = no elevators.

I live in the penthouse. I took the stairs. Had I arrived just seconds earlier or later, I could’ve been trapped—either on the way up or down—alone inside the elevator, without light, food, water, or cell service (for nearly 12 hours).

I’m lucky. And grateful.

I’ve Been Here Before

Maybe “lucky” isn’t the right word, but I’ve definitely been through this before. Many times. A native Illinoisan, I grew up with snow, hail, thunderstorms, and tornadoes — each can bring its own version of "lights out." I’ve had many candlelight and flashlights-only Midwestern nights. In fact, when I started driving, I kept a blanket, spare tire, and gas can in my trunk. You learn quickly: Weather can turn on you in a second.

Later, living in New York, I faced it again—albeit on a much larger scale. In October 2012, Hurricane Sandy smacked the shit out of the city. Hard.

At the time, I wrote:

This is New York. To those who wondered why New York and New Jersey didn’t prepare for Sandy, we did. We prepared for what we thought might be the worst. It turned out the actual worst was more than anyone could imagine.

For a week, I lived without regular access to power, hot water, cell service, or internet. Now, hypervigilance is how I roll. It's second nature.

Prepper or Paranoid?

So, about four weeks ago, when the EU warned everyone living here to be ready to shelter in place for 72 hours—in case of cyberattacks on the grid, they said—I took them seriously. I stocked up: shelf-stable food, bottled water, solar chargers, backup battery packs, etc.

If you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready.

Even still, you never really know what’s going to happen until it does.

Without electricity or cell service, even simple things can unravel fast. Food spoils. There’s no way to cook it. Grocery stores can’t keep things cold, can’t scan anything, can’t remain open long without light—remember, they don’t usually have windows. Uber Eats? Offline. Google Maps? Offline. Even if you found a kebab shop or wood oven pizza place still cooking with fire, you couldn’t call ahead or even pay unless you had cash for your whole day’s expenses. And who carries that much cash?

No trams. No working building codes to open doors. No heating or cooling. No work systems. No hot showers. No ATMs. Anything could happen.

And all this in a country still relatively new to me.

It hit me hard: we’re all so fragile and interdependent—no matter who we are, where we live, or how long we’ve lived there.

When Systems Fail, (Some) People Don't

In chaos, it’s not infrastructure that keeps us safe — it’s community.

When the blackout hit, I made a gut-instinct choice: go to the Cacilhas ferry terminal. With all the ferries, buses, trams, and the Lisbon Naval Base nearby, I figured cellphone service might be stronger there. I was right.

There, I called a friend. I was going to invite her to my place so we wouldn’t be alone—I didn’t have electricity, but I had enough food and water for two or more. Her idea was better: let’s split a room at a 5-star hotel. Electricity. Wifi. Food. Wine. Cocktails. If we were going to suffer, might as well do it in style.

At the hotel, we formed alliances instantly: a trio of British bodybuilders—one shared his mobile hotspot so we could get online. Another new friend tipped us off that a nearby ATM still worked. Two Americans, evacuated from the airport without their luggage, shared their prosciutto and snacks. This blackout felt different. People weren’t only forming individual “pods” with other people they knew. Everyone was looking out for each other.

In fact, one of the British Bodybuilders who escorted me to the ATM reminded me to be gentle.

“Don’t take out too much cash. Others will need it too.”

Let There Be Light

After a full day—nearly 12 hours—the lights finally came back on. We could literally hear people cheering and clapping in the streets.

I still don’t know what caused the blackout. Honestly, I’m just waiting for the dust to settle before believing much of anything right now. Experts will have more data points over time, and we’ll all have a clearer picture then.

Early reports blamed cyberattacks, but new reports are pointing to induced atmospheric vibration. I don’t even know what that means. But, since it seems to pertain to weather, that would make it 3–0 in the climate over humans matchups I’ve experiences thus far.

I'm sure there will be another outage someday, somewhere. Maybe here. Maybe somewhere else. Not sure, but I know this much is true: then, like now, the only way to get through it will be together.

Protect each other. Stay safe out there loves.