For those who didn’t hear, on April 28, 2025, most of the Iberian Peninsula experienced a near-total blackout from about 12:30 pm into the early hours of the following morning.

Just before it all went dark, I was in my apartment, talking on the phone with someone in Sevilla. Out of nowhere, the call dropped, and the lights went out.

“Ugh, something must have tripped the breaker,” I thought. Not an uncommon issue in my apartment.

But when I checked, the breakers looked fine. I stepped into the hallway—no lights. As if on cue, my neighbor pokes his head out, saw me, and asked, “Your power’s out too?”

“Yeah,” I said.

A concerned look came over his face. He pressed the elevator call button a few times. We wait and don’t hear a sound. “God, I hope no one got stuck in there,” he says.

What a kind and thoughtful neighbor, I thought.

Then, with a grin, he said, “Well, I work from home, so my day just got less busy.”

Beyond my building

I headed downstairs, hoping to reconnect with my friend in Sevilla. The moment I stepped outside, it was clear this wasn’t just a building-wide issue—no one had power. In the absence of electricity, a buzz of curiosity filled the air.

When I managed to call back, I apologized and said, “Looks like the power’s out in my neighborhood.”

“What?” She replied. “The power is out in Madrid too?!” I could hear her asking someone nearby, “Ma’am, is your power out too?” A beat later, she says to the neighbor, “The power is out in Madrid too!”

Wait. A power outage in both Madrid and Sevilla? This wasn’t normal.

I tried not to dwell on it and returned to my call—until it dropped again. And then I noticed: no phone signal. No mobile data.

The buzz of uncertainty

As someone from South Florida, I’ve endured plenty of hurricane blackouts. No electricity? No sweat. But no phone signal? No data? That’s a whole different level of disconnection for me. That’s the type of disconnect I would need to consciously choose to be (arguably) comfortable—like one of those technology detoxes yogis talk about.

I regrouped with my partner and told her it seemed like the outage wasn’t local. We immediately thought of the film Leave the World Behind. (Yes, it freaked us out.)

We decided to take a walk around the neighborhood and get some fresh air. Thankfully, it wasn’t the middle of summer, and the temperature was inviting for a walk.

For a short stretch of our walk, our phones came back to life. A friend messaged, “Power outage through all of Europe.”

Soon after, another friend in Romania messaged, saying they still had power.

Cool. So not all of Europe—I think to myself.

But then, my partner gets a message from a friend in the UK: “Looking at the news. It’s not good.” And then—radio silence again.

Society really needs to work on word choice during crises. “It’s not good” doesn’t help.

As we sauntered, we were stopped by someone asking what we knew. We shared what little we’d heard. He nodded and said, “It’s not just Spain. Portugal, France, and Germany too.” Cue the jaw drop.

Also, what did this neighbor know? And where is he getting his information?

We part ways and carry on. One thing that immediately stands out during our walk is that no one is panicking. Bars remained open. Beer flowed (apparently beer taps don’t need power). People sat outside, relaxed.

How communities responded

We ran into the owner of our local fruit and vegetable stand. He’d been busy, and the consensus among customers: Spain, Portugal, France, and parts of Germany were affected. No confirmed cause. Lots of speculation about foul play from a foreign entity.

It hit me how dependent we are on electricity. Not a critique—just an observation. My partner and I wanted to prep like it was hurricane season—the way we knew—but we were limited. No cash on hand, and card machines were down.

We weren’t expecting to have to stockpile supplies when we moved to Spain.

It's time to pick up the kids. We split up and set a meeting point. At school, nerves buzzed—more about rumors than the actual outage. “Russian cyberattack,” one person said. “A fire in the Pyrenees,” said another.

Where are these people getting this information from?

Still, what stood out most during these initial hours was the calm. No panic. No yelling. No honking, even with traffic lights out.

We stopped at a local convenience store to buy bottled water. People waited their turn. No pushing. No shouting. Some even handed over water to those who couldn’t grab enough.

The kindness floored me. It helped keep me grounded.

Granted, only a couple of hours had passed. Still, not every community would have responded this way.

Parks, patience, and perspective

After dropping off our supplies, we placed perishables where they might last the longest and did what everyone else seemed to be doing—we went outside.

Our family already spends a lot of time at the parks, but that day the green space was full. Families everywhere. Kids playing. Neighbors chatting. Calmness all around.

Later, we went home. Sticking to a routine helps in times of uncertainty. Instead of watching TV, we looked out the window and watched kids run around the courtyard.

Of course, not all of me was calm. We had food and water for a few days, but what if the outage dragged on? What if we couldn’t get cash? It took a lot of effort to keep those thoughts at bay and keep focused on what was at hand.

Morning light and meaning

I woke up at 5:30 am to find my phone fully charged and connected. I hadn’t had such a peaceful early wake-up in years.

The feeling was familiar, like waking up after a hurricane passed. Quiet. Safe. Still.

Now back online, I did what I usually did after those storms: checked to see how others fared. I tried to piece together what was real versus what had been speculation.

At the time of writing, Red Eléctrica and the Spanish government still hadn’t exactly agreed on what caused the outage. Investigations are ongoing.

What I do know is this: the sense of community I experienced wasn’t limited to my neighborhood. Across Spain, people helped each other. Some shared radios. Others danced in the streets.

No panic. No outrage.

Apparently, I slept through a massive cheer when the power came back on—a sound my partner says rivaled the one after Spain’s World Cup-winning goal in 2010.

Trusting the system—and each other

Of course, Spain isn’t perfect. It’s worth remembering that past crises, like the devastating DANA-induced floods in Valencia and surrounding regions, exposed real weaknesses in the government’s ability to respond. It’s also worth remembering that we don’t always get it right.

This blackout gave my family and me a glimpse into how Spain can operate under pressure. And what I saw, both institutionally and civically, was reassuring.