Today, around 1 PM, my external monitor and internet went out. I went to check the fuses—everything was fine. I stuck my head outside, looking for a construction bucket that might have chewed through a cable, but found nothing. This had happened a few times before and usually fixed itself quickly, so I decided not to panic just yet.

A little later, Tonya arrived from a neighboring town and told me that they had no electricity either—and that the traffic lights weren’t working across the whole city. Meanwhile, mobile internet also gave out, and it became both boring and unclear what to do next. Without the internet, where do you even get rumors to fuel your panic?

Deciding not to waste time, we had lunch with whatever we could salvage from the fridge and opted for a nap. There was no way to work anyway. For me, the internet is my means of production, my source of inspiration, and my autocomplete.

Waking up from our forced siesta, we realized that the tap water had stopped too. I figured I’d better go stock up on bottled water, just in case.

I trudged over to the nearby grocery store. The only one in the neighborhood that was open was run by folks from India. There, I realized I wasn’t the only one thinking about prepping for the apocalypse. While I had been napping, many had already shifted into full survival mode, enthusiastically clearing the shelves of anything nonperishable. Nobody knew exactly what had happened, and some preferred to prepare for the worst. Water was almost gone, and pasta and canned goods were flying off the shelves. One guy was busy stocking up on red wine. He had clearly made his choice and found the best way to face the end.

The store had no power, and the register wasn’t working. So two employees were manning the operation: one running around shouting out the prices of requested items, and the other totaling purchases on a calculator. Payment was cash-only. No fruits or vegetables by weight were sold—no working scales. The business was booming.

Caught up in the panic, I ended up grabbing four bottles of water instead of the two I had planned. While I was at the checkout, it hit me: I should also get some ground coffee. If the blackout lasted until tomorrow, I’d have to chew on coffee beans and wash them down with hot water heated on the gas stove.

Honestly, I feel lucky we had a gas stove. Owners of electric stoves were at risk of starving, surrounded by piles of raw, inedible food—like shipwreck survivors dying of thirst in an ocean of salty water.

Eventually, mobile internet flickered back to life and revealed the full scale of the disaster: Spain, Portugal, and part of France were left without power. No reasons were given, which made things even more unsettling. Authorities were silent. Meanwhile, we only had about a week’s worth of toilet paper left, assuming frugal use.

Headed off to pick up the kids from school. The town had taken on a slow, almost festive air, like a fair preparing for the end of the world. Kids, deprived of internet, spilled onto the streets. People sat at outdoor tables, sipping post-lunch drinks. Around them bustled folks carrying bottles of water, cans, and bags of grains. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation, like in a theater box before the start of a performance.

A few hours later, the power returned to the town’s outlets, leaving us with a lingering sense of anxiety about how much we rely on the comforts of civilization — and a slight disappointment, too, as the promised apocalypse quietly turned back into everyday boredom.

To all my readers, here’s my advice: if you ever get to choose when and where to face the end of the world, go for late April on Spain’s Mediterranean coast. And stock up on red wine.

Sitges, April 28