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- When the Lights Go Out: What 16 Hours of Darkness Revealed
When the Lights Go Out: What 16 Hours of Darkness Revealed
The day Portugal went dark (and what it taught me about resilience)
Melissa Withorn
May 06, 2025
Hey friend,
There's something profoundly humbling about a blackout that strips away our carefully constructed digital worlds in an instant.
For 16 hours (from 11:30 am until 2:30 am), Portugal and parts of Spain experienced something most of us rarely face: complete technological disconnection. Power gone by lunch. Phone service disappeared shortly after.
One moment I was deep in Slack messages and Zoom calls, the next—darkness. The hum of my refrigerator fell silent. The WiFi router's blinking lights disappeared. And suddenly, daily schedule evaporated.
What struck me most wasn't just how quickly we had to adapt—but how foreign this level of disconnection felt, when for millions around the world, intermittent power is simply daily life.
The rhythm of necessity
As the initial scramble subsided (making sure the kids were safe at their creche, finding candles, checking on friends), something interesting happened. The day took on a different rhythm. A slower, more deliberate pace emerged:
We took a midday stroll toward the beach to see how the city center was dealing with things
Neighbors and strangers gathered outside, sharing what little bits of information we’d gathered through language barriers
The usual digital walls between people fell away as we collectively problem-solved
What surprised me most was that despite the obvious seriousness of a country-wide blackout, I felt the most relaxed I've been in months. Because what could be done? Literally nothing. All the urgent tasks, the deadlines, the must-dos—they simply ceased to exist.
Finding our way in the dark
Having lived here long enough to know our neighborhood without Google Maps turned out to be a surprising blessing. On our walk to the beach we crossed through parks and praças where people had gathered with whatever food wouldn't last in quickly warming fridges, sharing impromptu picnics. Children weren’t staring at tablets, the teens actually talked to each other instead of texting friends sitting right beside them.
The cafes along the streets were bustling, even more crowded than a usual Monday afternoon would be. No phones were visible; laughter made up the soundtrack.
We saw a few acquaintances doing the same things as us, and I felt deeply grateful that we'd put down enough roots to recognize friendly faces, navigate without technology, and feel at home even in this disrupted state. It was a powerful reminder that community—real, physical, in-person community—is perhaps the most valuable thing we build when relocating somewhere new.
The uncomfortable questions that linger
By breakfast time, with the power restored, most people had slipped right back into their normal routines: frantically checking missed messages, rescheduling Zoom calls, and resuming doom scrolling as if nothing had happened.
It left me wondering: How fragile is this system we've built? How quickly does our self-sufficiency evaporate when the power goes out? And perhaps most importantly—how prepared are we, both physically and psychologically, for longer disruptions?
I'm not suggesting we all become preppers. But there's something valuable in occasionally asking ourselves these questions:
What basic skills have we outsourced to technology?
How would we manage if digital convenience disappeared for a week, not just hours?
What connections and communities could we rely on if systems failed?
Have we built lives so dependent on constant connection that we've forgotten how to simply be?
The blackout revealed not just our vulnerability, but also our resilience—when given no choice but to adapt.
The emergency kit we didn't have (but definitely need)
Let me be completely honest—we were woefully unprepared for this. No emergency kit. No stored water. A single flashlight with batteries that barely worked. It was pure luck that the outage happened during daylight hours in good weather.
This weekend's project? Creating a proper emergency kit with:
Multiple flashlights and batteries
Portable phone chargers (fully charged at all times)
Non-perishable food and water
Basic first aid supplies
Important documents in waterproof containers
Because while yesterday's blackout was an interesting social experiment, the next disruption might not be so forgiving. By the looks of some of the people leaving the few open stores with carts full of bottled water, the locals were anticipating this to go on for days.
Finding beauty in disruption
Despite the inconvenience and uncertainty, there was undeniable magic in those hours of darkness:
The stars visible above our town without light pollution
Conversations with neighbors we'd barely spoken to before
The ingenuity that emerged when we couldn't rely on our usual tools
The profound reminder of our interdependence
For those of us who've chosen to relocate abroad, we've already embraced a form of voluntary disruption. We've chosen to step away from the familiar and build something new. Perhaps that's why yesterday's blackout felt strangely familiar to me—it was another moment of forced adaptation, another opportunity to discover resources within myself I didn't know existed.
This week's reflection questions:
What basic skills or connections would sustain you if the technological infrastructure disappeared tomorrow? What beautiful moments emerged from last week’s blackout that wouldn't have happened otherwise?
Reply to this email and share your experience—I'd love to hear how you navigated the darkness.
Until next time,
Melissa (+ Benn)
P.S. If you still want to pick up and move to Portugal after reading what a day without power will do to you, check out our brand new starter guide for moving to this beautiful place.
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