Last weekend we were in the French Pyrenees. Mike had spent four days on a photography holiday with friends in the beautiful old town of Villefranche-de-Conflent, and I tagged along, enjoying the socialising, scenery, and delicious food while making final edits to my new book. On Sunday morning we said a fond farewell to our friends and set off on the Petit Train Jaune for a few days on our own in the village of Enveitg at the end of the line. The three-hour ride through the mountains was breathtaking. 

We arrived at lunchtime, dropped our bags at the Airbnb apartment and walked to the one and only local restaurant where we enjoyed an elegant salad, lasagne and tarte Tatin—my favourite pudding. After a good lunch it was tempting to have a nap but it seemed a shame to miss out on the stunning scenery and warm weather, so with the nearest town only a few kilometres across the border in Spain we decided to take a stroll. There was plenty to look at. We passed huge auburn cows with bells round their necks, constantly clanging like a call to prayer, and delicate calves soaking up the sunshine. In the background were great mountains with residual snow, and bare ski runs gashing the slopes like scars. As we walked, the small town of Puigcerdà came into view, perched like a hill fort to our left, with houses in shades of yellow, ochre and brick red. At some point we must have crossed the border. There was no obvious sign but the linguistic clues were there. A board by the side of the railway line was in Spanish on one side and French on the other. And as we went further there were fewer Bonjours and more Holas.  

When we arrived in Puigcerdà we explored the winding streets—languid in the Sunday afternoon heat— and cooled off with drinks at a bar in the main square. Then we took the free funicular that connects the upper town to the lower level. There, we bought some groceries at a convenience store where the owner was keen to practise his English. He told us about his love of cricket and gave us a bottle of pink Powerade as a gesture of international friendship. 

It had all been so pleasant that the following morning we decided to revisit Puigcerdà—this time so that Mike could put his new photographic skills to use. It was late morning when we arrived and we sat at a cafe looking out over a lake with a border of black poplars, and watching the waterfowl engage in noisy, splashy squabbles. At about 12.45, Mike went to the counter to pay for our drinks but he came back looking worried. “The waiter says there’s a problem with electricity…the whole country is cut off.” 

“It can’t be,” I said. “That sounds ridiculous.” And then I remembered how we’d not been able to make contactless payments in a London branch of Marks and Spencer the previous week. That was when it started to feel strange and sinister. How could the whole country be affected? Was it a deliberate attack? Like those that had paralysed Marks and Spencer, the British Museum, the NHS, and Transport for London, to name a few. Fortunately our phones were still working and the main thing I wanted was to connect with family so we messaged them, and they knew nothing about it. But gradually as we checked in with trusted news sources—The BBC and the Guardian—reports started to come through. They too, sounded like they could hardly credit it. “We are getting reports of…” And then it emerged that not only was the whole of Spain affected but so was Portugal. Parts of France too, and Andorra. 

Neither of us speak Spanish so we had to watch carefully, and try to interpret cues from the people around us. I nudged Mike when I spotted a woman dashing along carrying a large pack of bottled water, and pushing a toddler in a buggy. She looked purposeful—as if she needed to get home as soon as possible. Then I saw another and another. All with the telltale packs of water. We passed a grocery store but it was a dark cave with a worker guarding the entrance and telling hopeful customers that it was cash or nothing. 

We had some euros with us which was lucky as the ATM screens were all blank, and already banks were closed, with hastily written notices taped to the windows. By this time it was about half-past one and we were getting hungry. We spotted a pizza restaurant with big glass windows and I had a rush of optimism when I saw people eating inside. Perhaps the crisis had been resolved. But as we approached I saw a waitress standing in the doorway and gesturing to a small group of people that they were about to close. We walked a bit further and a white van went past. I noticed that it said Ingeniero de ascensores and worked out that it must be a lift engineer. My first thought was that they were on their way home for lunch and possibly a siesta. Then with a jolt, I realised it was more likely that they were off to rescue someone stuck in a lift. Or the funicular we had taken yesterday.

We walked on and came to an organic cafe. The server looked harassed but smiled and said we could have a salad. No coffee of course. And while we were waiting for our food, we got into conversation with a sharply-dressed local man who spoke good English. “It’s a cyberattack,” he said. “Definitely. Nothing like this has ever happened before.” Then he added, “The internet will stop working soon. And then we will all be dead.” He made a cutting gesture across his throat, and looked remarkably cheerful.

After lunch, we decided to give up on our Spanish jaunt and walk back to Enveitg. Perhaps things would be better across the border. As we made our way out of Puigcerdà, the streets were deserted. The green cross pharmacy signs, ubiquitous across Europe, had lost their comforting illumination and the petrol station at the end of the street had shut down. What would happen when people ran out of petrol? Then Mike looked at his phone. “I’ve lost the internet,” he said and an image of the young man with his doomy gesture passed through my mind. 

It was just a few kilometres back to our village but what a difference that invisible border made. Our internet connections returned almost immediately and we saw lights inside buildings. All seemed normal at our apartment and we needed the reassurance of the familiar, so the first thing we did was to make a cup of tea. As we were drinking it and mulling over the day’s events, our host stopped by. She works at a hospital across the border and told us that generators had kept emergency services going. Then she said, “It’s not just Spain and Portugal, you know. It’s affected Germany. Sweden too.’’ Misinformation spreads fast.

What can’t be disputed is that this was Europe’s biggest blackout for twenty years. Inevitably it takes time to diagnose complex problems in a complex infrastructure system and so far there has been no consensus about the cause. Initially the Portuguese authorities blamed extreme weather in Spain but later the Spanish met office reported that there had been no unusual temperatures. Most reports now suggest it was a ‘Black Swan event’ when a variety of unlikely things happen at the same time, thereby setting a cascade of failure in motion.  

We’re home now but the experience has given me pause for thought. Since the pandemic, I rarely carry cash and I try to use up what’s in the food cupboard, so supplies tend to be low. After all, you can always go shopping, or order on the internet… 

When I read, earlier this year, that the EU was advising its citizens to keep a stock of food, water and medicines—enough to last at least 72 hours—it seemed dramatic and guaranteed to cause anxiety. They named a range of potential emergencies including war, floods, fire, pandemics, and cyberattacks, and talked of the need to develop a ‘preparedness mindset.’ 

On this occasion, the young man in Puigcerdà was probably wrong in assuming malevolent causes, but we know attacks happen, and it’s disturbing how long it’s taking for Marks and Spencer to recover. When we arrived back at St Pancras station ten days after the initial problem, and in travel-worn need of a sandwich or a salad, the shelves at M&S were bare. That cyberattack came out of the blue and so did the blackout. I’m going to stock up on food, water and medicines, as suggested, and also keep some cash. The advice to put together an emergency kit of torch, batteries, first-aid and a wind-up radio seems rather more urgent than it did a week ago.