At 12:40 p.m., someone in the cafeteria of the Yrio train receives a WhatsApp message about the journey between Atocha station in Madrid and Santa Justa station in Seville. The arrival was scheduled for 1:13 p.m. “The power is out all over Madrid,” the message reads.
Just a few seconds later, the coffee machine stops working. “Sorry, but we’re out of hot sandwiches,” warns the waiter. Barely a minute has passed, and the train stops in the middle of nowhere. According to the last Google Maps image before the connection was lost, we were near the municipality of Mesas de Guadalora, about 45 kilometers from Córdoba and 90 kilometers from Seville.
Someone remarks that if the power is out all over Madrid, and also somewhere in the middle of the Mesas del Guadalora, something major must have happened. “That was Putin,” joke two Andalusian gentlemen while enjoying a fresh beer in the train bar in carriage 3. “Even though Pedro Sánchez is in the middle, we can expect anything.”
Shortly after 1 p.m., the loudspeaker announces that we are being held indefinitely due to a power outage “across the country.” A woman threatens to panic until a flight attendant tries to calm her. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we have food in the cafeteria, and the air conditioning is working right now.”
The word “conditioned” is mentioned, and a sound is heard as if the Cofrentes nuclear power plant has been shut down. The light coming through the roof of the train flickers like in a horror movie… and the air conditioning shuts down.
A study published a few years ago, when fake news began to spread worldwide, showed that false information spreads six times faster than truthful information thanks to social media. Maybe they weren’t six times more accurate, but here, on a stranded train with no internet connection near Mesas de Guadalora, Google isn’t working on a comparison. Excuse us, but the study says the trolls have flown. Today we can add that on a train without data, there’s no need for social media to quickly spread misinformation.
At 1:10 p.m., and without any connection to the outside world, a woman announces that the power has also gone out in Portugal. A man assures us that the lights have gone out in France, Germany, and London. At 1:17 p.m., the passengers, already sweating like chickens, conclude that we’re dealing with a cyberattack. “It looks like a solar storm,” says a young photographer.
At 1:20 p.m., someone reports, almost confidentially, that there’s some air circulation in the area between carriages 5 and 6, and that there’s also some cover. The square is crowded, as media alerts and occasional WhatsApp messages from family members pour in. “Tell Mom to buy candles when she gets home,” a girl whispers.
At 1:50 p.m., the train staff informs us that we are being evacuated and must walk about 300 meters along the tracks to a small Adif station. Seven minutes later, we are sent back to our seats.
The heat is already unbearable, in the middle of a field of what look like orange trees—though they might be tangerines. A pregnant woman walks from one carriage to another, fanning herself with her ticket. Her T-shirt reads “Good Vibes.” A baby cries loudly, and a young man offers a card game for guessing in case anyone gets bored. Then they discuss which window might break if the situation drags on.
Two friendly women, one from Venezuela and the other from Argentina, tell us that they would have stayed in their home countries if there had been a power outage like this. “This isn’t why we came to Spain.”
Another gentleman, whose accent sounds Chilean, perhaps even Argentinian, concludes that it was the Russian army that severed the submarine cables running through Northern Europe, as if Car 5 were Ferreras’s train.
At this point, with the cover once again hanging by a thread in the only corner where air circulates, José Antonio has become the only reliable source on the train.
José Antonio is an engineer from Huelva who works in Seville for a major electricity company whose name he prefers not to mention. He admits he has no idea what might have happened (it’s refreshing to see someone admit to having no knowledge of the conspiracy train), but he warns us that this “could be a matter of hours and even days.”
For whatever reason, the woman from Venezuela asks the pregnant girl if she’s okay.
“Something like this has never happened in my life, and after a “Getting things back up and running after a major power outage is a challenge. When it’s a cyberattack rather than a technical glitch, it becomes even more complicated,” explains José Antonio, who’s coming from Madrid because he ran the marathon on Sunday. When he was told he’d have to run 300 meters under the sun on the train tracks, he almost burst into tears.
On the way to the cafeteria, where getting a cold Coca-Cola has been a challenge during the pandemic, two young Andalusians are chatting.
“Did you know the Shrimp Fair is taking place in Punta Umbría this weekend?”
“Well, the ones left will go bad.”
The only thing that works on the entire train is the card reader in the bar. “You see, the planet that the banks continue to profit from can collapse,” one man summarizes. But the carriage doesn’t erupt in applause, because they’ve already started conserving energy, as if this were the snow party, only in 40-degree weather.
At 2:20 p.m., a stewardess tells us through a megaphone that they’ve already received a ladder that looks like a toy and that we can leave carriages 2, 4, and 6.
We walk under the sun next to the train to the AVE maintenance base in Hornachuelo. This is where we’re geolocated for the first time. We’re only 95 kilometers from the Andalusian capital. “Be thankful you’re nearby, because two trains are stopping further away and they can’t get off,” they console us.
There’s water and a soft drink vending machine here, which only works with coins and has a sticker that reads “Vote PSOE.” Railway humor, very cool Óscar Puente. There’s also electricity, thanks to generators. Enough to charge my phone in the bathroom and send a report to the newspaper.
One of the last people to arrive at our hut is a man with a cane who walks so poorly on the paths and dodges stones as if he were on a pilgrimage. “I’ve already told them to let me know so I don’t pass Seville.”
