When we moved to Valencia, Spain six months ago, our biggest fear was not speaking the language and dealing with grumpy expats. What we didn’t anticipate was witnessing a storm that would leave parts of the city reeling while we remained strangely untouched.

My husband and I were at the gym when we got online updates about an approaching storm. Thinking it would be a brief downpour, we left early, picked up some groceries, and grabbed a couple of bottles of wine – preparing for a cozy evening inside. As we stepped outside, we noticed the wind was picking up. The usually calm Mediterranean breeze had turned gusty, hinting at the brewing tempest.

Back at our beachfront apartment, we took our dogs for a quick walk. The atmosphere was eerie; the air was thick with electricity, and the sky had taken on a pinkish hue. It was both beautiful and unsettling. Sensing that this was more than a typical storm, we secured our home by shutting the steel shutters – a common feature in Spanish homes for protection against the elements – and settled in, hoping for the best.

Throughout the night, our sleep was interrupted by blaring alarms on our phones. Emergency alerts from the government urged residents to stay indoors. The notifications continued into the next day, emphasising the severity of the situation. It was unlike anything we’d experienced before.

Venturing outside briefly to walk the dogs amid the storm was surreal. The charged air made the hairs on our arms stand up, and the normally bustling beachfront was deserted. Yet, despite the ominous signs, our immediate area remained largely unaffected. The locals seemed unfazed, some even gathering at nearby bars, sipping beers as if it were any other day.

However, just a 10-minute drive south, the reality was starkly different.

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Reports started pouring in about roads being torn up and severe flooding. All routes leading to the airport were compromised, leaving thousands stranded. Now, days later, transportation remains a challenge, with only a limited number of taxis braving the conditions to reach the airport.

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One area hit particularly hard was the winery town of Requena, a town that has historically been prone to flooding.

It appears the storm’s wrath began there, with floodwaters cascading towards the river. We were only recently there for the harvest festival, now the main street is lined with a pile of swept-away cars. The rainfall peaked at almost 500 litres per square metre in the most affected areas, more than a year’s rainfall in just a few hours. It was like a tidal wave from the sky.

The timing of the storm added an extra layer of irony.

It struck on the eve of Halloween, a night that’s increasingly celebrated here with enthusiasm, followed by All Saints’ Day – a significant public holiday in Spain. Traditionally, it’s a day when families visit cemeteries to honour their deceased loved ones, a blend of mourning and celebration.

This year, instead of festive gatherings, the government declared a three-day period of national mourning. The usual lively streets were replaced with solemnity, yet, in our neighbourhood, life carried on with an almost disconcerting normalcy.

The contrast was jarring.

While we watched the news of trucks and earth movers working tirelessly to clear debris just kilometers away, our local cafés and shops remained open. People laughed, chatted, and went about their routines, seemingly oblivious to the suffering nearby. It was a stark reminder of how capricious nature can be – how it can wreak havoc in one place while sparing another just a stone’s throw away.

Tragically, the storm claimed lives and destroyed homes. Cars were swept away, and families were displaced.

The airport’s inaccessibility not only disrupted travel but also hindered the arrival of aid. Emergency services were stretched thin, working around the clock to reach those in need. Supermarket shelves were emptied, unable to be restocked – a sight unseen since Covid.

Reflecting on the experience, it’s the small details that linger – the pink sky before the storm, the charged air during our dog walk, the incongruity of festive decorations amid a national disaster.

Spanish culture is rich with traditions that celebrate life, community, and resilience. Even in the face of adversity, there’s a pervasive spirit of togetherness.

As Australian expatriates, we’ve been deeply touched by the concern from friends and family back home. Messages flooded in, checking on our safety. We’re grateful to report that we’re safe and sound. But our hearts ache for our neighbours who weren’t as fortunate.

This event has also been a lesson in perspective.

Living abroad offers countless joys, but it also brings unexpected challenges. We’re reminded of the importance of community, both local and global. In times like these, the distance between countries feels smaller, united by shared compassion.

The President’s declaration of national mourning is a sombre acknowledgment of the lives lost and the long road to recovery ahead. The same streets that were flooded are now filled with volunteers helping with cleanup.