I can see a light!

        Photo credit: Author's own – the well-known Sandeman port ad.

In March, I mentioned I was in ‘travel planning mode’ for a trip to Portugal. After sorting the basics of travel and accommodation, we turned our thoughts to the fun things. We researched walking tours, places to visit, and things we might do. A rattly ride on the famous tram 28 through the narrow streets of Lisbon made the short list, along with a boat trip on the River Douro in Porto. An evening of traditional fado music was pencilled in and, of course, pastel de nata and port. Lots of port, because, ahem, it’s important to embrace the culture and support the local economy. When a train strike threatened to derail our Lisbon-Porto connection (pun intended), we put contingencies in place.

With the planning nailed, we set off, but it’s always worth remembering the wisdom of Sun Tzu, the Chinese military strategist. In his book ‘The Art of War’, he explains how ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy.’ Closer to home, Robert Burns writes in his poem ‘To a Mouse’ that the ‘best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.’ Plan as we might, in life as in war, stuff happens that throws us off course.

In sunny Portugal, all was well with the world until we found ourselves stationary for twenty minutes on the ancient-looking Gloria Funicular in Lisbon, waiting to be carried up the steep hill to Bairro Alto. It was hot and crowded and the lack of movement was causing unrest among the passengers. The window by my seat was stuck shut. We could have easily walked up the hill instead, and now we were packed in as tight as Portuguese sardines. Eventually, the driver told us to disembark, mentioning something vague about electrics. I joked a fuse had blown, but no, she explained, it wasn’t just her little funicular that was kaput. The entire country was out. A quick Google confirmed all of Portugal, Spain and parts of France were without electricity. And so, the biggest ever power cut in Europe in recent times began. We hadn’t planned for that one.

We climbed the hill and enjoyed the view before deciding we had earned a drink, only to find it wasn’t possible. The card machines were down and they glared at our cash as though we had reverted to medieval bartering. Maybe I should have offered a live chicken? Our plans had to change, so we wandered off the well-trodden tourist trail until we found ourselves in a lovely little park with a great cash-taking café and live music. We ordered salads and a generous carafe of cheap wine whilst we waited for a sparky to turn up somewhere, scratch his head and flip a few switches. We had a glorious afternoon, sitting in the sun, sipping our vinho verde and forgetting all about our plans. It turned into one of the best bits of the holiday.

Mobile internet had long since fizzled out and about five hours into the outage, no one had any idea what was happening. We strolled back into the city centre and the impact became clear. Supermarkets, shops and restaurants had shut, trains and trams had stopped in their tracks, cash machines were blank and horns blared as traffic lights failed. In short, if it was electric, it was off, and the atmosphere was strange, slightly dystopian. In the modern world, not much works without electricity. Queues for fossil fuel buses were miles long and hordes of stranded travellers anxiously trudged the streets with their luggage, searching door to door for a room for the night. We looked at them, knowing it could be us the next day.

As evening set in, there were few restaurants left to cope with the demands of a capital city packed with tourists and displaced residents. Those still trading turned away anyone without cash. Our little hotel put on a great show and the kitchen staff valiantly struggled on with head torches, but all they could offer was cheese and wine. We put a brave face on things and made do. As darkness fell, along with most other people, we commented we should return to our rooms before it was pitch black when someone shouted, ‘I can see a light’. Moments later, lights came back one by one and the streets erupted with cheering and celebrations. Within five minutes, it was as if nothing had happened. Restaurants flung open their shutters, souvenir shops sprang back to life, buskers emerged from the shadows and fired up their amps. Let the music play! I went to a cash point and replenished my wallet with good old-fashioned dosh, just in case. In the days that followed, we would find ourselves in restaurants when someone would lean across and ask, ‘where were you when the power went down?’ and we would swap tales and laugh about the experience.

Is there a moral to this little tale? Is there anything Christian writers can take from this? God's plans are better than ours. Plan your writing if you prefer, but hold on lightly. Be willing to change. Don’t expect plans to survive intact. Relax when your spreadsheets are full of bullet holes and things have gone awry. It is normal. When it happens, as it surely will, lay it all down for a while, wander off the beaten track and wait patiently for a light to shine. You never know, it might be the best bit.