11. The Snow
Snow starts falling on 26 November 2024. And not gently, not softly, but as the storm of the century, battering not just Odesa, but Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, the whole of Ukraine and the European part of Russia, bringing floods, fallen trees, broken power lines.
In the Odesa oblast alone, there are more than 70 traffic accidents, buses are stuck in the snow, the whole city is paralyzed by power and heating cuts, and a general curfew is imposed in Odesa city. The city’s main link to the world - the Odesa-Reni highway - is also closed to traffic. Dozens of buses strand in the snow, and over the next day more than a thousand people are rescued, including nearly 150 children. Traffic on the road resumes a day later. In total, a dozen people are killed in the storm and the cold in the Odesa city and region…
It all starts already on Saturday with rising winds and rain. The wind moves the roof sheeting over my apartment and howls strongly, but for the time being all the lights are still on and after a short walk outside I put the kettle on and sit curled up in the blanket in front of the TV. The wind and the storm stay behind the window and only add to the cozy feeling.
Towards Sunday morning, the rain turns to sleet and the wind picks up. By the afternoon, the snowfall is so heavy that I can’t see the houses on the other side of the square from my window. Soon the windows themselves are covered in wet snow. In the afternoon, there is a brief blackout, but it lasts only for a minute. Then it happens again. And then, at five o’clock, when I’m cooking supper in the kitchen and it’s already pitch black outside, the power goes out again. I don’t let it bother me and expect the lights to come back on in a moment. However, since the meal is in progress and I need light, I get my fishing lamp which has a hanging hook, hang it on the hook where the kitchen towels usually go and get on with cooking. Yet the darkness persists.
In the Odesa oblast alone, there are more than 70 traffic accidents, buses are stuck in the snow, the whole city is paralyzed by power and heating cuts, and a general curfew is imposed in Odesa city. The city’s main link to the world - the Odesa-Reni highway - is also closed to traffic. Dozens of buses strand in the snow, and over the next day more than a thousand people are rescued, including nearly 150 children. Traffic on the road resumes a day later. In total, a dozen people are killed in the storm and the cold in the Odesa city and region…
It all starts already on Saturday with rising winds and rain. The wind moves the roof sheeting over my apartment and howls strongly, but for the time being all the lights are still on and after a short walk outside I put the kettle on and sit curled up in the blanket in front of the TV. The wind and the storm stay behind the window and only add to the cozy feeling.
Towards Sunday morning, the rain turns to sleet and the wind picks up. By the afternoon, the snowfall is so heavy that I can’t see the houses on the other side of the square from my window. Soon the windows themselves are covered in wet snow. In the afternoon, there is a brief blackout, but it lasts only for a minute. Then it happens again. And then, at five o’clock, when I’m cooking supper in the kitchen and it’s already pitch black outside, the power goes out again. I don’t let it bother me and expect the lights to come back on in a moment. However, since the meal is in progress and I need light, I get my fishing lamp which has a hanging hook, hang it on the hook where the kitchen towels usually go and get on with cooking. Yet the darkness persists.
At some point I reach for my phone and read the news on Telegram. Instead of finding a comforting message saying that the blackout will be repaired in no time, I learn that what’s happening in the city has taken on catastrophic proportions - the mayor is asking everyone to stay at home, the electricity damage is being repaired, but it will take time because of the worsening weather. On different Telegram channels there are also pictures of trees and high-voltage power lines blown down by the wind… Well, never mind - it is also possible to eat in darkness, I think.
At the same time, various Odesa Telegram channels report constantly of new traffic accidents in the city and on the Reni highway, power cuts spreading across the city and a boiler plant chimney collapsing due to the storm. This leaves parts of Odesa without heating. The mayor poses in the background of snow-plows and bans people from leaving their homes. I look out of the window - it’s six o’clock but it’s pitch black. The whole city seems to have died out, with only the lights on in the opera house and, through the raging wind, I can actually hear the roar of a generator the size of a small truck parked on the street behind the theater. I write to a couple of friends living also downtown and ask about their situation - they too have no electricity.
I decide to save my phone and laptop battery and read a book by the light of my little lamp. It turns out to be less romantic than when I was a child and used to read adventure novels under the covers, so my parents wouldn’t see. I get fed up soon and curse myself: I don’t even have matches! And the gas stove spark igniter is powered by electricity. I search the cupboards, but there’s nothing - no matches, no lighter. I promise myself that I will go to the store in the morning and buy matches, candles and more batteries for both the fishing lamp and, for example, the computer mouse. But tomorrow is tomorrow…
I nap on the couch for an hour in the naive hope that the blackout will be over soon, but nothing... Oh well, there’s still some cake in the freezer. I eat a slice of cheesecake in the dark, drink the cold tea left in the bottom of my cup and watch the news some more on my phone. It’s pretty clear that this whole thing is going to get worse before it gets better - already there are reports of buses coming from Moldova getting stuck in the snow on the way, with dozens of people trapped; there is no electricity and no heating in much of Odesa and dozens of surrounding villages and settlements. A couple of thousand people are busy with rescue work.
I wonder what will happen if the Russians now take advantage of this and launch a drone or missile attack on the city? But I already have an inkling of the answer - this storm knows no human made borders or frontlines, and the Russians are in as much trouble as the Ukrainians.
The next day, I came across a piece of gossip on Telegram suggesting that the Russians had attacked a major power station in southern Ukraine on the evening of November 26. However, there is no official confirmation of this. The lack of confirmation leaves room for various interpretations: the Russians really attacked and hit the power station, that they attempted it but missed, that the Ukrainians might be using this rumor to explain their inability to cope with the weather, or that it is simply an unfounded rumor.
Anyway, by nine o’clock at night, it is clear that the blackout will not be fixed any time soon and I comfort myself that it is Sunday anyway and it is not bad to start the working week well-rested. So I go to sleep. Accompanied by a roaring wind and the loud noise of the tin roof being shaken by the storm... I fall asleep quickly.
And wake up suddenly. I don’t know what wakes me. Silence? Or the light? Both, I guess. I look at the clock. 2:29 a.m. The lights are on, the storm is over. I stagger dizzily through the apartment, switching off the lights, and go back to bed. I’m woken again by the alarm set for half past seven. It’s windy outside the window, but it’s no longer a storm. There is a huge blanket of snow, covered with yellow and green leaves torn from the trees. The view is breathtaking.
I put on the radio, pour myself a cup of tea and crack the eggs into the bowl to make an omelet. At the same moment, the radio goes silent, the ceiling lights go out. Damn! Again! I quickly check Telegram - yes, another blackout. Apparently, something was fixed in a hurry during the night and the solution worked only until the whole of Odesa woke up and switched on its electrical appliances, from battery chargers to washing machines to God knows what. Anyway, I cover the bowl of de-shelled eggs with food wrap, eat a sandwich, and feel glad that the tea water started boiling before the new power cut.
At lunchtime, I go to the shop and buy a bunch of different candles, ten boxes of matches, and a good supply of batteries. On the way home from work, I’m greeted by a brightly lit apartment - I forgot to turn off the light switches this morning. I don’t know when the blackout ended.
But the snow melts away a day later - on Tuesday evening, Odesa is battered by a new, yet considerably weaker storm, which brings warm air to the city and melts huge masses of snow overnight. On Wednesday morning, I am greeted by spring-like puddles as I exit my front door.
Not even a tablespoon of snow is left.
At the same time, various Odesa Telegram channels report constantly of new traffic accidents in the city and on the Reni highway, power cuts spreading across the city and a boiler plant chimney collapsing due to the storm. This leaves parts of Odesa without heating. The mayor poses in the background of snow-plows and bans people from leaving their homes. I look out of the window - it’s six o’clock but it’s pitch black. The whole city seems to have died out, with only the lights on in the opera house and, through the raging wind, I can actually hear the roar of a generator the size of a small truck parked on the street behind the theater. I write to a couple of friends living also downtown and ask about their situation - they too have no electricity.
I decide to save my phone and laptop battery and read a book by the light of my little lamp. It turns out to be less romantic than when I was a child and used to read adventure novels under the covers, so my parents wouldn’t see. I get fed up soon and curse myself: I don’t even have matches! And the gas stove spark igniter is powered by electricity. I search the cupboards, but there’s nothing - no matches, no lighter. I promise myself that I will go to the store in the morning and buy matches, candles and more batteries for both the fishing lamp and, for example, the computer mouse. But tomorrow is tomorrow…
I nap on the couch for an hour in the naive hope that the blackout will be over soon, but nothing... Oh well, there’s still some cake in the freezer. I eat a slice of cheesecake in the dark, drink the cold tea left in the bottom of my cup and watch the news some more on my phone. It’s pretty clear that this whole thing is going to get worse before it gets better - already there are reports of buses coming from Moldova getting stuck in the snow on the way, with dozens of people trapped; there is no electricity and no heating in much of Odesa and dozens of surrounding villages and settlements. A couple of thousand people are busy with rescue work.
I wonder what will happen if the Russians now take advantage of this and launch a drone or missile attack on the city? But I already have an inkling of the answer - this storm knows no human made borders or frontlines, and the Russians are in as much trouble as the Ukrainians.
The next day, I came across a piece of gossip on Telegram suggesting that the Russians had attacked a major power station in southern Ukraine on the evening of November 26. However, there is no official confirmation of this. The lack of confirmation leaves room for various interpretations: the Russians really attacked and hit the power station, that they attempted it but missed, that the Ukrainians might be using this rumor to explain their inability to cope with the weather, or that it is simply an unfounded rumor.
Anyway, by nine o’clock at night, it is clear that the blackout will not be fixed any time soon and I comfort myself that it is Sunday anyway and it is not bad to start the working week well-rested. So I go to sleep. Accompanied by a roaring wind and the loud noise of the tin roof being shaken by the storm... I fall asleep quickly.
And wake up suddenly. I don’t know what wakes me. Silence? Or the light? Both, I guess. I look at the clock. 2:29 a.m. The lights are on, the storm is over. I stagger dizzily through the apartment, switching off the lights, and go back to bed. I’m woken again by the alarm set for half past seven. It’s windy outside the window, but it’s no longer a storm. There is a huge blanket of snow, covered with yellow and green leaves torn from the trees. The view is breathtaking.
I put on the radio, pour myself a cup of tea and crack the eggs into the bowl to make an omelet. At the same moment, the radio goes silent, the ceiling lights go out. Damn! Again! I quickly check Telegram - yes, another blackout. Apparently, something was fixed in a hurry during the night and the solution worked only until the whole of Odesa woke up and switched on its electrical appliances, from battery chargers to washing machines to God knows what. Anyway, I cover the bowl of de-shelled eggs with food wrap, eat a sandwich, and feel glad that the tea water started boiling before the new power cut.
At lunchtime, I go to the shop and buy a bunch of different candles, ten boxes of matches, and a good supply of batteries. On the way home from work, I’m greeted by a brightly lit apartment - I forgot to turn off the light switches this morning. I don’t know when the blackout ended.
But the snow melts away a day later - on Tuesday evening, Odesa is battered by a new, yet considerably weaker storm, which brings warm air to the city and melts huge masses of snow overnight. On Wednesday morning, I am greeted by spring-like puddles as I exit my front door.
Not even a tablespoon of snow is left.
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