La Tempête - 27 Decembre 1999

In spite of prolonged exposure to the word ‘millennium’, we’d held on to our belief that New Years Eve '99 would be the same as any other. The fact that this was to be the dawn of the next millennium cut no ice with us. We wouldn't be partying with millions of others, we wouldn't be worrying about bug infested technology. We knew how many haricots made cinq and the two of us would be together in our favourite place; our house in the Gironde.

Destiny decided differently. December 31st 1999 was not as any other New Year and it's one we'll never forget.
On the night of Monday December 27th, disaster struck. Arriving from England in the early hours of Monday morning had given us a chance to switch on the heating, light the fire, admire the green of the pines against the soft blue Atlantic sky, check the growth in the garden and generally feel pretty pleased to be there. Happily absorbed, we unpacked the car, put a bottle of champagne in the fridge, toasted ‘Joyeuse Fetes’ with a lunchtime Ricard and looked forward to a relaxing week.
Around 4 pm, feeling a bit jaded after driving all night and a busy day, we took to the bath with the chilled bottle of fizz. We’d noticed a wind had got up and was being a little tempestuous; tossing dry branches and pine-cones to the ground as if having a tantrum. An hour or so later, a howling wind and a crash on the roof above us had us looking at each in a rather more serious way than would be deemed normal after a few glasses of champagne.
Hastily dragging clothes over wet skin is not the easiest thing to do but somehow it seemed necessary. The relaxed, carefree mood had gone along with the electricity, replaced by a prickly feeling of increasing panic until soon we were inextricably caught up in a dark, howling world, still not quite understanding what was happening.
Hazardous investigations outside in the deepening shadows showed a fallen tree on the garage roof and it was at this point that safety became a big issue and the seriousness of our situation more obvious. The big question was; where was safe? Having ruled out the ‘cave’ as one of us was pessimistic about being trapped underground the front doorstep seemed to be the next best solution. It was on the lee side and more importantly there would be space between us and the car should the building collapse. Fear and cold found us wrapped in a duvet while we could only wonder at the power rushing around us. The night was punctuated by gunshot like sounds as the trees around us cracked and fell, the ground shook as trees were uprooted and heavily hit the earth. The night seemed as if it would never end.
Around 4 in the morning the roaring calmed sufficiently for us to fall exhausted, into bed. Sleep did not come easily after such drama and soon we were up dawn watching, unprepared for the sight that greeted us in the unnerving stillness.
Devastation, devastation on an unprecedented scale waited for us. Under an unexpectedly clear sky the landscape had changed, the forest looked like war zones only previously encountered on TV . Trees littered the ground as if some angry, unknown force had thrown them anyhow, matchstick like, not caring for their long-lived loveliness. Raw stumps of snapped trees lent a sickening poignancy to the view. Very few buildings had escaped unharmed. Words cannot describe the scene, although we had experienced the 1987 storm in England this was something else entirely.
On talking with neighbours who had the benefit of a battery radio we discovered that South West France had been hit by a ‘l’ouragan’. Winds of 200 kph had been reported. No-one had expected it and no-one was prepared for its ferocity. The feeling of relief that we were safe was soon replaced by a deep sadness; how was it going to be possible to clear up this beautiful region with its forest and vineyards? The discovery that there was no water or power further added to feelings of desolation.

First things first: survival!
Coffee was made by boiling bottled water in a soup can on the fire while we discussed priorities and strategy. The removal of the trees from the roof and how we would organise our days were high on the agenda. The next week settled into challenging routine, daylight was short, not long enough in which to do all that is necessary without the usual services. Meals were prepared according to deterioration priority; that which we had brought with us against what was thawing quickest in the freezer also into this equation came what could be cooked in the ashes or on the fire.
As evolution proves that skill stems from necessity, we adapted to the soup can style of cuisine. A technique involving a pair of pliers, first bending the top make a lip and doubling as a handle. Balanced on the logs in the fire the soup can proved ideal not only for cooking but for heating water for washing - and bucket washing up; fortunately we hadn’t pulled the plug on the bathwater!
Aluminium foil was invaluable...never be without it! It makes an efficient lid for a soup can and is excellent for wrapping and cooking in the ashes. Without a doubt, the guinea fowl we jointed and cooked this way was the best we’ve had. Meatballs of a size to fit a foil packet in the ashes were made with the rapidly thawing ‘steak hache’. Later the cuisine rather went down hill; starting off with fondue had seemed very enterprising but resorting to store cupboard tins as fresh food ran out brought forth unlikely mixtures; tinned sausages and artichoke hearts?
Totally unprepared for the astonishing amount of time everything takes without power or water, our days disappeared just in existing. The chainsaw was in full throttle and huge amounts of effort and time were spent trying to clear branches & logs in the garden, the roof was patched and the fire kept going.
Having cleared some of the fallen trees from our garden it became obvious that the tree nearest the house; our favourite bird feeder tree, was leaning at a house -threatening angle. It was given the death penalty by those in the know and on one particularly unhappy day, the sentence was carried out by experts. To us, still adjusting to the the scale of the devastation, that single event seemed unbearably sad.
Trips to Soulac and Lesparre searching for milk, bottled water and food took on an almost macabre aspect. Gendarmes kept guard on the supermarket entrance in one place and on arrival at the other, the normally bustling supermarket was only available via the back door, the electric shutters immobile. Emergency lit, and with empty freezers standing in pools of water, the contents of the once fresh deli -counter stale. It all told the same tale.
The route was heartbreaking. Red striped plastic warning ribbons fluttered forlornly from the cuts either side of the road to guide drivers through the fallen trees. The railway crossing barrier was devoid of arms and concrete pylons lay scattered and smashed across the road their thickly important cables torn down under falling trees and dangling uselessly
We retreated with the only the small amount of shopping afforded by cash as credit card technology was temporarily abandoned without the necessary power. Arriving home to prepare for seeing in the new year, the irony was not lost on us; the new millennium beckoned and we were living the last day of the 20th century rather as our ancestors had done a thousand years before.
Having raided the candle store in the nearby home of our more organised friends, who had the good sense not to be in France on this occasion, we prepared a fitting feast from the combined contents of the by now unhealthy fridge and tins from the cupboards.
New Years Eve, a new millennium; while other parts of France were in ecstatic firework afterglow, we were enveloped in darkness with stamps of light given by the ‘borrowed’ candles, wondering quite how this beaten corner of France was going to fight back in the 21st century.
Definitely one to remember!