On Being in the Path of a Hurricane

Hurricane Dean is on its way. Current forecasts are calling for it to be a Category 5 storm, which is about as strong as these things get. My roommate Kristal and I are packing up the house as we speak, putting everything on the second floor in hopes that it'll escape water damage. The landlady came around and locked all of the storm shutters this evening, so we're about set to make a quick getaway.

We locked up the CAOS House this morning. Honestly, we are somewhat resigned to the fact that it will not survive. The house is lower than sea level (pretty common for our island, actually), in a floodplain, and made of little more than wood frame and drywall. We put as much stuff in a room in the main hotel and the rest at least three feet off the floor, but even that will most likely not be enough. We've done all we can at this point. All of the windows and doors are boarded shut and sandbags are barricading the doors, but we still said our goodbyes.







After that we moved to the other side of the hotel to help the Pool & Beach guys move all of the big, heavy pool chairs into the nearby watersports shop and the neighboring restaurant. After about four hours of lifting heavy wooden chair frames in the hot sun, I'm a little tuckered out.

Speaking of the weather, the past three days have been the most beautiful weather you have ever seen: crystal clear water, clear blue skies, and not a breath of wind (which is not that great when one is carrying the aforementioned pool chairs). It truly is the calm before the storm... but the storm is coming...

When I started writing this post last night, the plan was for me to stay in the Winchester-Swann's Grand Ballroom with the rest of the guests and employees hunkered down for the storm, but late last night I got the call from my boss that I really really should leave the island. REALLY. So I gave all my emergency food, water, and other supplies to a friend staying nearby, then at 1am we checked our hurricane shutters one last time, flipped all the breaker switches, and closed our apartment door. We dropped our cars off on the Bypass, one of the very few hills on the island (artificially made by the Winchester-Swann, of course), and Boss-Lady dropped us off with a teary farewell at the Winchester-Swann's front door for transport to the airport. We eventually made it to the airport around 2am, got our boarding passes by 3am, and were on the plane by 5am, which is a far sight better than those who were not signed up for the Winchester-Swann's charter flight. Arrecife residents were jammed into the airport in lines that snaked around for miles, all of them knowing full well that at some point the storm would be too close for the aircraft, that they would be turned back, and that they would have to quickly seek shelter. As the plane was flying across the Caribbean toward safety, I could see the very start of a sunrise in the distance - a very deep, blood red. Sailor's warning indeed.

We flew into Miami, got through customs, and met Kristal's brother at the airport. At first I was too tired to notice, but I'm definitely all switched around again as to which side of the road I'm supposed to be on. Anyway, we had breakfast and got all set up at his house, I shot off a few emails to let people know my sudden change in plans, then finally went to sleep for the first time in 27 hours. So now I'm in Ft. Lauderdale, looking for flights that will send me home to California in the next day or two, officially a refugee.

I'll admit there's a voice in the back of my head saying that I'm a quitter, that I cut and run, that all my friends are still stuck on the island, and that it's not fair that I left. Still, the island is about to be wiped off the map. I downplayed the seriousness of the storm in my assorted emails and posts, but Arrecife is in for some big trouble. The island rode out Hurricane Ivan, a similar storm, three years ago, and damage is still evident all over the island. As I was driving through the empty streets last night on my way to the Bypass, I saw plywood and hurricane shutters over stores and houses that stood next to other buildings still with holes in their roofs or only partially rebuilt from Ivan. Arrecife is mostly below sea level. The storm surge from Hurricane Ivan was 8 feet in some parts of the island; a foot of water in the ground floor of your house was considered "minimal damage". While many people learned their lessons about complacency from that storm, there is still only so much you can do when a Category 5 storm is bearing down on you. Had I stayed, I would have been safe in the Winchester-Swann's ballroom, but utilities will not be back up for days after the storm passes, if not a few weeks. Most employees will be sent home as soon as the airport is functional again, as conditions will be unsanitary, looting will be rampant, curfews will be set, and the air will be full of mosquitoes and the smell of effluent and dead fish. Despite all of that, part of me wishes I had stayed. Could I have done something to help? Are my friends going to be okay? When will I be able to get back onto the island? What will be left when I do return? For now, though, all I can do is watch and wait as the little swirly mass of clouds on satellite photos inches closer and closer... Stay safe, Arrecife.