'I'm Trapped In Florida, And This Is What Hurricane Milton Is Really Like'
On Monday evening, I sent my parents a screenshot of the weather app for Orlando, Florida. Rain, high winds, and a hurricane warning of what would eventually be known as Hurricane Milton. I called them to check in, asking whether we were going to go ahead with our holiday. With no option to get a refund on our flights, and reassurance that our hotel was built for a storm of this magnitude, I was told our plans hadn't changed.
Americans on our flight from London to Orlando cheered when the plane took off. We were one of the last uncancelled flights, and my seat neighbours shared that they were planning to head to their coastal homes and either hunker down ('I’m from Florida, I’m used to this') or get out ('It’s the worst we’ve had for 100 years'.) I repeatedly asked them if they would choose to stay put if they were to permanently live in Orlando (an inland city, it's worth adding), and they admitted they likely would, but hypothetical situations are hard to predict when you don't know the reality.
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I arrived in Orlando late on Tuesday evening as most businesses were shutting down. Our hotel staff advised us to immediately head out to buy some supplies while we still could — they would be doing the best they could to provide for guests, but equally, our hotel was being used for shelter, welcoming more people than usual. Non-perishables would be great, they suggested. We nodded, secretly knowing that my mum had prepped half a suitcase filled with Quaker Oats porridge sachets, Kit Kats, and Cup-a-Soup.
The staff then gave us an A4 sheet of paper with extensive guidance: what the latest forecast meant in real terms, what to do if you hear a siren and the safest place to shelter if things get 'really bad'. In that time I learned facts that I’d regularly remind myself of over the next 24 hours — that the bathroom is safest because it’s away from the windows, that our hotel was on Disney Property, where power lines are buried underground making outages unlikely, and that the likely biggest threat to people is flying debris, which is why we have to remain locked inside.
On Wednesday, the day Hurricane Milton was expected to make landfall, my family woke up at 6am and quickly switched on ABC for the local news report. We then started to map out our next 24 hours, which went something like this: we went to the hotel gym, where I put my dad through a 'weights session' filled with what I could remember from my weekly HIIT classes in London. While I'm not usually one to use a hotel gym on holiday, it felt good to support him and teach him new exercises. 'I’m up for trying anything different,' he repeated to me a few times that day.
From the gym we rushed to a conference room to make it in time for the 2pm bingo game, one of a few rainy day activities hosted at the hotel. We each grabbed a card and the host, a member of hotel staff who I imagine isn't usually tasked with entertaining a room full of frightened guests in her regular job, gave us a handful of dried beans from the kitchen to use as counters. I looked around at the different groups of people — elderly citizens who had likely evacuated from the coast to Orlando, families who had planned a trip to Disney World and ended up here instead, kids from different countries playing together on a Twister mat. In extraordinary scenarios, children often provide a focal point for your energy and worries.
In between these pockets of joy, my mind looped back to two key thoughts. One, a feeling that enjoying the lock-in activities would somehow lead to a form of 'punishment' when the storm hit (i.e. that time spent not worrying would lead to a greater disaster), and two, sadness about the holiday that could have been (sunshine, shopping, relaxing). There was no way to quash these thoughts other than by acknowledging them and choosing to move onto something else. The last few days have felt similar to those spent in lockdowns during the Covid-19 pandemic, where one minute you're enjoying Paint-By-Numbers and the next you're ruminating on the worst things imaginable happening to your family. In crises that have a long timespan, time to think can be your worst enemy.
Hurricane Milton made landfall at Siesta Key (a barrier island off the coast) around 8:30pm local time, earlier than predicted. We were sat in the hotel lobby watching a girl sing songs (Taylor Swift’s ‘Delicate’ into Chappell Roan’s ‘Pink Pony Club’) on her acoustic guitar, before the news broke on a TV screen behind her. Live reports of storm surge (tsunami-like rising water from a hurricane) and coastal amenities battered by the wind played out before us. Things got worse in Orlando, too, and I could see the wind driving sheets of rain around in circles, formations flowing like a Scalextric track.
The worst of the hurricane hit during the night. I went to bed just after 10pm, and woke up every hour or so because I could hear it through my earplugs. You’re advised to keep the curtains closed during a hurricane as they can protect you if the windows smashed. At 3am I got up to put an image to the noise I was hearing, and saw the wind racing down the sides of the hotel, pulling a sky full of rain with it. I was on the tenth floor, and realised that the hotel was essentially a blocker in the storm’s course, an obstacle forcing it to slow down or find a new pathway. I put my hands on the windows and felt the glass faintly pulsing. This is exactly what they’re designed to do, I told myself, learning that sometimes solutions feel scary or counterintuitive, but that doesn’t mean they don’t work.
I woke up at 6am on Thursday and returned to the local ABC weather channel, where the same news anchors were on-screen from the night before. Hurricane Milton was heading off into the Atlantic by now, and at sunrise, we’d be able to properly assess the damage. There’s a lot that needs to happen before it’s safe to go outside again; we’ve been warned that debris could blow out after being lodged in trees, roads remain flooded, and millions of Orlando residents are without power. For the guests in our hotel, the worst has passed but we know all too well the devastation that lies ahead for so many in the hours, days and months to come. As for me, the hurricane has served as a firm reminder that there are times in life when we will turn to the compassion of strangers and that connection is often the strongest protection of all.
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