The morning after the DANA flood, I stepped outside into the crisp air of Xàtiva, where I live. The rain had cleaned the streets and the plants were glowing green. I remember questioning the purpose of the intense weather warnings had sounded the evening before. It only took one minute to see that something was wrong once I stepped out the door and connected with neighbours, social media and the TV.
As a Californian, I braced for what I assumed would follow: televised disaster declarations, supply hoarding, and hashtags like #FloodWatch2024. What I found instead was something entirely different: neighbours hauling buckets of mud from basements, offering comfort to one another, and somehow still managing to make light of their submerged cars, saying, «at least we are alive».
For those who lost so much—their homes, cars, and even family members—the heartbreak is immeasurable. Yet, in the face of profound loss, this community has shown a level of grace and solidarity that leaves me humbled. People who have been through the unthinkable still find time to share a meal, extend a helping hand, and, somehow, laugh through their tears. In California, we call this "resilience," but here in Valencia, it seems to be simply how people live.
Here’s where Valencia’s unique spirit shines: after the floodwaters recede, life doesn’t just resume—it celebrates. The holiday lights are hung and families join together. While a Californian might be tempted to throw in the towel and move inland, the Valencian response is: “Pass the cava, we have traditions to uphold.” I couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly the sorrow of loss was met with the determination to preserve joy.
As an outsider, it’s tempting to see this juxtaposition as surreal: grief standing shoulder-to-shoulder with celebration. But the longer I stay here, the more I understand. The Spanish approach doesn’t erase pain; it honors it by refusing to let it define the season. They rebuild with love, not just bricks, finding light even in the darkest days.
So this Californian will light her own candle during the holiday season—not just for the people we’ve lost, but for the spirit of those who remain. I’ll hold my loved ones closer, pour an extra glass of wine for a neighbor, and say a quiet thank-you to Valencia for teaching me that life, even when it’s hard, is always worth celebrating.
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