No one arrived in time

I didn’t know how to anticipate it. On the afternoon of October 29, 2024, I was in my village, an hour’s drive south of Valencia, preparing to spend several hours editing images for a project related to water: photographs of torrential rains, floods, droughts, and pollution in various parts of the world.

I glanced at the weather forecast issued by Spain’s meteorological bureau, which had issued a red alert for heavy rains in the Community of Valencia, to understand what might happen and where. Even though it warned of possible floods, I thought it would be no different from other similar heavy rain events, and I had a lot of work pending. After checking the forecast, I completely disconnected. I spent the afternoon and much of the night editing water-related images while, unbeknownst to me, the worst floods of the century in Spain were unfolding not far from my home. 

The next day, I left the house without watching the news or checking social media. A few minutes later, a colleague sent me a video of the flood that had devastated Valencia. I couldn’t believe it.

That morning, images of the DANA’s impact in various towns south of Valencia circulated everywhere. I was paralyzed: the magnitude of the tragedy was immense. My frustration at not being there to document what was happening (while locked in a room editing images from thousands of kilometers away) led me to initially dismiss going to record the aftermath. It had already happened; I was too late, I thought.

I also didn’t have a car at that time, making it hard to get to Valencia, so I tried to accept my mistake and focus on the work I had for that day. Mid-morning, the Sonda Internacional team had an online meeting to manage ongoing projects: visual journalism on human ecology and the climate crisis. Naturally, we ended up dedicating the meeting to discussing what had happened in Valencia.  

On October 31, I got my car back but didn’t rush to the affected areas. I spent several hours working on the computer first. I was genuinely stuck. I had never before failed to mobilise in such a situation.

Finally, I headed to Valencia at midday, almost two days after the disaster occurred. I felt so late that I only aspired to take a look and speak with the residents of the affected towns. I wasn’t even sure if I would photograph anything.

The AP-7, the highway along Spain’s Mediterranean coast, was almost empty. The number of cars decreased even more as I approached Valencia. That road reflected the atmosphere of an emergency situation.

By the time I reached the town of Sueca, the highway was deserted. Looking toward the sea, in the direction of Valencia’s Albufera, all I could see was water.

What had happened? Why was this time different? Which areas were most affected? How many people had died? What was happening now? These questions swirled in my mind as I drove to Paiporta, one of the hardest-hit towns.

After walking through the mud-flooded streets in the town center and meeting some of its residents, I decided to focus my work there.

These are fragments of what I saw in Paiporta in the weeks following the flood that devastated southern Valencia on October 29, 2024.

In Paiporta, I met people like Agustina Zahonero del Río. By the time the regional government of Valencia issued a flood alert, she was already clinging to the ceiling lamp of her living room. The water reached nearly three meters inside her home, and both Agustina and Ana, one of her daughters, were floating in the darkness, being struck by objects swept in and out by the current. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that a neighbor broke a hole in the wall with a hammer, allowing them to climb up to the home of the neighbor upstairs. (Read a fuller account of their story here)

I also met Marí, who, at seventy years old, was helping in any way she could. From her doorway, she handed out food and water to residents and volunteers cleaning the streets. She told me that during the worst moments of the flood, she could hear her neighbor calling for help. No one reached her in time.

On the same street in the center of Paiporta, I spoke with Juan Antonio as he worked to remove the mud that had flooded his house. He was deeply moved by the help of friends, neighbors, and volunteers who came to clean his home and equally astonished by the lack of response and support from the authorities.

Who knows how to manage an emergency? How is it done? Are the people in positions of responsibility prepared for it?

Many residents of Paiporta kindly allowed me into their homes or businesses to photograph the aftermath of the flood. Inside one of them, Antonio told me: "It’s already happened. Now we need to deal with the consequences. We’ll look for who’s to blame later.”

It was one of the first days, and Antonio’s comment momentarily halted my own reflections. We were in an emergency, and the priority had to be addressing it.

But shortly after, the same questions returned to my mind as I walked through the town's streets. Why don’t we demand that our politicians prove they know how to manage an emergency as a prerequisite for holding positions of responsibility?

Emergency situations often reveal both the best and worst aspects of society’s response to traumatic events.

We all saw the thousands of people who volunteered to help residents in the affected towns. People like Pablo Mendoza, a 21-year-old biology student from Cádiz studying in Valencia. I photographed him as he sat silently on the mud. At that moment, he had been traveling to Paiporta every day for nearly a week to help clean the accumulated sludge. Meanwhile, his own home in Cádiz province had also been affected by heavy rains that struck Andalusia.

We also saw the actions—or lack thereof—by the authorities, both in prevention and response.

Why did the flood occur? Yes, it rained—a lot—but why were the effects so devastating?

There was a meteorological trigger, but the consequences can only be understood through a multifactorial and sociological lens.

In those first days, as is common with major events in the 21st century, there was a massive search for quick, often imprecise, explanations. Disinformation spread like the mud that covered the towns south of the Turia River.

Sociology, scientific knowledge, and quality information are more necessary than ever to understand events like the DANA in Valencia. However, for this knowledge to reach the public, it’s crucial to improve people's ability and willingness to seek out accurate information and separate it from the noise.

As the days passed, homes were gradually cleared of mud, thanks to the efforts of residents and volunteers. But the sheer amount accumulated in the streets seemed endless.

Furniture, clothes, paintings, appliances, documents, toys—intimate objects from the home so out of place on public display. Everything was ruined. Belongings that had once filled homes now waited to be taken to landfills.

The smell grew stronger. Authorities recommended wearing masks to protect against the health risks posed by the sludge, stagnant water, and airborne dust.

The streets of Paiporta underwent a gradual transformation. Every day brought a small change, sometimes imperceptible, sometimes significant, but always requiring immense effort.

The flood’s path was visible throughout the town, like a scar measuring the magnitude of what had happened. Inside homes and businesses, lines betrayed the height reached by the water.

In places like María Carmen Martínez and José Galarzo's workshop, the water had exceeded three meters. Before that late October night, the space hosted ceramic, drawing, and painting classes. The flood destroyed it.

The water also left its mark on the walls of Amparo Solís and Vicente Gujarro’s home. This couple watched as the floodwaters broke through their front door, flooding everything and taking with them many of the memories accumulated over decades in Paiporta. Fortunately, they managed to reach the safety of the second floor at the last moment.

What happened on October 29? Why did it happen? What can be done to prevent it from happening again? Finding answers to these questions means analyzing how we interact with the territory. Our activities transform the land, just as they transform the climate, requiring us to adapt.

The traces left by the flood in Valencia are a stark reminder that this is one of the greatest challenges of our time.