Eye-Witness View of Dean in Campeche

Hurricane Dean-now downgraded to a tropical depression-continues across the Mexican mainland and is expected to dissipate today. Dean has brought heavy rains of five to 10 inches, up to 20 inches in some areas, that have caused life-threatening flash floods and mudslides. Up to four people have now been confirmed dead in Veracruz and Hidalgo states. We'll have more on that in a later alert.

In its earlier east-west swath across the Yucatán Peninsula, Dean went from a pounding Category 5 at its landfall near Majahual, on the Caribbean Coast, to a relatively gentle Category 1 when it exited near Champotón, Campeche state, on the Gulf side.

Our IL staffer Glynna Prentice, who was in Campeche city during Dean's passage, sent us this first-hand report on what it was like to weather Dean on the Gulf:

On Monday afternoon, with Campeche directly in Dean's route, I took a last trip to the supermarket for supplies. The local Mega (a Mexican chain of hypermarts) was filled with people stocking up on boxed milk, canned tuna, and candles. Flashlights and batteries were already sold out.

By evening my street, which is usually lined with parked cars, was empty, the cars parked in more protected locations. But people, it seems, were staying put. I live in the old colonial city about five long blocks from the sea, so I went to stay with friends who live on a hill above town, where I would be farther from any possible flood waters.

Tuesday morning, with Dean already pounding the Caribbean coast, we went for a last drive around town at about 8:30 a.m. The wind was gusting, the sky overcast, and the city streets largely empty. Buildings along the malecón, the esplanade along the sea, had windows either boarded up or with tape cross-hatched across the glass. Fishing boats, which are usually moored in the bay, had been pulled onto the malecón itself. Along 8th St. in the city center-the street closest to the malecón-men were piling sandbags along the base of doorways. Eighth Street tends to flood even during ordinary heavy rainstorms; during hurricanes, I was told, the water can get as much as four feet deep.

Back at the house, we lost electricity at 9 a.m. and internet connections shortly thereafter. (This was just bad luck, I learned later. Much of Campeche retained electricity throughout the storm.) Fortunately, my hosts had snagged a gas-powered generator, to which we plugged the refrigerator and the television. We followed news of the storm as long as we could, but our television signal weakened as Dean neared, and died out completely by noon.

The wind whipped tremendously during the afternoon, at the height of the storm. But in many ways Dean was a letdown-much less dramatic than we'd feared and expected. For one thing, strangely, there was almost no rain. And the wind itself was less than we'd expected. We left many of the house windows open throughout the storm, and we walked outside periodically to stare up at the sky and watch the direction of the clouds, which flew past at an astounding speed-flying in one direction in the morning and in the opposite direction in the afternoon, as first the front and then the rear of the hurricane passed over us.

Much of this relatively gentle weather, no doubt, is due to the fact that Dean had decreased to a category 1 hurricane by the time it reached us.

By 6 p.m. it was clear that the worst was over. We had regained service in one cell phone, and learned from friends that the eye of the hurricane apparently passed over Champotón, about an hour south of Campeche. We decided to go on a second reconnaissance mission, and loaded into the van in the midst of spitting rain.

The streets, we were pleased to see, showed no signs of flooding. One major power line was down near the malecón, and numerous telephone lines were down, but otherwise infrastructure was largely in place. Several street lights had fallen over, the metal twisted like pretzels, and billboards across town were in shreds.

The major shock was the bay of Campeche. It was low tide, and the force of the outgoing hurricane had pulled all the water out of the bay. From the sea wall of the malecón to as far as a mile out, the bay was nothing but seaweed-covered rock and sand. I saw families walking quite a ways out, marveling at the opportunity to explore the sea bed.

As we drove home, street lights began to come on in the northern part of the city, indicating that some people at least had electricity. We passed a bakery that was already operating, customers lined up to get fresh-baked bread. We also saw a clean-up crew, already clearing debris and putting the city back in order.

By Wednesday morning, life was returning to normal in Campeche. The sea had returned to the bay, businesses were open, and electric and telephone lines were being repaired. Windows were being unboarded and untaped, and, at the entrance to the Instituto Campechano (Campeche Institute), I saw a workman taking down a length of canvas that read Refugio #19 (Refuge #19). Campeche was preening itself once again for tourists.

Like the rest of Campeche, Glynna is back at work-though cleaning hurricane debris from the back garden is a new item on her agenda.

Best Regards,

Suzan Haskins
Editor, Mexico Insider
International Living

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