NATURE’S FURY
Hotel under siege from ‘ meaner, louder’ storm
Maria’s 155 mph winds batter Puerto Rico; Mexico reeling in wake of devastating earthquake
The wall pulsed, bowed and finally gave, crashing to the floor and sending Hurricane Maria howling into the lobby of the Courtyard Marriott Isla Verde.
It was 8: 30 a. m. Wednesday, and the storm was at peak fury, mauling central Puerto Rico and lashing mercilessly at San Juan. I huddled with other guests in a cement- lined office in a far corner of the hotel, trying to decide whether we should stay put or evacuate to the concrete car garage next door.
I had covered six hurricanes and thought I knew tropical cyclones. But Maria was different: meaner, louder, more punishing.
By the time the storm finally spun offshore and into the At-
lantic Ocean later in the day, the battered island had suffered through a multi- hour barrage that knocked out all power, toppled cellphone towers and ripped the roofs off homes and businesses.
“God is with us,” Gov. Ricardo Rosselló tweeted as Maria’s 150- mph winds and horizontal rain paralyzed the island and turned streets into rivers. “We are stronger than any hurricane. Together we will rise.”
Across the island, Maria’s carnage blew roofs off some homes and smashed fallen trees into others. Windows blew out in high- rise buildings, and in some places, even the plywood nailed over windows flew away.
The fragile power grid failed completely. Cellphone towers toppled in the wind, and communication remained difficult, if not impossible. Rampant flooding persisted, leaving rescuers locked in place most of the day, waiting for the worst to pass.
At my hotel, Maria sheared off the front facade, pushed a wall down, crushed several balconies, punched holes in the first- floor ceiling and flooded the floors. If not for the hustle of the hotel staff, led by general manager José Padin, things could’ve been a lot worse.
Two days earlier, Padin gathered guests at the lobby bar and explained what to do if the major hurricane aimed at us: All guests were expected to leave their luggage in their rooms and ride out the storm in the lobby, where it was safer.
That call came over the hotel intercom at 3: 30 a. m. Maria was getting closer.
Guests streamed into the lobby carrying pillows, blankets, iPads, babies, spreading blankets on lobby couches or the hotel casino floor for a few hours sleep.
Maria intensified quickly as it plowed into this U. S. territory, home to 3.5 million people. First, the casino’s ceiling gave way, sending streams of water into the lobby. Then the winds popped off the large plywood covering the front sliding glass doors. Padin and his staff scrambled to the door with more plywood and drills, covering the hole from the inside.
More water poured in from the ceiling. Outside, the wind howled and whined like a large cat. Ears clogged as the storm’s barometric pressure dropped. Debris banged against the roof outside, shaking more ceiling tiles loose.
Everyone nervously eyed the glass wall in the front lobby as it buckled and bowed. Suddenly, with a deafening crack, the wall crashed to the ground, its shatterproof panes still intact. Branches, leaves, palm fronds and punishing winds rushed in.
Maria — the most powerful storm to hit Puerto Rico in eight decades — was now inside with us.
Interestingly, Padin wasn’t panicked. The gaping hole alleviated a lot of the built- up pressure, he told me between barking commands to staffers, and could help our situation.
As winds whipped around the lobby, guests moved into cement- lined offices, where they napped on floor mats, played Jenga or stared blankly ahead, waiting for the fury to pass. Staffers pushed garbage cans under water cascading from the ceiling or handed out small cups of camomile tea.
After several hours, the winds began to ease. Someone checked Maria’s track on a weather app. It had moved past San Juan and was headed back into the Atlantic. A group of staffers let out a cheer. “We survived!” one said.
Tyler Howell of Charlotte shared the staff ’s enthusiasm but rightfully reminded us that thousands of Puerto Ricans across the island didn’t have hotels to shelter in.
“I feel fortunate we had this hotel,” he said. “But I feel bad for the rest of the island.”
As I write this, a gusty wind pulses in and out of the hole in our lobby wall as hotel workers vacuum up storm water and pile ceiling tiles into a large bin.
I don’t know the extent of the storm’s damage to Puerto Rico and its people, but I intend to find out as soon as the weather permits.
One thing’s for certain: Hurricane Maria will forever live in the psyche of Puerto Ricans. And in mine.