Danube drought forces nuclear cutbacks across Central Europe

The Danube River, one of Europe's vital arteries, had shrunk to a trickle. In Hungary, the Paks nuclear power plant—which normally generates nearly half the country's electricity—was limping along at just 10 percent of capacity on a Monday in early August, starved of the cooling water it needed to function. Across the border in Romania, the military was taking more drastic measures: soldiers detonated a rocky outcrop exposed in the riverbed, hoping to dislodge debris that might improve water flow to the Cernavoda nuclear station, which supplies roughly one-fifth of Romania's power. The operation was urgent. Without it, officials warned, the plant would have to shut down entirely by Thursday.

The crisis was not confined to nuclear facilities. Serbia's Iron Gate hydroelectric plant, a massive installation on the Danube, was operating at only about one-fifth of its normal capacity. Across Central Europe, prolonged heat and drought had pushed water levels to record lows, and forecasters offered no relief—more hot, dry weather was coming. The timing was particularly grim. European rivers typically reach their lowest points later in the summer, which meant the region could face weeks more of this strain.

Romania's response illustrated the desperation. The military had detonated the rock formation roughly 30 miles upstream from the Cernavoda plant. The debris would be collected and sunk at a strategic location to help raise the water level. Defense Minister Radu Miruta called the operation successful and noted, with a hint of dark irony, that the military had been waiting for decades to access and demolish these rocks. But Miruta was also clear about the stakes: if the water diversion failed, the plant would likely have to shut down entirely within days.

The economic fallout was immediate and severe. Romania's caretaker Prime Minister Ilie Bolojan convened a crisis meeting with representatives of energy-intensive industries. Dacia and Ford, the country's major automakers, agreed to suspend production until August 19. Other companies were taking similar steps. Thousands of workers faced production halts as the country tried to preserve electricity for essential services.

In Hungary, Prime Minister Peter Magyar had narrowly avoided a total shutdown of Paks on Monday—a scenario that would have been unprecedented. Instead, the plant ran at a fraction of its normal output. The government had appealed to industrial users to cut consumption and asked households to voluntarily reduce their electricity use. Electric freight trains were stopped to lighten the load on the grid. Magyar's statement on Monday evening carried the tone of a man managing a crisis hour by hour: the network was stable for now, consumption was below planned levels thanks to public restraint, and the last turbine at Paks was still running. He promised updates from the grid operator's control room.

Serbia's Prime Minister Djuro Macut convened an emergency meeting to address the energy crisis. He urged residents to minimize use of high-consumption appliances, particularly air conditioners, describing the situation as serious and demanding. The appeal underscored how the drought had moved beyond industrial concerns into the daily lives of ordinary people.

The crisis extended beyond the Danube's immediate basin. In Bavaria, the river's historic low levels were disrupting freight transport. Germany's new Transport Minister Steffen Bilger, just weeks into his tenure, found himself facing an unusual challenge: the Danube and the Rhine—Europe's busiest inland freight waterway—were both at dangerously low levels. Bilger told Reuters that while Europe was accustomed to periodic low-water situations, the timing was alarming. It was still early in the calendar year for such problems, yet several more weeks of predominantly hot and dry weather could still arrive. The region was bracing for a prolonged crisis with no clear end in sight.