The iceman definetly not cometh

JUNE 01 CREVALCORE—Life under the Emiliano sun is in full bloom and about to wilt now. Temperatures in the region have been in the 30s all week. The hum of air conditioners can be heard on residential streets. Old men in broad brimmed straw hats, shirt sleeves, dark socks and pocket protectors can be seen trundling to the local caffe’ on their rickety bikes. I’ve got my cycling tan in top form. My new helmet allows more sun through than my old one, I discovered the hard way. The cats have moved to their summer position of lying on the tile floor when not on guard duty on the window sill. I need to buy one of those John Deere combines to bale the fur that they are shedding. I’m sure I could make a comforter out of it.

I, as an American wimp, have been suffering more than most during this late-spring heat wave. I appreciate more and more every day how we represent 5 percent of the world’s population and consume almost one third of its resources; Stefania and I have been battling over whether or not I can plug in the fan that her father lent us and if so how many seconds a day I can run it. Her parents have an air conditioner in the “mansarda” (the finished third floor attic).

First let me explain the difference between an American air conditioner and an Italian/European one. In the States we are accustomed to central air with the condenser unit outside and hooked up to the ducts in the house. If you’re really lucky you have one of the new-fangled heat pumps with a programmable zone system so that you can control the heat or air in each part of your house. Here, the first thing to remember is that most houses and apartments are wired (on purpose) to handle about a third of the electrical load of a comparably sized house at home. This has been made abundantly clear to me twice in the past week at the Vigaranis’; Stefania’s dad would wait until he wanted to go into the mansarda before turning on the air conditioner. Of course he forgot that the washing machine was running on the first floor. And you know what happened next. You guessed it, the breaker popped like a champagne cork. Same thing Monday night. Stef and I were watching CSI on FoxLife on Sky when Franco went up to cool down the mansarda for me. Boom. This time it was the AC and the dishwasher running at the same time. He wove a tapestry of profanity as he searched for a flashlight. “Porco Giuda” seemed to be his favorite. When he came down he had to search for the keys for the front door, then the “cancello” (gate) for the breaker box is out on the street inside a little metal box imbedded in a brick wall akin to where our meters would be. Inside is just one main breaker switch which sits under a little digital screen that contains information on electricity usage.

There house was built in 1992 and thus not specifically wired for all of the TVs, computers, washers, air conditioners, PlayStations etc. that are in use today. Putting in a new service would be prohibitively expensive and still not solve the problem of energy costs. Italy produces almost none of its own electricity and thus has the highest prices in the EU. The French produce more than 95 percent of theirs through nuclear power but there has always been political opposition to such practices here. There was an article in the paper the other day noting the opposition of ENEL and other utilities importing power from some of the Slavic countries. Italy is in the throws of a recession and really suffering from lack of “competitivita’” (competitiveness), which has diminished 25 percent in the last 4 years. Governatore della Banca d’Italia (I think this a position akin to being chairman of the Federal Reserve) Antonio Fazio declared yesterday that, “la competitivita’ nei confronti dell’estero si conferma come il punto di maggiore debolezza.” That is to say that competitiveness (of Italian firms) in comparison to foreign competition is the major point of weakness (in the Italian economy). As I’ve mentioned before, part of Italy’s charm is derived from it’s reluctance to change. This seeming lack of will to innovate affects all facets of life including energy production. That is to say that Italians are great innovators in industrial design, for instance, but seem to lack the Anglo-Saxon aptitude for organization and implementation of ideas.Thus the Chinese are gaining on them and us as well.

“Condizionatori” or “climatizzatori” (air conditioners, air conditioning is “aria condizionta” or “climatizzazione”) are usually console units that are about three-feet tall and sit on your floor on little wheels. They are digital and controlled with a remote control. There is an exhaust tube that goes through a hole in the wall of your house to an outside wall mounted unit that is about two feet by two feet with a spinning fan. If I understand correctly, this exterior unit takes in recycles air to the condenser unit inside, sort of how bleed air from the turbines of a jet engine is recycled through a HEPA filter on airplanes. My sister-in-law has a wall mounted unit that operates in the same way but is long and narrow and looks kind of like one you would see in a hotel. One of these units is sufficient to cool most reasonably-sized apartments, provided that it is all on the same floor. At the Vigaranis’ house, they just use theirs to cool the mansarda since heat rises. You would be surprised to learn, however, that Italian houses stay reasonably cool if you keep the shutters closed or “in casone” ('sochiuso' in proper Italian) as they say in Bologna. That means where the shutters are propped open at a 45-degree angle; this lets air in but keeps the sun from heating the interior. The walls on most houses are so thick that they do a remarkable job at keeping out the heat.

Now, of course, this only works with moderate heat spells. Obviously, the longer the heat lasts, the more that the house remains warm. Our problem is that we are on the second floor with a building behind us and a narrow street in front with houses on the other side. The heat rises and we don’t get good air circulation. Thus the argument over the fan. I maintain, with Stef’s dad, that if you’re hot you can’t suffer just to save a few euros. If you want something in this life you gotta pay for it. Sure enough, after a couple of days of this heat, Stef broke down and was amenable to the usage of the fan.

Besides the fact that many people now have AC in some part of their houses there is the issue of public buildings. Same story. Some do, and some don’t. Those that do still don’t keep it low enough for most Americans’ tastes, though. I don’t mind the heat so much when I’m not working or during the day. In fact, when I ride my bike I like to wait until the hottest part of the day. But at night I like it to be cold enough to see your breath. That’s the part that bothers me; here there is no escape. No cold beverages. No freezing workplaces. No cold bedroom. You just sweat all the time and wait for those precious minutes when you can get in the car and crank the AC. God forbid you go into a bar and ask for a Coke. At best, it’s about as cold as a bottle out of your fridge. This is hoping their fridge hasn’t been getting a workout being opened and closed all of the time. Go ahead, ask for ice. You might be lucky to get two “cubetti.” I was explaining to my friend Alessandro how in the States what you do is get a cup that is bigger than most bottles of Coke you buy at the store and load it to the top with ice. Then you fill it up at the fountain. He looked perplexed and wondered why someone would fill their cup with ice thus cutting down on the amount of beverage purchased. I didn’t go into the complicated Eames Unified Field Theory of Perfect Ice to Beverage Ratio but replied à la “Spinal Tap,” “....No, but you see, you fill it to the top with ice...” For some things there are no explanations.

At any rate, my convulsions from beverage withdrawal have subsided. I’ve taken to drinking fizzy mineral water. I buy it by the case. I did see a self-service fountain at the IKEA store on Sunday. You pay first, cafeteria style, then they give you a cup. There was no ice dispenser so I just walked on by. Not worth the hassle. You would go broke here selling ice seeing as most Italian mothers still drill their children in the fine art of avoiding cold drafts and cold drinks. Causes colds you know. I guess they didn’t get Louis Pasteur’s memo—maybe they should move to Kansas.