La Vague de Chaleur (Aug. 2003)
A Blue Flag Adventure (Aug. 2002)
Patio Talk (Aug. 2002)
Decoder Rings (Sept. 2002)
Eeyore and Tigger (Oct. 2002)
Wonder Woman Hangs from a Wire (Dec. 2002)
Serves Two (June 2003)
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La Vague de Chaleur
August 2003
We are in the middle of a heat wave or la vague de chaleur. We are experiencing hot air masses moving north from Africa, a thermal invasion, a sweaty lipped oppressor, and a possible global warming smoking gun. It's hot. Annecy is a parade of white cotton pants, floppy hats, billowy shirts, and strappy sandals. Even the white tennis shoed American tourist has been spotted in flip-flops.
The little deodorant that was being used by the few now remains on the bathroom shelf, powerless to combat the onslaught of pungent underarm moisture. A great debate is being waged. Not over politics in the Middle East or Africa, but over what sort of attire is best suited for these desert-like temperatures. Along the lake you will find people promenading in jeans and long sleeved shirts as well as miniskirts and almost-not tops. Is the best approach to cover up completely, turban, veil and all, or to strip down to the legally bare necessities so that the skin can breathe? All in all, people still look good, if not a bit glowing, and there really haven't been too many sweat line sightings. You know, the ones that appear around a Buddha belly or pool at the base of a generous cleavage.
It's hot. In the few shops that have air-conditioning the electricity randomly shuts off during the day. The forests in southern France are self-combusting. The crops are at risk and the drought seems to be costing Europe millions of Euros as it cripples shipping, stunts agriculture, and drives up electricity prices. The French have even been asked to curb their water usage for washing cars, filling swimming pools and hosing down driveways (Pardonnez-moi, that was a southern California dig). Several of the rivers have banned fishing as water levels dip. Nuclear power plants have been at risk of shutting down because there is not enough water to cool the reactors. Oh la la!
The sunbathers continue to hit the beach to find relief. The grass where they spread their towel is now brown and prickly like the crispy skin on their burned backs. The lake is evaporating at an alarming rate. What was once a lapping cool alpine lake is now an odiferous tepid pond. Topless women, banana hammocked men, and nude infants wade in the shallow waters seeking escape from the 102-degree afternoons. The ice-cream vendor is threatening to strike from overwork, (no one works this hard in August), because he is unable to keep up with demand. He has called his cousin in Spain to bring a churro cart to create a diversion.
Other than the beach, most people have found that doing nothing is the best activity. They are doing their shopping early in the morning and then returning home to drop their heavy metal window shades and draw their curtains closed to keep the light and heat from sneaking in. Everyone lives in the darkness of their abodes during the day and then at sun set they emerge en masse to dine outside and catch up on the world's affairs.
We also stay cool by spending a lot of time in our car just driving around. As far as we can tell, the only effect of this, besides global warming, is that the volume of the radio must be increased to accommodate the noise of the air-conditioning fan. It's loud. We are always admonishing the children, in an unreasonably loud way, to roll-up their windows in the back. "Roll up your window, I've got the a/c on!" "Yeah, but I'm hot." "Roll it up and you'll cool off!" They never really cool off because the bodies in front are absorbing all the cool air and there are no vents in the back but there are plenty of large windows so that the kids can get some great direct sunlight. They think they are the first on earth to invent the "window mounted beach towel sun protectors." They travel through quaint towns, majestic mountains, and bucolic countryside in utter darkness.
The dog and cat are dead, well, not really. But they lie on their sides on the cool tile hoping for something cold to be poured over them. The dog frequently dips her nose into her water dish to find relief and would climb inside if she could. She wants to go outside and play but once the heat hits her, she collapses in a Raggedy Ann heap on the parched weedscape. The cat hasn't moved for days. She is splayed like a drunken beast that stares off into the distance but doesn't have enough sense to follow the shade.
Each night as we lie still against our clammy sheets, the window wide open bringing in more heat (cross air-ventilation a long ago memory in a master bedroom that actually had two windows), the dog panting at the foot of the bed and the cat resting it's soft furry coat on my feet, my husband says, "We should buy a fan." "Yeah, we should." I agree. But everyday I put off buying it because the thought of buying another appliance for our tiny 1200 square foot apartment makes me shiver, and that seems to cool me off for yet another day.
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