23 Jun 2014

Potable

"That's not very green" she said, pointing at the 2-4 of water bottles that I had just heaved into the grocery cart. I could hardly argue the point, and looking at her pink, Swiss-made and distinctively refillable aluminium bottle didn't help. But I still went ahead with the purchase.

Even after five years in Canada, I have a hard time drinking unfiltered tap water. Not because I don't consider it safe. On the contrary: Because there is no doubt it is safe - given how much of chlorine it tastes. It's bad enough that I get the odd mouthful when I am in the pool. I certainly don't enjoy drinking it intentionally.

"You've been spoiled", she would then say. And it is on days like today that I come to realize how true it is. Since Saturday, I've been taking advantage of the warm and sunny summer weather to hike across the Swiss countryside. As I'd always taken it for granted, I carried but a small bottle of water in my backpack, filling it up again at every village's communal fountain.

When North Americans talk of a water fountain, they think of a small steel bowl with an upward-pointing faucet, used by cheapskates in shopping malls and airports to quench their thirst instead of buying a pop. Building codes require a few of these in public places, and they are frequently hidden in obscure corners, where they dispense the above mentioned chlorinated concoction.

In Switzerland, a fountain is a something completely different. It comes with a free-standing water pipe at shoulder height, a full sized stone trough, and often an old iron rack over it for supporting laundry or buckets. Every hamlet, no matter how small, has got at least one, but most towns have several. They are often decorated with flowers or wood carvings, many come with a second lower trough catering to horses and dogs, and most are centrally placed in town squares. Walking through tiny Theilingen, I came across three, whereas the city of Zurich has over 1'200, connected to their own supply grid. The incessant splashing and gurgling of fountains forms part of the acoustic background of every Swiss town. (Intriguingly, despite the fact that these fountains always run, the Swiss still use a third less drinking water per capita than the Canadians do. The presence of water counters in homes may have something to do with that...)

Most importantly, though, the fountains offer perfectly fresh, clean, and utterly drinkable water to everyone (the town of Scuol in the picture has even got a fountain with three faucets spouting three different mineral waters). And while villagers no longer wash their dirty laundry in public (well, at least not in the literal sense), they certainly still appreciate the fountains to quench their thirst on school trips, boyscout camps, bike rides, hikes, or simply during a quick roadside stop.

In Montréal, I had to buy a water belt to keep me properly hydrated during the training for last year's 21km run, with only one functioning water fountain along the Lachine Canal. I would not have had this problem in Zurich.

But there is hope yet, for at least our new office building has invested into a water filtering system that comes with taps in each kitchenette which finally offer a filtered, odor- and taste-free version of the local eau du robinet, and therefore something I'm perfectly willing to drink. It seems appropriate, then, that I will return to Canada with my own Swiss-made, refillable aluminium bottle. It may be red and white. But it is also very green.

Labels: , ,


1 Jun 2014

Frenzy

It is the beginning of June. I sit on my balcony in shorts and soak up the sun. Hockey season has just ended.

Here in Montréal, anyways. For the rest of Canada, the excitement of cheering their local NHL teams was over by mid-April, when the trees were still bare. The Montreal Canadiens, however, as the only team from north of the border, made it into this season's play-offs.

And once the séries start, the city's fever pitch rises as inevitably as the temperatures outside. Montréalais are fanatic about their team, la sainte flanelle, on an ordinary day. If the team reaches the play-offs, the crowd's enthusiasm takes on near-fanatical dimensions.

The Habs did everything to keep the excitement up. In the best-of-seven pairings, they quickly dispatched their first round opponent Tampa Bay (where home games are mostly attended by vacationing Canadian snow birds) 4-0, so as to advance to the greatest thing next to winning the actual cup: A play-off encounter with the Boston Bruins, Montréal's traditional arch rival from the original six

It was then, at the very latest, that Habs-Mania took over. Lebanese grocery stores and French high street fashion boutiques started flying the famous tricolore. Bell and Vidéotron, two cable companies, fought out a highly entertaining ad battle over whose corporate colors looked more like the Canadiens'. Air Canada started offering game day fare sales on the Montréal-Boston route, extended every time it became clear that yet another game was required. Even my boss, a laid-back Australian not previously known as a hockey affictionado, started growing his "play-off beard".

Much to the chagrin of his wife, he was not going to shave it off quickly, for the Habs fought tooth and nail, err, fist and stick, to wrest a seventh game victory from the favored (and very physical) Bruins. The decisive game attracted a sell-out crowd of 17'500 people to the Boston Garden. And another sell-out crowd of 21'000 people to the Bell Center in Montréal, where the fans paid to watch their heroes on giant screens while sipping $12 beers from the team's owner.

Street corsos reminiscent of Rome after a soccer win by the squadra azzurra ensued after Boston was sent off to the golf course, and the next day the media started invoking that magical expression "ça sent la coupe" , realizing that now, only the New York Rangers stood between the Canadiens and their first Stanley Cup finals since 1993.

Alas, it was not to be: A first game injury to the Habs' goalie, the foundation on which their play-off run had been built, seemed to break the team's back and made them lose the two vital first home games. Although they managed to win two later games, energy and perseverance were ultimately insufficient. And so, last Thursday, the Rangers finally ended this year's Stanley Cup dreams.

Flags were rolled in, jerseys taken off, beards shaved. And the city suddenly noticed that in the meantime, summer had arrived. Some disappointment mixed with relief and justified pride. Or, as a devoted fan explained to me: "It was about time this ended. The sun is up so long these days that it was getting hard to see the screen on the terrasse!"

Labels: , ,


This website is Olimade.

This page is powered by Blogger.

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]