Missive from Santa Catalina - Asses´ Milk & Water Shortages
by Bryan Hemming
Little changes in Santa Catalina, but even little changes can have far-reaching implications.
During a particularly dry spell last summer, Antolin advised me not to drink water from my well for the time being. The fisherman often drops off bags of vegetables fresh from his plot by the beach. He fills me in with local gossip seasoned with a touch of sagacity.
At first, I wasn’t unduly put out by the caution. No matter what lengths smart advertising agencies take to convince me, water will never be my favourite tipple. As for the two litres medical experts tell me I’m supposed to drink each day to stay alive, I should be dead. Given that two thirds of the human body is composed of H²O, by knocking back a couple more litres, I run the danger of tipping the balance to become a pile of damp clothes in a puddle.
Besides, there are still some of us left trying to save the planet by preventing a shortage of the soft stuff. Imagine countless billions drinking two litres of water every day. The world would probably run dry by next Tuesday. Though, as statistics and pie charts have never been my greatest subjects, I can’t be too exact about the day.
On the other hand, if seventy per cent of the Earth’s surface is covered by water, which is steadily rising with global warming, perhaps we should all be drinking increased amounts. The longer I thought of Antolin’s advice, the more confused I got.
Most drinking water in the countryside surrounding Santa Catalina is still drawn from wells. Antolin said latest measurements showed falling reserves were leading to harmful levels of bacteria. To a man with a Swedish grandmother, there are no harmless levels of bacteria. Bacteria are harmful, full stop. They rot your teeth and, in extreme cases, eat your face.
When dropping off some freshly picked green peppers, later the same day, Antolin told me to wash them thoroughly, as they hadn’t come from his plot. The potent chemicals some gardeners use secretly for pest control kill all living things, he informed me cheerily.
I was faced with yet another dilemma. Which was the bigger risk? Should I rinse them well in well water containing dangerously high levels of harmful bacteria? Or should I risk death by chemical poisoning? But there was another choice. Unlike England, where bottled water seems to have become rather exotic – judging by price alone – hulking great flagons can be had in Andalucia for the cost of a thimbleful of Perrier. Even then, the thought of a couple of green peppers sloshing about in stuff you paid good money for, goes against the grain. It conjures up pictures of a naked Cleopatra sloshing about in asses’ milk. There’s something sinful about conspicuous waste to a lad raised in Butley. People from Butley wonder things like, what was done with the asses’ milk left in the bathtub? Out in the parched desert, it would seem a bit of a pity to send gallons of precious liquid glugging down the plug hole. Nevertheless, I don’t care who bathed in it; nobody could persuade me to quaff used asses’ milk, even if there was nothing else. Even if it was fresh from the ass’s udder and I had a throat as dry as a camel’s bum, it wouldn’t get past my cracked lips. Perhaps, they boiled it to kill any minor pernicious secretions from the private regions of her majestic person, and made steaming mugs of cocoa for her slaves. Sounds a bit more tempting, but not much.
To get back to bottled water. As a litre of local wine from Señor Alvarez’ store is almost as cheap, I bought two bottles to help me forget the problem. Besides, an elementary education in biology tells me that if you have your harmful bacteria, and your stuff that kills all living things, each will destroy the other in the ensuing war. I did say elementary biology. So I took my chances, said a quick prayer, and doused the peppers in a pail. Though I have been feeling a little queasy since, I put that down to all the extra plonk I had to drink because of the scare about the water.
Yet there can be little doubt Santa Catalinians take health and science seriously. All the packets and bottles flying off the shelves at the chemists are ample testimony to that. Antibiotics are dished out at the slightest sniff. Scrubbing front doorsteps is a daily routine. Nipping to the shops at the wrong time of day can result in inhaling enough bleach-laden vapours billowing from sudsy household buckets to have you keeling over. It’s little wonder the houses are so white, and fraying at the edges.
The local war against contagion and contamination goes far beyond the home threshold. As elsewhere, a couple of Santa Catalina farmers have joined the vanguard battling daily to exterminate all organisms they consider harmful to the planet. In order to bring us potatoes without wormholes, and the juiciest, reddest, tomatoes, they spray their fields liberally with all the latest miracle products.
But armed with my elementary biology, and my Butley sense of curiosity, I can’t help wondering where all those marvellous chemicals go after they’ve done their job. Over a few wines with Antolin in Juani’s Bar, I ventured to ask. As soon as the rains come they get washed deep into the ground, he told me. I asked him if, by any chance, that might be the same ground the well water came from. He nodded.
©2009 Bryan Hemming
See Bryan's whole series at Missives from Santa Catalina