Yesterday I woke up in Córdoba, Spain. Besides being one of Andalucía’s most beautiful municipalities, it’s also the European city with the highest average Summer temperatures (the thermometer marked 38ºC / 100ºF while I was there). Some quick takes on its urban design:
Córdoba started off as a Roman settlement, but the old part of the city that we know today — a UNESCO world heritage site — was shaped by the period of Moorish domination (929-1236), with a lot of common sense solutions incorporated for dealing with the heat.
The most obvious is urban planning based on narrow streets, something pretty standard in almost all Andalusian towns. The tight corridors means that you have a degree of shade at nearly all times of day, making baking-hot summer days much more tolerable.
Wider avenues are tree lined, again providing for shade that makes it possible for residents to move around with some degree of protection from the harsh Summer sun, while also keeping homes from heating up too brutally.
You get this in the plazas in the old town — which are also fairly narrow, ensuring some degree of shade. And the whitewash not only looks nice, but has a practical function: it keeps the outer walls cool.
Many of the old quarter’s homes have courtyards, an arquitectural feature inherited from both the Romans and the Moors.
The plant-laden patios — designated as UNESCO World Heritage Sites in 2012 — are gorgeous but, again, there’s also the practical element here: they provide a refuge from the sun and are a cool point of reference within the traditional home.
During the period of Moorish dominance Córdoba there were elaborate fountains and irrigation systems spread through the city (here’s an example from the Cathedral-Mosque’s Courtyard of the Orange Trees). That obviously helped make things feel cooler.
The Great Mosque was itself a model of smart design given the period when it was built and the massive numbers of people it accommodated (I think I read that 40,000 faithful could gather there for Friday prayers). The double arches allowed for high ceilings; a vast, dark space.
Those advantages were somewhat diminished when the Catholics took Córdoba and turned the mosque into a cathedral; in their drive to let in God’s light, they also let in quite a bit of heat.
They also built substantially larger squares than those built during the Moorish period, like the XVII century Plaza de la Corredera, which looks lovely but is essentially a giant frying pan from 9 a.m to 9 p.m during the Summer (keep to the arcades).
Nowadays huge awnings are hung over streets within and outside the old quarter to provide cover during the Summer months. The feature is standard through Spain, but I expect we’ll see it north of the Pyrenees more and more as Europe keeps growing warmer.
Wrapping up: a lot of the urban cooling features that have been standard in Córdoba and Andalucía for centuries — the narrower streets, whitewashed homes, tree-lined thoroughfares — are increasingly being celebrated as wise city planning practices in the age of global warming.
In adapting to climate change we have the opportunity to recover a lot of our urban development heritage and reincorporate the common sense solutions that were discarded when we switched to planning monumental cities around cars instead of people.
Good morning.
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This week I’ve been working remotely from Matalascañas, a beach in Spain where my parents bought a house in the 80’s. Growing up in Miami meant my siblings and I were constantly exposed to Spanglish, but my folks — Cuban exiles — were determined that we learn proper Castilian.
They scoured the Mediterranean coast looking for an English-free spot to spend the Summers, but in town after town they found drunk Brits. But on one trip they stumbled upon this Atlantic beach, an for Seville’s working class with not a single foreigner in sight.
Located nearly an hour south of Seville and accessible only via bad country roads, Matalascañas was a barely developed backwater back then, just a few buildings on a stretch of beach surrounded by Doñana National Park (home to the ever-endangered Iberian lynx).
COVID means Portugal will have a hard time hosting in-person events during its turn in the rotating presidency of the Council. Why is Lisbon still spending hundreds of thousands of euros on event spaces, wine and clothing? @liliebayer & I looked into it. politico.eu/article/portug…
Rotating Council presidencies give the EU's less prominent member countries a chance to shine and many have used their six months in the spotlight to play to home audiences and hype their own importance by hosting events that lure international leaders to their countries.
But the COVID-19 pandemic changed everything, and last year Croatia and Germany — the two countries that held the rotating presidency during 2020 — were quick to revamp their events schedule and make nearly everything virtual.
Portugal is famous for its mild climate and sunny beaches, but each year hundreds of people freeze to death and millions struggle to survive frigid winter weather.
Here's a quick thread based on my @POLITICOEurope story on Portuguese energy poverty 👇
When I lived in Lisbon my friends and I joked that although the Portuguese were famous for melancholia, uncharacteristic (and unrealistic) optimism defined their approach to thermal insulation: homes seemed to be built as if the weather was expected to be perfect year-round.
While the weather is, indeed, really great for most of the year, it can also be really awful sometimes. In the Summer temperatures can shoot up to truly unbearable levels for weeks on end, and in the Winter the icy humidity can easily make you feel like you're freezing 24/7.
In 2010, ahead of the 100th birthday celebrations for Madrid's Gran Vía, architect Miguel Oriol produced plans for a makeover of the Spanish capital's most iconic thoroughfare: his scheme saw cars mostly banished and the 1.3 km street turned into a lush garden.
The centenary celebrations came and went without anything happening with that scheme, which would have involved creating a huge subterranean tunnel and a massive parking lot under the street (because it was 2010 and the idea of actually banishing cars was #TooCrazy).
During her brief spell heading Madrid's City Hall (2015-2019), progressive mayor Manuela Carmena concluded that, in lieu of a big dig project, it made more sense to adopt on-surface measures to squeeze cars out of the central street. Lanes were reduced, sidewalks expanded.
WSJ news div. explains why the “damn frozen turbines” argument is tired: wind only meets 10% of TX’s winter capacity; natural gas and coal make up 82%. While some wind farms are stopped due to ice, the gas generators with frozen water intake facilities are much more problematic.
Other problem: a not-great grid. As @rrocasalamero points out nicely in his thread, Spain was hit with similarly unusual, extreme winter weather last month and went through it without significant blackouts. One can be prepared for extremes without having Arctic-level facilities.
Poor market design also has a role: TX’s market-driven energy system is structured so that generators are paid for producing energy but not for keeping reserve capacity on standby to meet potential demand peaks. Having some facilities offline for maintenance compounded the issue.
Fascinating story from @l_guillot: Residents of the French village of Denting are split over plans to build a wind farm on the site of a former Nazi prisoner-of-war camp where thousands of human remains may still be buried. politico.eu/article/french…
The Ban Saint-Jean Camp is spread over 100 hectares in France's Moselle Department and was originally built to house those working on the Maginot Line. After the fall of France, and leading up to 1944, it operated as a satellite of the Stalag XII prison camp.
According to French army archives, up to 300,000 Soviet prisoners of war passed through the camp during that period; they were kept in appalling conditions, with little food and no medical attention. Successive breakouts of disease led to an estimated 20,000 prisoner deaths.