In Phoenix hardly anyone walks the streets, the broad avenues. And the sidewalks, if there are any, wide and free, are decorative. The fifth largest city in the United States, the capital of Arizona is literally and figuratively a desert. These days are breaking records. The temperature has been above 110 degrees Fahrenheit (43.3°) for more than 20 days in a row; 45.46° is often exceeded; the nights are scorching hot, they haven’t dropped below 32° for days; It hasn’t rained in four months.
Living in such a city is not only not easy, it is almost impossible. It requires organized processes and lots and lots of water. When you get there, your lips crack, you notice that after just a few minutes. The mouth dries out, then the skin. The phone starts to complain: it’s too hot, even for charging. The eyes bother. You must not stay in the sun for more than 15 minutes. The head hurts, the body complains and it takes time to recover from such a brutal impact. In very dry heat, you hardly sweat. Something that doesn’t indicate dehydration is lurking. The local news repeats and repeats his advice: drink water, not just soda; store in cool places; don’t exercise. The heat is so intense that the city council has a special department to respond and warn citizens: the Heat Response and Mitigation Office.
Gerald doesn’t know much about this office, nor does he care. He has enough to wait for 72, which still doesn’t pass after 20 minutes of waiting at more than 44°. The 60-year-old Native American says he likes the climate farther north in his area “where there really are four seasons,” he says. He’s the only one at the bus stop and was sitting there a few minutes earlier, when the sun went down, around eight in the evening. Before that he waited in the shade of the few trees on Camelback Avenue. “I don’t like it, nobody likes it in the summer, but you have to work,” he says. He’s been in the city for five years and sold his car, he murmurs, because it’s too expensive to maintain, “a wreck.” Still, he doesn’t get used to the heat. But the fact is that nobody can get used to living at 50°. The body can’t handle it.
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So explains one of the meteorologists at the Phoenix Bureau of the United States National Weather Service, one of 122 in the country. Jeral Estupiñán asserts that these temperatures are constantly “only seen in Dubai and Kuwait, but there is no such warm period here.” A native canary, he has been a meteorologist in the US for more than 40 years and emphasizes that educating people is still difficult and that dissemination and awareness are the most important things. “When body temperature rises above 37C, it overheats and can permanently damage the liver and brain… You have to avoid exposure to that heat and drink and drink.”
For him, his task is not only to inform, but also to serve, to alert. He attributes this episode not only to the phenomenon called El Niño, but to the peculiarity of the city itself. “Phoenix is a city that is not very high, about 300 meters above sea level. We are surrounded by mountains, with no vegetation, with rocks and a constant sun with an intense sun angle of 80°. Add to that the type of construction, the roads, the cement…” he reflects.
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Because Phoenix is between gray and brown, with very little vegetation. The most popular tourist attraction is actually the Desert Botanical Garden: a cactus garden. Due to the heat, access is now only permitted until two in the afternoon.
But why phoenix? Arizona State University professor and president of the Department of Urban Planning and Geography, Randy Cerveny, who is also the correspondent on meteorological records for the UN, explains that there are four causes that are putting the focus of the heat on Phoenix. “First, it’s in the Sonoran Desert, which has very high temperatures. Then buildings and streets in a city with almost five million inhabitants generate more heat. Third, there’s really strong air pressure, high pressures, especially over the US Southwest. And fourth, the monsoon, our usual summer storm season, is coming too late.”
On July 20, after 45 minutes in the sun, a car interior in Phoenix, Arizona reads 59°C and just 10% humidity. After 45 minutes inside at 24°C, the temperature outside rises to almost 32°C in less than five minutes.María Porcel
And without water there is no freshness. Even without soft nights. While it’s clear that it’s extremely difficult to weather the nearly 50° that home and car thermometers indicate (don’t bother looking under eaves or in public spaces, there obviously aren’t any), the fact that it doesn’t cool down at night keeps the city at the epicenter of the heatwave. Sleeping is impossible, it can only be achieved with air conditioning, forcing to keep these devices on day and night. According to the city itself, records in electricity consumption are constantly being broken, most recently on July 15 when 47.8° was officially exceeded.
As a result, the bill has gone up (12% on average) and citizens are taking notice. Kyle Tokasey has worked at the Montauk restaurant for two years and says they now have half the customers but twice the power. With such extreme temperatures, they cannot afford to turn off the cooling day and night. There are hardly any bachelor parties or graduation parties during these weeks. His terrace, although it has water distributors, is empty. “I only had one table all day. “It was a very young couple, I think they were looking for intimacy…” he laughs half an hour after closing, overwhelmed by the situation and relieved he didn’t have to go outside to take care of him.
Nights with 40 degrees
Ten o’clock at night, 40°. The nights are complicated. The asphalt is still hot, the metal buttons are burning. This isn’t a city with great outdoor living, so chairs aren’t brought out in the cool after dark either. Old Town clubs, from HiFi to Whiskey Row, are usually packed between October and May, but never empty in the heat, and are halfway through. Alone on the terraces at midnight, few residents indoors. “It’s better to work at night. “You sleep through the night,” confirms Tyler, El Hefe’s porter, when he demands paperwork from twenty-somethings craving $16 margaritas. “But that’s very empty, yes. Less than the half”.
At the Fashion Square mall in Phoenix, giant posters warn of the danger of leaving children and pets in cars.María Porcel
It’s not even midnight and 26-year-old Ashley and Emily are already leaving Old Town. Emily drives, Ash doesn’t jog much. The lightest says her family recently moved to Arizona from California and after six years she doesn’t want to leave. “Nothing, here it is useless not even to go to the swimming pool. It’s broth. This is how you spend months,” he points out, wearing a tank top, cropped jeans and black flip-flops. “But I think it’ll pay off in the end,” she says, running after Ash, who’s heading straight for the car.
For those who don’t want transportation hassles, golf carts ply the area, taking them to hotels, malls, and nearby homes day and night. Daniella Megía, 25, has been driving one for a few months. In this climate, the stroller has the worst of every home: the heat of a vehicle and the bad things that come with being outside. And the drunks who get together every night, says Megía, who is happy nonetheless. For the part-time job, he earns $400 a day; his colleagues, full-time, 900. Lots of heat, lots of money. “And you have to drink a lot of water,” she says, smiling, surrounded by half-filled bottles. “It’s one of the toughest jobs, yes, but people want it. I can’t give up,” he says. It will circulate until two or three in the morning, at around 37°.
And when the nights are like this, the days can just be deadly. In the capital of the Valley of the Sun, going out of power is a condemnation, according to a May report by the American Chemical Society. A power outage during a heat wave would mean half of Phoenix’s population would require hospital treatment, which is priceless: the city has 1.2 million residents; To its greater area, the so-called Maricopa County, 4.5 were added. And because we must not forget that in the US, despite Obama’s or Biden’s recent attempts, around 27 million people (8.6% of the population) do not have health insurance. And there are those who have nothing.
One of the main problems is homelessness. Municipal data says there were approximately 3,100 homeless people in the city in 2022; There are probably many more because they are growing every year and because the counts are not entirely accurate. Whether they have a roof or not, the city has created what it calls the Heat Relief Network to help those left without resources in the face of these temperatures.
Medina Zick operates one of almost 200 centers. Specifically, the Mustang Public Library in Scottsdale, just east of town. Because this network consists of places of all kinds, community centers, dormitories, libraries or churches, which can have one of four functions: refreshment center, drinking station, rest area and collection point, in this case food and clothing. Mustang meets the first requirement: it allows you to stay in your facilities at less than 25° for as long as you want. It also takes advantage of the second benefit and provides free fresh water. Zick complains that they cannot be considered a recreation center, since there are chairs and sofas but no loungers.
Medina Zick, director of the Mustang Library in Scottsdale (Phoenix, Arizona), which on July 20 was converted into a center for combating the heat. Maria Porcel
“The heat is a big problem,” admits this woman, who has more than 25 years of public service and four years at this center, which is funded by public taxes and private donations and is open seven days a week. “Here we not only have books, we create community. Those who wish can sit down and rest to cool off. Many homeless people come to charge their phones or spend the day watching DVDs on our computers. In a country where consumption is paramount, Zick has a key to the success of these centers: “You can spend all day here without buying anything at all.” And no one will kick you out.
Zick realizes that he would like to do more, and they already are. No one needs ID to use their facilities. For those who do not have a car, there is free transport that will take them to the centers simply by dialing 211. For those who need it, they have prepared hygiene kits, a unisex toiletry bag with a toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, combs, tissues, wipes and band-aids. And a few times a year they deliver backpacks to help fight period poverty. But they still have a long way to go: “Phoenix has very few emergency shelters and you can’t live here without electricity. There are elderly people who are stuck in their houses, whose rent is very high and who cannot pay for electricity. People die. We have to try to help.” According to the network, there were 339 heat-related deaths in Maricopa County in 2021 (four out of five, males), up 5% from 2021 and up 70% from 2020, the year of the pandemic.
Christopher Nectsosie works Thursday in over 45 degrees on a freeway in Phoenix.María Porcel
It is impossible to enjoy the city, to work, to walk, to live. Neither on the outskirts nor in the most touristic center. Souvenir shops are empty, their bored salespeople confirm while ordering banknotes. The ice cream parlors assure their waiters at half a tank of gas that they’re serving Barbie pink ice cream sorbets; Warm brownies are not in season. Katie, 27, and Savannah, 21, don black T-shirts and long pants (“If not, what brands!”) under a dark blue plastic umbrella and try to raise money for cancer from 10:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. That means more than 40°-42° all day long. There are several huge water bottles on a table. “People are nice, they bring us ice, water,” they say. They are said to be holding up very well. But it is common to see them in nearby cafeterias and shops, where they take turns drinking soft drinks.
There is no one in the parks either. In one of them is Vista del Camino with a lawn and children’s swings. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon and the thermometer shows 46 °C. On the car’s dashboard, for a few hours and until sunset, 49.5°; it doesn’t go up anymore. Inside, with a thermometer you usually have at home, it’s 59°.
There is a lake next to the center; There aren’t even ducks. There are no animals to be seen on the streets, nobody walks their dog. Claudia Morales, whose 25-year stay in Arizona hasn’t lost her Chilean accent, confirms that she often has to warn customers at the hotel where she works not to take them for a walk. “Their legs are burned, the poor animals return to the hops sore. You have to put on small shoes here,” he assures. She has a foster cat that sleeps in the shade of her garden. Of the little he can endure: “Nothing, everything turns yellow. And irrigation is impossible, water is expensive. I can’t stay in the garden for long either, I’m blushing in five minutes.”
But as impossible as it may be, there are tasks to be completed. After two o’clock in the afternoon it’s already over 45° and Christopher Nectsosie is standing on the asphalt. He wears long jeans, cowboy boots, long sleeves, vest, gloves, hangman, helmet. His pure image is overwhelming, “but skin cancer is no joke,” he argues, smiling despite everything. Move some cones and signals and control the cars. You are managing traffic on a road under construction. It’s his first year on the job, where he starts at 5 am (dawn at 5:30 am) and works shifts of between half an hour and an hour. “It pays well,” he shrugs. Meanwhile, the traffic moves on. A city without citizens, a huge reddish-brown stain that doesn’t stop. A hint at an almost apocalyptic future where life and even survival seems like a pipe dream.
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