Hot water

One of my first ever brushes with Spanish rules and regulations was when I decided that we needed a second butane bottle for the heater in the flat we were renting in Santa Pola. What now seems eminently sensible - that before you can start using bottled gas in your home somebody needs to check that the installation is safe - seemed very Orwellian back then. A future with a boot stamping on a human face - forever. All I wanted was to buy a gas bottle and they wanted to see ID, they wanted me to prove where I lived, they wanted me to sign a contract and they wanted a technician to visit to make sure it was all safe. Having lived here a long time now and having seen the news stories of blocks of flats destroyed with dodgy gas installations and having heard how insurance companies love to avoid paying out if you can't show proof of a current five year check or even if the rubber pipes are past their sell by date, then I am very happy to do as I should. Anyway, there was a bit of a loophole in the system, whilst Repsol, the orange bottle suppliers, wouldn't give me a contract without seeing the installation, the Cepsa people, who provide silver bottles, made me show ID and the like but gave me the bottle simply by signing the contract. It's such a long time ago that I forget the detail of why and how they justified the difference.

Living in the countryside has lots of advantages, less coming and going, less noise and a bit of outside space. It also has disadvantages. The main one is that it's a fair distance to the shops and suchlike but it has less obvious drawbacks like relatively slow Internet and a miserable electric supply of just 3.45kw. We realised, right from the start, that if we didn't want circuit breakers popping all the time then we should use non electrical appliances when good, non electrical alternatives were available. A gas hob for instance and a gas water heater. We also have butane heaters peppered through the house.

I've never doubted that the gas water heater was a good call. Well sort of. Gas heaters have a huge advantage that they just go on and on producing hot water. They are not like an electric immersion with a certain capacity. How many times have you had to wait for the water to heat after your mum, dad, sister, brother or a person from a non nuclear or non heterosexual family, one that doesn't perpetuate outdated stereotypes, has used up all the hot water with their environmentally unfriendly long showers? Not a problem with a gas heater - so long as there's gas and water it will produce endless hot water. 

Originally our gas water heater provided the water to our bathrooms and kitchen though sometime last year we got an under sink electric water heater for the kitchen because the wait for the hot water to arrive there, at the end of a long run, just got silly. The truth is that we have had a lot of trouble with the gas heaters. We've had two heaters now and, as I type, I can hear the plumber cursing as he drills through the 60cm thick wall to fit the inlet/exhaust pipe for number three! Just like the regular checking of the installation you have to use a registered fitter, at least legally, to fit any fixed gas appliance like water heaters or cookers. 

One of the reasons the heaters fail is all the limescale around here. The water is really hard and furs up the heater elements of electric water heaters and blocks the tubes in gas models. Over the years our first gas heater became less and less efficient. We'd get a plumber in, they'd clean everything out and we'd get back to a slightly less efficient normal. Eventually the services were making no difference and a luke warm shower on a miserable January morning is not a good way to start the day. So we bought heater number two. It was fine at first but then it started to have the same problems as the model it had replaced. We went through the same routine of getting it cleaned and fettled. We also had a problem with the electronic gadgetry which is supposed to deal with the ignition and temperature control. Local plumbers can't get the parts for the water heaters, so it has to be the official service people for spares. Given that the majority of brands have their service centres in and around Alicante they charge a big call-out fee and only venture into the rural wilds once each week. 

Last Sunday afternoon the water heater stopped firing up. It may be that it's just silted up but I suspect it's the electronics again and perming the reduced performance with the big call-out fee we went for heater number three. Sime brand this time, Italian I understand rather than the French Leclerc or the German Junkers that we've had before. We shall see.

Putting the customer first

We're back to cold showers. The gas water heater has gone on indefinite strike. The little led panel is running through its full range of codes, E9, F0; I think that's a zero not a command.

So, I thought that this time we'd call the official service people, their number is on a sticker on the water hater. I'm not particularly good on phones nowadays. I tend to cut across people and they definitely cut across me. I understand why George Clooney, as Billy Tyne, says "over" or even "over and out" when he's talking to Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Obviously it's a bit more difficult again in Spanish. Hand movements and facial gestures may be available via facetime but not in an ordinary phone call. And ask my pal Harry what radio professionals say about dead air. A two second silence in a radio show sounds lasts a lifetime. I always feel the same about a pause on the telephone. Keeping speaking is essential. It can lead to appalling language errors. That's why I use WhatsApp a lot.

So I ring the Junkers people. I remind myself that slave labour was generations ago. The phone offers me a service in English. I press 1. The woman speaks to me in Spanish. Never mind. I keep cool and I talk slowly and calmly. It goes well. "I'll get someone to phone you back from Alicante," she says.

All day I carry the phone. We country folk don't get good coverage. It's OK by the palm tree but terrible alongside the aljibe. Nobody phones. I'm careful to keep the phone on full volume, with vibrate as well, in my back pocket. Nothing. No, they haven't rung the fixed phone either. Some eight hours later I decide I should phone a local plumber. He doesn't answer but I leave a message. Three hours later Maggie does the same to the same plumber as he know her number. He still hasn't answered.

This morning I phone another local plumber, the sort with a new van and logos on their polo shirts. No beer gut. "Ah, it sounds like spares," he says, "you'll need to go to the official service people, they won't sell me spares". He tells me how expensive they are and even over the phone I can hear him suck air through his teeth.

By now I know there's a part of the official dealer network based in Alicante and finding their number is easy. I ring. We go through the details. "Ah, you phoned our head office yesterday, yes, we're coming to you on Monday, that's when we do that area". I sniggered. That's because I couldn't do that "Why the hell didn't you tell me that yesterday and not leave me thinking that something had gone wrong" speech. Glib was easier. "It's good that we like cold showers," I said. I was lying. Maggie doesn't.

I wrote this days after the rest of this post. The Junkers people turned up as promised and within twenty minutes of the scheduled time. It was a replacement part. 160€ and we have hot water again.

The lustrum

If I'm grouping people together, pigeon-holing them, stereotyping them, then short sleeved Ben Sherman shirt wearing engineers and model train enthusiasts is a group. I find I often get on well with them. I seem to like people who are enthusiastic about things.

Spanish law says that if you have gas equipment it has to be safety checked. It may well be different for fixed, mains type gas, but for the installations that run on the 12/13 kilo butane bottles the periodicity of that check is five years. The last time we got a check the man who came along was one of those neat and tidy engineers. He was wearing his CEPSA uniform but, if he hadn't been, he'd have had a pocket protector. He seemed to do his job efficiently and we talked about nothing in particular whilst he checked this and that. As we were signing off the paperwork he made his, presumably standard, sales pitch and said that his firm also did routine maintenance of gas appliances. I remembered that and, last year, when we couldn't get the water to run hot I gave him a ring.

He came to service the boiler and the truth is that he couldn't get it to work properly. We complained and he came back, a couple of times, and tried hard to sort it out. He was always well mannered, he didn't seem at all perturbed that we'd called him back but in the end we took his advice that the water heater was jiggered and we even went to the supplier he recommended for a new one.

Google calendar told me that the lustrum, the five years was up. Time to get all the gas stuff safety checked. The appointment was for 5 pm today and at 4.59 pm my mobile phone went. Obviously enough the bloke knew where we lived so, unlike most people, I hadn't needed to dash across to the village to lead him to the house. He'd tried the door and I hadn't answered. Nonetheless, a minute early? Come on. It took nearly an hour, he changed bits of rubber tubing so that it wouldn't be out of date till his next visit, he checked exhaust gas levels, he drew little diagrams on the safety report, I handed over the 60€ and we agreed to meet again in 2022. I must ask him his name next time.