Part 2: Why is there Poop in My Margarita? my subterranean mexican blues.

My vicarious experience with Montezuma’s Revenge over the Christmas holiday raised some questions. Where, I wondered, does Mexico get its freshwater supply? And how does fecal matter make its way into this water? And what does Mexico do to filter or process its water to make it fit for human consumption?

The answer to the first question lies in the area’s geology. The Yucatan peninsula is made out of a thick layer (hundreds of meters) of limestone. Limestone is fairly ubiquitous in tropical environments because it forms in warm shallow seas from the compacted shells of sea creatures. Later, during a period of uplift, the bottom of the sea is pushed up and becomes the ground beneath our feet, or bedrock. When limestone gets broken down into sand during the process of weathering, the result are those white sandy beaches that we are used to associating with warm island vacation spots. (The characteristic turquoise blue of the water is also due to the limestone sand).

In addition to gorgeous beaches, you’re also likely to find caves wherever you find limestone. This is because the rock is composed mostly of the mineral calcium carbonate, which dissolves easily in acidic water. Thanks to the combination of high rainfall and high atmospheric carbon dioxide, much of the Yucatan’s limestone bedrock has dissolved, resulting in an extensive network of underground caves, cracks, and fissures, and a landscape dominated by classic karst topography*.

Rainwater infiltrates quickly through the highly permeable limestone until it reaches the water table—the level below which all of the empty spaces within the rock are filled with water (a large body of rock with water in all of its empty space is referred to as an aquifer). The entire population of the Yucatan peninsula gets its fresh water from natural springs or wells that tap this supply of groundwater.

In much of the Yucatan peninsula—and especially near the ocean—the water table happens to be fairly close to the ground surface. On the one hand, this makes it easy to dig a well. On the other hand, the high water table means that pollutants from the surface seep quickly and easily into the groundwater supply—these pollutants include toxic industrial, medical, human, and agricultural waste. In addition to the pollutants’ “natural” flow into the aquifers, many communities on the Yucatan actively pump liquid waste underground as a method of disposal. Solid wastes are frequently burned and then added to unlined landfills, where contaminants are leached by rainwater and carried underground.

Furthermore, because the network of cracks and caves is so extensive throughout the Yucatan, once underground pollutants can spread far from their source, contaminating vast sections of the groundwater supply.

Considering these facts, it isn’t surprising that there’s poop in the water.

In the more industrial parts of the Yucatan, such as Merida—the peninsula’s largest city—there are chemicals whose toxicity far exceed that of a few pesky strains of e. coli. One recent study of the groundwater in Merida found high levels of cadmium, arsenic, lead, iron, and chromium, none of which are beneficial to human health.

The Riviera Maya—the area south of Cancun including Playa del Carmen, Tulum, and a string of resorts—has undergone rapid development over the past ten years, bringing both huge numbers of tourists and a large industry-support population to the area. It seems wildly irresponsible to engage in rapid development of an area such as this based on its natural beauty without taking into account the environmental and—ultimately—economic impact of that development. I believe this is a matter of putting the cart before the horse, of leaping before we look, and I believe we should know better than that in this twenty-first century of ours.

We find ourselves always moving forward into an uncertain future. Often, the nature of progress requires us to rush forward in some new direction before we have the capacity to understand the consequences of our actions. The problem, as I see it, arises when we do have the capability to explore the impact of some human venture or activity, but we choose not to. Certainly, this is the case with the state of freshwater in the Yucatan peninsula, as well as many other places in the developing and developed world.

It is well within the means of science to explore the current hydrogeological state of the Yucatan peninsula. Our findings could tell us how much water is there, and to what extent it is contaminated. More importantly, we could apply this knowledge to the sustainable development of the area. How much will it cost? Can we afford not to do it?


*A karst landscape is made out of limestone and has a characteristic dry, lumpy look to it. The lack of moisture is due not to a lack of rainfall, but to the high permeability of limestone rock—when it rains, the water infiltrates quickly downward until it reaches the water table. Underground cave networks give way and fall in on themselves, giving rise to an uneven, “lumpy” ground surface. Check out Ireland’s burren for some good-looking karst landscape.

Pictures:

Limestone Beach

Aquifer

Riviera Maya

References:

Sustainable Management of Groundwater in Mexico:
Hydrogeology of a contaminated sole-source karst aquifer,
Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico

La Navidad Mexicana, Part 1. Or, When You're Sliding Into First...

Every Christmas holiday, the members of my family uproot from their various corners of the continental U.S. and converge on an area of the Greater Northern Detroit suburbs known as Lake Orion, where our parents have lived for the past ten years. Michigan is, in general, a flat state, and Lake Orion is characterized by a distinctly two-dimensional element—an element amplified by the single, white, depthless cloud that covers the sky like a non-retractable dome for the majority of the wintertime. The only notable topography in the area is a giant landfill by the highway, across from a sign that reads “Lake Orion: Where Living is a Vacation.”

And then there’s the weather. In Michigan, in late December, there are always variables—it may or may not be snowing, it may or may not be windy—but it is always cold. Really, really cold.

Regardless of the fact that we always have an excellent time in Michigan over Christmas, the family decided this year to try for a spot where living might actually feel like a vacation. And so, instead of blustery Michigan, we met up in Akumal, Mexico for a week of sunshine, relaxation, and fun—and a little diarrhea.

Everyone in the family is pretty private about these kinds of things, so I don’t really know exactly who got it and exactly how bad it was, but I know it made, at least, a brief pass through the villa.

Which made me wonder: Why are people always getting sick when they go to Mexico? Why aren’t we supposed to drink the water? What’s in the water there that makes so many visitors to the area sick? And why aren’t the native Mexicans sick? And what is diarrhea, anyway?

In Mexico, Traveler’s Diarrhea goes by the less formal name “Montezuma’s Revenge.” The name comes from the Aztec king Moctezuma whose empire fell to the Spanish in the mid-16th century (historical details are foggy, but what’s clear is that Moctezuma welcomed the Spanish explorer Hernan Cortes into his capital city of Tenochtitlan and ultimately got totally screwed by him. Sound like a familiar story?). The idea is that old Moctezuma is taking revenge on subsequent interlopers by afflicting them with vigorous bouts of nausea, cramping, vomiting, and diarrhea.

There’s also a more scientific explanation.

Traveler’s Diarrhea affects about 40% of people who visit Mexico, and is prevalent in many other underdeveloped nations around the world. While there are several bugs (parasites, bacteria, and viruses) responsible for TD, the most common culprit is a strain of e. coli referred to as enterotoxogenic e. coli, or ETEC. While it shares a proclivity for causing diarrhea with its notorious relative O157:H7, ETEC is not a deadly strain of e. coli. The good news is that most strains of e. coli are completely harmless (many take up permanent residence in our colons); the bad news is that where there is e. coli, there is poop. Which means that-- even if you don’t like to think about it-- there’s a little bit of fecal matter in the water in Mexico. (We’ll get into why that is later).

In order to understand how ETEC causes diarrhea, let’s make like an e. coli-tinged ice cube and take a hurried trip through the human GI tract:

Food begins to break down in our mouths, with the physical work of chewing and the chemical work of enzyme-laden saliva. The saliva also makes the food wet and mushy, so that it slides with relative ease* down the esophagus and into the stomach, where it hangs out for several hours. Here, gastric acid breaks the food down into a gooey, milky substance called chyme. This acidic environment also serves to kill off a number of potentially harmful bacteria.

From the stomach, the chyme makes its way into the small intestine by way of the pyloric sphincter. The small intestine is a hotbed of digestive activity where food gets broken down by a rich cocktail of bile, pancreatic juice, and digestive enzymes. The folded walls of the small intestine are covered in millions of little projections (think of a trimmed Koosh ball) that increase the surface area of the organ and allow for increased absorption of nutrients (converted glucose, fats, and amino acids). Excess liquids are also absorbed through the walls of the small intestine.

After the small intestine, food makes its last stop at the large intestine, or colon. Thanks to trillions of bacteria, this is where poop really becomes poop. The bacteria creates gas, turns the waste brown, and makes it smell like—well, shit. The colon is also theoretically where fecal matter becomes solid, due to absorption of liquid through the walls of the large intestine…

But here we need to take a step back and remember that we’re talking about diarrhea rather than semi-solid, healthy, normal feces. If the enterotoxogenic e. coli in your margarita’s ice cubes survives the gastric juices of the stomach and makes it to the large intestines, it produces a toxin that prevents the absorption of liquids and instead stimulates the opposite process. Instead of sucking moisture out of your poop, the walls of your large intestines let water in.

You know the rest of the story.

*The motion of food through the entire digestive system is aided by the action of peristalsis—the contraction and relaxation of muscles in the organ’s walls. Think of squeezing a tube of toothpaste or, perhaps more accurately, squeezing raw sausage out of it’s intestinal casing. If you’ve ever felt the urge to go to the bathroom right when you start eating, it’s because this action in the esophagus triggers a wave of peristalsis throughout the whole GI tract—all the way to the colon.

Pictures:
Digestive System
Michigan Winter
Akumal
E. Coli
Chyme

References:
The CDC
The Way We Work, David Macaulay
Textbook of Bacteriology

GBW: IKEA cometh to Brooklyn

I have a hate/love/(hate again) relationship with IKEA. I hate the light-birch color of their furniture, because it reminds me of the flesh in a freshly-axed tree, which makes me feel guilty. I love IKEA because it has supplied me with almost all of my furniture (mostly via craigslist). And I hate IKEA again because the entire store is set up to make customers disoriented and lost, so that they come back to the same sections over and over until they decide to buy the merchandise they didn’t think they wanted, like trick answers on a multiple-choice test.

That said, many of our city-dwelling, carless lives have been eased significantly by the opening of an IKEA in Brooklyn this past June. And although it’s located in transportationally-challenged Red Hook, IKEA makes itself accessible to visitors with free shuttles from the F and G trains, a free water taxi to Manhattan, and direct service on two Brooklyn bus lines. In addition, you can rent a UHAUL right out of the parking garage to drive large purchases home.

The Brooklyn IKEA is also pleading its case as a social/environmentally responsible superstore by applying for a silver LEED certificate. The most significant green feature of IKEA is the huge photovoltaic array on its roof, which provides the building with somewhere between 5 and 10 percent of its energy needs.

Put simply, photovoltaic cells work by converting light (photo) energy into electric (voltaic) energy. Although it seems like people are talking about “solar energy” as a relatively new idea, the roots of photovoltaic (PV) technology goes back about 170 years to a French physicist named Alexandre Edmond Becquerel. Becquerel was the first to observe (or at least get credit for observing) that electricity could be created by shining light on to certain chemical solutions. One century and several brilliant minds later, Bell Labs introduced the first high-powered PV silicon cell, and the NY Times predicted that solar cells would lead to a source of “limitless energy” (If I had a nickel for every time...).

PV technology is not only pretty old, but it’s also fairly ubiquitous. Unless you went to school before the 1980’s, your first memory of PV cells probably dates back to your first calculator. And unless you were an exceptionally engaged student, you probably spent some time in math class covering the light sensor with your finger and watching the numbers fade gradually from the display screen, only to reappear when your finger was removed. Voila-- your first tactile experience with semiconductors!

A photovoltaic cell works by using a semiconductor—a material that has some qualities of an insulator and some qualities of a conductor. The most common semiconductor is silicon. In it’s pure state, silicon is stable, meaning that it has neither too many nor too few electrons. However, another trace element can be added to silicon to disturb this balance. This process is called doping, and people use it to create sheets of negatively-charged (n) and positively-charged (p) silicon.

To create a PV cell, the two sheets of semiconductor-- one with extra electrons (n-silicon) and one missing electrons (p-silicon)-- are placed together. When the sun's energy, in the form of photons, strikes the negatively-charged layer, electrons are knocked loose and move toward the p-silicon. This movement of electons creates an electric field, generating electricity.

Life, Color, Energy at The Brooklyn Children's Museum

I rode my bike down to the Brooklyn Children’s Museum yesterday. It was a rainy fall day and the sounds of the city were damped by the white noise swoosh of tires on wet streets, and the grey light gathered the colors from buildings and signs into a single, deadened hue, and everyone seemed to wrap themselves up in the blanket of their own thoughts.

I was content on doing this, too, until I turned the corner onto St. Marks Avenue and the Museum blotted brightly onto the sepia world in front of me like yellow paint spilled on newsprint. Riding up to the entrance of the Museum, I felt like Dorothy in the scene in The Wizard of Oz, after the tornado, when she opens the door of her displaced house and finds herself in a world of color.

Inside, the Museum was swarming with the frenetic motion of children, and the collection of sounds captured the whole range of human emotion—inside this place, kids were confronting the world and reacting to it vocally with joy, surprise, fear, excitement, and despair.

Next to the ticket counter, one little boy stood under the Welcome sign, his face turned against the wall. He had apparently been notified that it was time to go home and was fighting it out, will versus fate. When fate presented itself physically in the form of his winter jacket, the little boy launched into a wail woeful and prolonged and barely broken by the half-hearted spanking delivered by his father.

Throughout the Museum, children were being frightened by praying mantises and puppets, repulsed by an obese Burmese Python, and thrilled by the exhilaration of indulged curiosities. If the building's exterior implies some wild promise of the wonders to be found within, I think-- judging by the expressions on these kids' faces-- that it delivers.

The Brooklyn Children’s Museum originally opened in 1899. In 2005 it underwent major renovations, becoming both literally yellow and figuratively green. When the building re-opened this fall, it boasted a number of green features. Motion and carbon dioxide sensors adjust lighting and ventilation to fit the current number of museum visitors, ensuring both clean air and energy-savings. Other green attributes of the museum include recycled materials, solar paneling, and waterless no-flush urinals (yuck?).

The feature that sets the Museum apart from most other green buildings in NYC, however, is the use of geothermal wells for heating and cooling. You may have heard of people harnessing geothermal energy in places where there is intense heat under the Earth’s surface. New York, of course, is nowhere near a volcano, so when we talk about using “geothermal” energy here, we’re talking about taking advantage of the relatively stable temperature of the ground below our feet.

Because the earth absorbs and releases heat from the sun much more slowly than the air, temperatures several feet below the Earth’s surface remain relatively constant, at around 50 degrees Fahrenheit, year-round. During the winter, warmth from underground can be used to heat the inside of buildings; during the summer, heat can be sunk back into the ground, thus keeping the inside of the building cool.

The geothermal system used at the Brooklyn Children’s Museum is called an open-loop system. An open-loop system works by removing water from underground, circulating it throughout the building (and through a mechanical heat pump, which we'll have to get into later), and then returning it to the ground below. Two wells-- one for uptake and one for return-- reach down to tap an aquifer, an underground region where water collects in the small spaces in rock.


Open-loop systems are nice because they retain a lot of heat energy, but they have some major problems. For example, water generally seeps into underground aquifers over a long period of time, like water through a drip coffee machine. If you attempted to pour all of the water into your coffee filter at once, rather than drop-by-drop, you would end up with a giant, pooling mess and no water at all making it’s way though the filter. The same thing happens often with open-loop geothermal systems, making them a somewhat risky investment.

More commonly, people invest in close-loop geothermal systems. Here, a metal coil filled with water or refrigerant runs underground, absorbs heat, and carries it into a heat pump in the building above.

As with all forms of newer, "cleaner" energies, we're likely to realize some very exciting possibilities, as well as some serious limitations, to geothermal energy in the years to come. In our exploration of this energy, it is my hope that we proceed like the kids at the Brooklyn Children's Museum-- with tireless, joyful curiosity guided by a respectful caution for the vast unknown.

Photo credits:
Brooklyn Museum: Chuck Choi
Fantasia With Children: Bruce Cotler

Green Building Week: Sick of Work? Here's Why.

The opening scene in Joe Versus the Volcano (above) is a brilliant depiction of the classic soul-sucking office job. The main character, Joe, works at the American Panascope Corporation (“Home of the Rectal Probe”), in an office dominated by the buzz of flickering fluorescent lights, the automatic-artillery sound of a typewriter, and the high-strung, one-sided ranting of a boss on the telephone.

Joe does not feel good, and the other people in the office don’t look like they feel good. The secretary, Dede, pauses her work every few seconds to take a hit off of her inhaler and wipe her nose with the back of her hand. When Joe tells his boss that he doesn’t feel good, the boss dismisses everyone’s substandard health as “a fact of life.” “Do you think I feel good?” He asks Joe. “I feel rotten. So what? I don’t let it bother me…”

The film is replete with hyperbole, but I think this first scene gets the dismal office-job reality just right. While we tend to think of job-related health risks as a strictly blue-collar or unskilled worker issue, studies have shown that conditions in many office buildings pose risks to human health. Sick-building-syndrome, once thought to be synonymous with mere malingering, is now understood to be a real result of poor air quality, indoor pollutants, and biological contamination.

A study conducted in 2000 estimated that improved indoor environments in the U.S. could save $20 billion to $160 billion from direct improvement in worker performance, as well as billions of dollars per year in health care costs associated with asthma and other respiratory illnesses.

It’s no wonder, then, that the U.S. Green Building Council considers human health issues as part of their standards for sustainable building. The Council has developed a Green Building Rating System called LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) through which buildings can become certified as Officially Green. The System works by granting points for various building aspects, such as sustainable site development, energy efficiency, water savings, material selection, and indoor environmental quality. Buildings can be certified on a number of different levels, from Certified to Platinum.

In New York City, the new 7 World Trade Center (the old building was the third to fall, after the twin towers, on 9/11) was the first building in NYC to attain LEED Gold certification. The building opened in May 2007 with sustainable features including 30% recycled steel, ultra-clear glass for improved natural light and energy efficiency, and high-efficiency heating and cooling systems.

The skyscraper pulls in clean air from above to circulate around the building, and uses technology like carbon dioxide detectors to monitor the level of ventilation and circulation needed-- the more people in a room, the more air circulation. The Trade Center's developer, Larry A. Silverstein, said that air quality was a personal issue for him: "I'm an asthmatic," he said. "When you have asthma, you realize how important it is to have clean air to breathe."

Of course, Mr. Silverstein was probably motivated by more than a sense of altruism prompted by personal health issues in his decision to go green (clean energy considerations and materials cost about $35 million out of the $700 million project). From an economic standpoint, it is advantageous for developers to build green buildings and seek LEED certification because, in the end, it saves them money in energy costs (30 to 70 percent), and it attracts tenants who are interested in keeping their employees healthy and productive.

While buildings like 7 WTC and Hearst Tower have likely set a standard precedent for all future commercial building in NYC, it's probably going to be a while before the average American workplace can offer clean air and natural light to working Americans.

If you ask me, the solution is to stay out of the office.

Green Building Week: Habana Outpost

Why not start with something fun?

This bar is in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. To be honest, I’ve always kind of avoided it because I found the bright green fence disconcerting. But now, after learning about all of its greenery, I’m totally going back for some Cuban-style corn on the cob.

This establishment has gone to some pretty impressive eco-friendly lengths. For starters, it’s run on solar energy produced by this photovoltaic roof. The panels produce more than enough energy to provide electricity to the bar, and the owner sells the surplus to Con Edison (when was the last time you heard of anyone getting a check from ConEd?). The garden area also boasts two rain-water collection systems that route rainwater from the roof and solar panels and use it to flush the toilets and water the plants.

Pretty much all of the materials at Habana Outpost are recycled, reclaimed, sustainable, or otherwise Earth-friendly. The cutlery is made out of potato starch and the cups are composed of corn-- both fully compostable. The picnic tables are made out of a material called TREX, which is a mixture of recycled plastic bottles and sawdust. The outdoor kitchen is a reclaimed mail truck; the wooden doors were taken from an old monastery in South America.

The two least-significant measures at the Outpost also happen to be my favorites: a bike-powered blender and a sunlight chandelier. At the blender, you can make yourself a margarita by hopping on the bike and pedaling for a few minutes, shaving off a dollar off of your drink (as well as four or five calories).

Inside Habana Outpost, there's a chandelier that looks like something out of The Abyss. The chandelier works by using outdoor sensors to channel sunlight into fiber optic cables, which carry the light inside and through the chandelier. You have probably heard of fiber optic cables in association with transmitting information—they are well-known for being faster and more efficient than wire cables-- but did you know that they can carry solar energy for zero-use lighting? I didn't. These fiber optic cables have a wider diameter than the ones used in communications, but they work essentially the same way-- by internally-reflecting all of the light that passes through them. Apparently, this method is becoming increasingly popular in both commercial spaces and residences. Not only does it reduce energy costs; it also brings natural light into spaces that would otherwise be restricted to harsh artificial light.

While we are talking on a national scale about an "energy revolution," Habana Outpost is a great reminder that clean energy doesn't have to be such a big deal. After all, this place is just a bar with a green fence and delicious corn.

Clean Energy Week! (or how i learned to stop worrying and love the little picture)

It’s been a week since the election, and I keep thinking about Harry Truman who, upon assuming the Presidency on April 12, 1945, told reporters that he felt “like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen” on him. Truman came into the Presidency after 82 days as VP to Franklin Roosevelt, who hadn’t exactly kept Truman abreast of domestic and foreign affairs. One of the first secrets Truman learned of when he took office was the existence of the Manhattan Project, and one of the first decisions he had to make was whether or not to employ nuclear warfare. Very heavy indeed.

While President-elect Obama doesn’t look as bewildered as Truman reported feeling, I have to imagine that he’s had the same elevated experience of his own gravity. He has the weight of two wars, a ponderously sagging economy, and a potential energy crisis-- not to mention 300 million Americans watching to see what he’ll do.

While energy issues didn’t rank highly at the exit polls (compared especially to the economy), the President-elect’s economic plan appears increasingly to be tied to the promotion of green technology and the creation of green jobs. Obama’s energy platform proposes investing $150 billion in clean energy technology over the next decade to create five million new green collar jobs. And at her post-election press conference last week, Speaker Nancy Pelosi spoke of a stimulus package that would “grow our economy by creating jobs and to do it in a newer, greener way.”

There is some debate about the validity of tying the economy to energy policy. Some, like David Brooks, view the economic crisis as an opportunity to transform the way we supply and manage energy in the U.S.—something he says we could have done in the 1970’s. Critics argue that Obama’s green investment/job creation plan ignores the jobs that would be lost in the fossil fuel industry.

And there are some who scoff at the perceived potential of alternative energies in general, which is something I can't quite understand. Perhaps part of that sentiment stems from a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that environmentalists are often grounded in neither reality nor science, but only politics. I can understand that. I can also understand (and share) a healthy skepticism of anything being touted as the Next Great Thing. On the other hand, it strikes me as dangerously myopic to view energy alternatives in terms of either politics or fads. Some alternative energies are new, but they're here, and people are using them.

But these are big issues. Because I am not required to shoulder the weight of the solar system or the world or the drooping economy or the depleting ice caps (yes, they are. yes, it's us), I'd rather not. I'd rather walk around New York City and check out some of the green building they're doing around here. So for the next week or so, look forward to a feature each day on a building in NYC. I'll focus on a different type of energy (wind, solar, etc.) with each post.

Though I'll start with those tomorrow, I'll leave you with something to wet your recycled, sustainable, Earth-friendly whistle today...it's Big and Green and really Bizarre...

It's a building designed by architect David Foster for Dubai, called Dynamic Tower. Each floor is designed to rotate 360 degrees, and the building will generate all of it's own electricity through inter-floor, horizontal wind turbines and solar panels on the roof of each floor. Weird? Definitely. Possible? Maybe.