I’m not made for heatwaves. If my DNA could talk, it would tell me about how it still dreams of the windswept Scottish island that was home to my ancestors and then ask why it’s so hot outside.
Many people talk about suffering low moods in winter but I’m the opposite. I adore winter but easily get sad in summer. Everyone around me is commenting on the loveliness of the weather and I’m wiping the sweat off my upper lip and squinting at the rain radar again in case I missed a hint of a cloudburst or nice southerly that’s on its way to save me. It can be isolating to be one of the seemingly few who fail to revel in a season that others thrive in.
Then there’s my pale skin. I almost shine in the dark. After I had a series of skin cancers, my GP forbade me to ever expose my skin to sunlight again. It takes me forever to get ready to go out in daylight hours – I have to wrap up in a cotton shawl or a high-necked, long-sleeved top, put on an enormous hat and sunglasses, and gloop on high-factor sunscreen.
I also have summer allergies. Someone floats the idea of a picnic in a park and I’m already sneezing and itching at the thought. Add on that I’m a menopausal woman. Even when it’s not summer, I’m prone to overheating – and that’s just my temperature, never mind my temperament.
Once the summer heat arcs up, I start picturing myself in very cold places. I listen to atmospheric Icelandic music evoking glaciers and deep blue ice caves. One summer I actually transplanted myself to Iceland and spent the month of January soaking in geothermal pools edged with snow, the northern lights overhead and my hair freezing solid in the cold night air. I loved every minute. But most years I have to live with the heat of a Melbourne summer, and I’ve found ways get through the season and even enjoy it. (A little bit.)
Until a few years ago I lived near a fern-edged river. I was never drawn to join the hordes swimming there in the bright heat of day. Instead I’d wait for dusk and have a bend of the river to myself and the resident platypus. I live in the city now and can’t always take time out to swim, but I have other strategies. With the arrival of the first day over 30C, I’m already steeling myself for endurance. Through necessity, I’ve become an expert in seeking out ways to stay cool in temperature and mood.
Days off are spent in cinemas or with a book in a quiet cafe, my movements slow and my hydration constant. When I’m working from home, the Icelandic music’s on repeat, and I take breaks to lie on a yoga mat on the floor and close my eyes, taking inspiration from the cat who spreads himself out flat on the cool wooden floor – though I haven’t yet resorted to his habit of sleeping on the damp bathmat when the heat’s really too much.
If I leave the house, I’ve been known to run my black muslin shawl under a cold water tap and put it in the freezer for 10 minutes before wrapping myself up and heading out. If someone asks why I’m wearing black on a hot day, my first response is to ask if they’ve met me (since my wardrobe contains about three non-black items at best), and then I’ll share the shawl-in-the-freezer trick, my best secret weapon in a heatwave. Besides, the dark colour’s better at keeping the sun off that glowing skin of mine.
On the hottest days I’m going nowhere while the sun’s still out. My blinds are drawn tightly shut. I exist in half-light, spritzing water about as I wilt along with the house plants. But it’s oppressive and by evening I’m feeling like screaming – so it’s time to go outside. I love to see a summer sunset and, on cloudless evenings, the night sky turns my favourite shade of celestial blue, a blue that’s easier for me to love than the hot blue of a clear midday sky.
There are nights when I surrender to the heat, almost daring it to make me hotter. I have a place where I can go and sit at one of the busy tables on the footpath that’s still hot to touch and eat chilli-laden tacos while sipping an icy margarita, really letting myself sweat it all out as I long for the first flash of lightning and roll of thunder of a cool change. Just for a while, I might resemble someone who’s enjoying the heat of summer.
Indigo Perry is the author of Darkfall and Midnight Water
