It might seem hard to believe but some of the most contentious discussions I have with my wife concern draughts. I had no idea a decade ago that I’d spend so much time in my late thirties arguing over airflow and the real or imagined dangers of a cool breeze. Then again, I had no idea that I’d move to Germany. It turns out that draughts are an important issue here: either people are avoiding them or actively welcoming them into their homes and offices. Sometimes the air is “good” and sometimes it’s “bad” but it’s never totally clear which is which or how to tell one from the other, the only indicator that you might be letting bad air into a space is the exclamation “Es Zieht!”.

“Es Zieht” simply means “it's draughty”, and on the face of it, this might seem the least of anyone's problems, but in Germany air-flow is a serious business. I’ve been told at various times that draughts can lead to 'flu, pneumonia, sore neck, rheumatism, muscle spasm and, in one particularly bizarre discussion, death. My wife’s position is somewhere in the middle of this spectrum of alarming ailments, she’s fairly sure no one is going to die from a cool breeze, but she won’t countenance air-conditioning or a fan being active in the bedroom at night, no matter how warm it is outside. I had assumed the concern with airflow was one of those personal idiosyncrasies that many relationships are built on, then I came to Germany and realised it wasn’t just my wife, it was nationwide.

To be fair, I understand the benefits of airflow, and appreciate the health-giving properties of good ventilation, so I’m not a total monster. From the Victorian cholera epidemics to the spread of influenza and Covid-19, ventilation has been a simple way to combat disease. Office workers in Germany will routinely open all windows of an office in the morning and/or after lunch to let in the “frische Luft” (fresh air), and I can attest to the benefits, especially in those older offices where air-conditioning is only an exciting fantasy. Fresh air does tend to wake people up after lunch, which is important for productivity, especially if the canteen is serving Schnitzel or Braten. The same approach is taken in homes, where airing bedrooms and bed clothes is still a common household task. At least once a week, I see neighbours hang their bed sheets out the window to maximise the benefits of the “good air”.

Germany isn’t alone in its desire for the right kind of air flow, other European countries have similar discussions, all of which seem to centre on the movement of air. Yes, I appreciate that air is always moving, but for Germans it seems that air can flow too much. The temperature of the air is also an important factor, cold moving air appears to be the “bad air”, but what constitutes cold air or even movement is incredibly subjective. Cold air, moving through an office on a cold or hot day is good. Occasionally, the phrase “Liebe ersticht als erforen” (better to suffocate than freeze) can be heard, but those maverick souls who utter such blasphemy are usually ignored. Cool air flowing through a moving vehicle on the other hand, say on a train, is apparently a death sentence. Opening a window on a packed train during summer months could be the precursor to forceful shouts of “Es Zieht!” and acrimonious disputes with fellow passengers.

For the British, the declaration of “Es Zieht!” sounds ridiculous and the determined enforcement of subjective rules on air flow comes across as petty, especially on a hot day. This is not surprising, after all, Britain is an island. Even in the most landlocked areas of the UK, people are only ever a couple of hours away from the coast and the accompanying sea breeze/gale force storm. Additionally, most British families don’t have the same qualms about air flow. My wife is often bemused when we travel to see my family in the North East of England, where most people don’t open their windows regularly. A lot of the people I know were brought up with the idea that cool air was a menace, and that warmth was a priority over fresh air. Many were told to close windows or doors as parents weren’t “paying to heat the whole street”. My grandparents appreciated the need to air bed clothes, but unlike the Germans, this process simply required the bed sheets to be moved to the end of the bed until it was time to make the bed again. No windows were ever opened.

It’s hard to shake that kind of forceful cultural programming. The unpredictability of the weather, the age of most housing and high energy prices mean that in Britain many people worry less about fresh air flow and much more about living in a cold house. Many homes don’t have proper insulation either, meaning that an open window can let warmth escape far faster. These appear to be fair arguments, but when you consider issues such as mould or damp, both common problems in British houses, opening a window now and again seems like a good idea. The Germans I know will argue this is the primary reason for regularly opening windows, to avoid any chance of mould festering in bathrooms or other areas. Even though German homes are relatively modern (post-war) and are built to a higher specification than those found in the North of England (pre WWI & WW2) or other areas of the UK, ventilation isn’t always as good as would be expected.

Where does this leave my wife and I? Well, not really any further forward. We certainly argue less over whether the window is open or not, or if using the air-con in the car will kill us all. However, the arguments have begun to circle back on us both, first with the birth of our daughter and now our son. Now more than ever, I have not only my wife, but other German relatives worrying about whether the children will get cold. This makes sense in winter, but even on the hottest days German family members will worry that our kids will catch a chill if they’re not wearing socks and a hat 95% of the time. Thankfully the oldest seems to have taken after her father, given her complete unwillingness to wear socks for longer than two minutes.

I understand German sensibilities more than I did, but I’m always going to find complaints of “Es Zieht!” fussy and passively aggressive, especially when some bright spark tries to back up their complaints with grand scientific claims about air-flow. Sitting in pools of sweat on one of the many older train carriages used by Deutsche Bahn seems ridiculous if people can open a window, but many choose not to, if only to avoid an argument. Annoying as it is, things are never going to change, so maybe I just need to adapt or discover the secret to sweating less. If anyone knows how, I’m open to suggestions.

Proofreader: @ScandiTina

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