Good Air, Bad Air

Lüft, but not too much

When our landlords (*my parents) traveled to the U.S. for a month last winter,  they asked us to watch the house and tend to some chores: water the plants, put out recycling, get the mail. One of the tasks I did not do diligently? Lüft, or air out the house. 

Lüften is a serious task in Switzerland. The Swiss Federal Office of Health (the Bundesamt für Gesundheit, or BAG) has a page of advice on how to lüft and heat your home correctly. Considering the age of many homes and apartments, and the subsequent lack of insulation, air conditioning, and ceiling fans, this makes sense. The BAG recommends you lüft two to three times a day for at least five minutes, though if it’s very cold or windy, you can reduce the time to three minutes. 

Thankfully, my mother isn’t a strict adherent to BAG recommendations and only wanted weekly winter lüft. Her instructions were to “just open all the windows, and then go back to the first room and close them.” That doesn’t take a whole five minutes – should I update her on BAG recommendations? 

From algorithms serving me videos of Americans in Germany, I know the practice of opening all the windows at least once a day extends beyond the Swiss German region. I don’t know if Italian and French-Swiss are also as regimented about airing out their homes. Here, it’s not limited to summer mornings, when the idea is to cool down the house before the day heats up and the lack of air conditioning or fans sucks out your will to function. No, as you can conclude from the BAG guidance, you lüft daily, even when it’s freezing. 

We have yet to implement a regular, daily, lüfting schedule. When I first arrived last summer, my dad suggested that we, like him, get up to open all the windows at 4 a.m. on hot days, because it’s really cool then. I just leave the windows open all night, and in the mornings, I open the second floor (a converted attic) windows for 10-15 minutes before I leave for work. 

In winter, we sleep with our bedroom window tipped open (many windows here hinge at the base and not just the side), and sometimes I open the kitchen window if I’m cooking. For a while last winter, I spied on the neighbors to see if they followed a regular window-opening routine, but I don’t have the time or focus to consistently spy and take notes. 

The Bad Air

Lüfting is essential, but if it creates a cross draft, you’ve got problems. If a door or a window was open in a way that allowed a draft in the kitchen, my grandmother would complain: “Es zieht, mach Duure zu” (“it’s pulling, close the door”). This breeze is called the Durchzug, which translates to “draft,” though literally, durch means through and zug is a train. And if you sit in the Through Train, many people believe you’ll get sick. 

Last winter, I was talking to my uncle, who said he was sick. “I was sitting in the train.”

“Oh, COVID’s going around, and you probably weren’t wearing a mask,” I thought, picturing him on a crowded train. 

“You know, the Durchzug,” he elaborated. 

So not COVID on the train, but a cold from the Bad Draft. 

I know it’s not just my family who believes this. On a 2014 visit, Gabe and I were sitting on a train with a window open. A woman leaned over and shut our window. In 2018, we once again had a window open on a train from Zermatt. A family seated nearby settled for nasty looks and passive-aggressive complaints about our open window. 

The media has been trying to disprove this belief that Durchzug causes colds for at least 10 years. In 2014, SRF had a short piece reminding people that viruses cause colds. 

More recent pieces mock Durchzug Truthers, like this 2021 Tages Anzeiger one that suggests the fear of the nasty draft is a German import. It includes suggestions on what to do in the heat, including “turn on the A/C,” and “buy a fan or several. Turn it on. Nothing will happen to you.”