For me there are many things that I find evocative of being in the Tropics.  The rattling sound of a warm breeze rustling through the fronds of a palm tree.  The constant background hum of a thousand unseen insects.  The brilliant purple flowers on a bougainvillea plant.  The smell of suntan lotion always makes me think of travel wherever I may be.  But, one object more than any other always reminds me of being in tropical climes: the grubbily unprepossessing outside air conditioning unit.

These devices have a dull uniformity to them.  It little matters the maker––Mitsubishi; Panasonic; Saikin; Haier; LG––they almost always appear as a white, rectangular metal box, roughly the size of a small fridge, two-thirds of which surface area is taken up by a circular fan.  What mechanical gubbins lies behind this external condenser unit, I do not know, but this is the face that they present to the outside world.

And, despite their superficial ugliness and lack of aesthetic charm, I like them.  I cannot help but smile whenever I spot one of these units.  For me, they signal hot weather; sunny skies; tropical adventures.

They seem sociable creatures these a/c units, too.  That is another mark in their favour.  It is rare to see just one on its own.  Sometimes they will come in pairs; often, there will be an entire rash of them; a great, sprawling jumble spread across the side of a building, haphazardly mixing freely with vast tangles of black electricity cables, knots of wires, and flashing neon lights in one great unsightly electrical community.

The Coelacanth of the machine world, they seem to have managed to resist change and evolution in a technological-dominated Age, when most similar appliances are getting smaller, sleeker and quieter.

A journey to the Tropics would be a poorer experience without seeing them.

© E. C. Glendenny

E. C. Glendenny tries to look for beauty wherever she can find it.