Name your vice

Are the rich more greedy than the poor? We all think so, don’t we?  Recent hedge fund villainy supports the view. The rich have more than they could ever spend. Yet, they still want more and resort to any means to get it. They’re greedy. We don’t like them.

I’m thinking about this because we’re traveling through countries that are rich, filthy rich, with sun. It shines everywhere and these are high quality rays – honed to a point with fire.. France, Spain, and Italy have so much but it’s not enough. They take a normal portion and then take some more.

I first observed this as we were driving in the foothills of the Pyrenees. This was rough, boulder-strewn, beginnings of mountains with rubbish soil and treacherous access. In most parts of the world it would be left for a goat or two. But not in Spain. Here, the sun shines. So any space between rocks that can be graded by a tractor and levelled flat is farmed. Crammed between boulders and winding around electricity poles, the fields are twisted into any form at all; misshapen ovoids, ungainly triangles, octoids…trapezoids. They’re planted densely and size doesn’t matter – one was no bigger than my sister-in-laws walk-in closet. If there is room for a carrot to grow, it’s cultivated. The sun makes it all flourish. Vegetation comes to the thresholds of houses and menacingly close to the motorway. It pulses with photosynthesis and gulps up the sun. Gulp gulp gulp.

At the tail end of the Alps, the fields are replaced with glasshouses. Any shape and size, they cling to the edges of cliffs and perch on narrow margins. In most countries, a house has a front and back garden planted with a few decorative shrubs and a tulip or two. Not here. In this part of Italy, every homeowner has their own agribusiness out back – or up front or just above the house. There are no parasols on patios or trees to give shade. The greenhouses are stacked onto every available space of mountain with just enough room between for a wheelbarrow. It’s sunny enough already but the greenhouses multiply the value to grow that extra radish or rucola. Exploit exploit exploit.

On the truly impossible spaces where nothing can grow, battalions of solar panels cover the hills. Like some alien army, they line up in regiments and wordlessly requisition the sun. It’s needed for the troops. They take without asking and give no thanks. Take take take.

Where there isn’t agriculture or solar panels, a rough verge of trees, shrubs and grasses drink up the sun. On dewey mornings it drips from the leaves by the carat. Yukkas, bamboo, grape vines, pin oaks, and olive trees press haphazardly together in disarray. I can never reconcile myself to seeing pine trees jockeying for space with a bamboo grove. The two species don’t belong together and it looks careless and profligate. Anything can grow here and it does so without method or exertion. Drink, drink, drink..

Along the Cote d’Azur, tower flats and luxury hotels, and are strategically positioned for maximum sun. They’re angled like starlets in a lineup to ensure the sun will catch their best side. Magnetic rows of windows attract more. Balconies overflow with palms in pots, bougainvillea in baskets, hibiscus in buckets – any vessel to catch and store more sun. House prices are calculated by square foot of exposure. Pity the Frenchman in the shade. Oh là là là là là là !

Bare breasts on beaches, lizards on rocks, they can’t get enough. Perhaps because I’ve lived so long in sun challenged countries, this strikes me as unseemly. It’s unmannerly. It’s taking the last cookie from the plate. My economist husband says it signifies that there is no elasticity in demand. The sun must grow weary of never satisfying demand. It looks like greed to me.

In the countries I know with little sun, the citizens accept their lot. They don’t fuss and run around trying to make more. The Dutch have actually developed an aversion to too much sun. If it shines for more than 10 minutes, they roll out window blinds to bring back the shade. The British moan but drink tea and carry on. They grow mutton chop whiskers or wear a pork pie hat.

I have two reactions when I see such greed. Firstly, I have a suspicion that they’ve taken more than their share. In fact, they’ve taken part of MY share. They’ve taken part of mine and left me with the thin gruel. I can’t even get a tan in July. That makes me resentful.

Secondly, I want some of it. They have more than they need and should give some to me. I often sing a song called, “Hey Steven Spielburg.” It goes, “Hey Steven Spielburg, give me all of your money.” Although Spielburg has at least earned his money with talent, he still has too much. Southern countries should package up some of that sun and give it to England, for free.

Wait a minute, that sounds like greed too. Maybe the rich aren’t so special after all. I’m greedy too. Unfortunately, my greed hasn’t produced anything and this is slightly different. Until I can grow a tomato in our UK vegetable plot or build a swimming pool beneath my mansion in Chelsea, I’m suffering from unrealized greed, and that goes by another name. It’s called sour grapes, I mean, envy.