I’ve just gotten back from a weeklong tour of France’s major nuclear facilities. It was like wandering around Narnia. Here’s a country that gets 80 percent of its electricity from nuclear, that doesn’t burn a single ounce of coal or oil, that isn’t uglifying its landscape with giant windmills, that imports only half as much natural gas as Germany and Great Britain, and that is reprocessing all its nuclear fuel both for itself and other countries. One of their biggest projects is taking enriched uranium out of former Soviet weapons and “de-enriching” it down to the level where it is being used for fuel in American reactors. As everyone says, one out of every ten light bulbs in America is now being powered by a former Soviet weapon.
I’ve made the trip the last chapter of my book, which is now at the publisher’s. Just to give a complete accounting and a foretaste of the book, here it is:
Is there a land in which this vision of a world run on terrestrial energy has been fulfilled? Indeed there is. That country is France.
The French are a contrary people. They dropped out of NATO in 1966 under Charles de Gaulle, they to join the non-proliferation treaty until 1992, their army essentially refused to fight at the start of World War II, they think Americans are boorish and uncultured. They acknowledge that Americans have great power but believe we don’t know what to do with it, while the French – unfortunately – have almost no power but know exactly what to do with it. In the case of nuclear energy, they turned out to be right.
In May 2008 I took a weeklong tour of French nuclear facilities, from the reprocessing plant at La Hague to the MEDOX recycled fuel fabrication plant near Avignon. It was like a trip through Narnia. What only exists in theory on this side of the Atlantic is practical over there.
Moreover, the people I met didn’t express any particular smugness. we’re just putting into practice what you invented, they say, modestly enough. They freely acknowledge the technological advances of mid-20th century America and anything - wish we would do more now. In fact, Areva, the French nuclear company, is returning the favor by building a reprocessing plant at the old Barnwell site in South Carolina and proposing two new reactors at Calvert Cliffs, Maryland, in conjunction with Constellation Energy. The very day we sat talking with executives in Paris, Areva revealed plans to build a new $3 billion uranium enrichment plant in Idaho Falls another important link in the nuclear revival. The announcement caused a stir in France but didn’t even make the Associated Press in this country. Stories in the Idaho papers were inevitably accompanied by the declaration from the Snake River Coalition that such a temple of idolatry would never be built in their Garden of Eden.
Briefly, here’s what nuclear power has done for France. It provides 80 percent of the country’s electricity at the lowest rates in Europe. It gives France the second-lowest level of carbon emissions in Europe, behind only Sweden, a smaller country that is half hydro, half nuclear. It provides France’s third largest import, behind only wine and agricultural products. It allows Germany, Belgium and Denmark to posture that they are anti-nuclear while in fact they are importing nuclear electricity from France and have quietly abandoned the vow to shut down their own reactors. Italy, much less skilled at hypocrisy, actually closed down its three reactors, leaving it with frequent blackouts. The country now imports 70 percent of its electricity and recently horrified Europe with plans to build several new coal plants.
In short, by marching to Charles de Gaul’s own drum, France has solved its energy and environmental problems and is about to show the rest of the world how to do it as well.
*
I have always found the first few hours of a trip to be the most vulnerable and as usual, this one starts with a near-disaster. When I went to Iraq a year ago, I arrived in Kuwait Airport to find a sign saying my baggage would not be arriving. I called British Airways and five minutes later realized my laptop was gone as well. In less than twenty minutes, I had lost 80 percent of my possessions. Fortunately I went back and found I had left the laptop on top of the telephone booth, but the baggage never arrived, which is why thanks to small claims court, I am now flying for free.
My tour guide for the trip is Jarrett Adams, a young American who has just joined the public relations staff at Areva’s American headquarters in Baltimore. I am supposed to make it to Station St.-Lazare on the West side of Paris and meet at the Blue Train. From there we will catch the afternoon train to Avignon for a Monday morning tour. I assume the Blue Train is a train, however, and – through some misunderstanding of my bad French, my cabdriver ends up taking me to the Gare du Nord on the other side of the city. By the time I realize I am in the wrong place it is getting perilously close to departure. Our cell phones don’t work yet but after frantic emails on hotel wireless cards, we finally get straightened out and rendezvous at the Blue Train - which is a restaurant - at Gare St. Lazare. It is amazing how quickly lack of a language can turn you into a lost child.
By late afternoon we are whizzing south on a “bullet train, that will make the 400-mile journey in a remarkable three hours. It is already getting toward the solstice and at this latitude there is not a trace of twilight as we rocket through the countryside. The most common crop is fields of a yellow flower that makes the whole landscape look like a well-tended garden. Our seatmate says it is a variety of hay fed to cattle. Further south, vineyards begin to prevail.
Adams fills me in on the French nuclear effort. “It started with Charles de Gaulle, he says. You may recall, the French decided to build their own bomb in the 1950s and that meant they had to start enriching uranium. They were very smart, however, and saw the energy potential. France never had much coal and no oil either. They had some foothold in the Middle East and North Africa but saw that was slipping away. Long before America had its oil awakening, they had been anticipating energy problems.
After the Arab Boycott, the French government made an all-out commitment to nuclear. There was growing opposition worldwide but the government felt it didn’t have any choice. They had a slogan. `We don’t have any oil, but we have ideas. That’s the reason they’re so far ahead of us now. As we approach Avignon, the landscape becomes mountainous. On one of the last ridges, we see our first windmill silhouetted against the sunset. French Premier Jean Sarkozy recently commented he thought France had done well to spare itself the sight of wind farms cluttering its landscapes. At the same time, I have found some of the most pleasing vistas of cooling towers are taken against the background of French countryside.
Headquarters of the French Popes, Avignon is a walled Medieval city now besieged by tour buses parked at its doorstep. Our hotel claimed to be part of the French Pope;s original complex, but it certainly had undergone a few renovations since the 14th century.
Next morning we head for the Melox plant in suburban Marcoule. A very horizontal industrial establishment, it sits atop a small plateau overlooking the Rhone about 35 miles to the northwest. The building’s glass-and-steel fade is striped with individual red and yellow lines that the brochure says are designed to make it blend with the surrounding landscape. Security is tight, however, and the all-encompassing barbed-wire fences give it the feel of a low-grade state prison. Belying this atmosphere, the walkways glisten with Mediterranean sunshine and knots of workers stroll casually in Areva’s spanking white jumpsuit uniforms.
After threading our way through numerous identification procedures and radiation checks, we are ushered into an upstairs conference room where we meet Pierre Guelfe, chief engineer of the facility. Predictably, Guelfe has a company Power Point ready to roll but – even more typically can’t get the projector to work. I recall the story of Lou Gerstner’s first tour through IBM, where he finally turned off the slide projector of one vice president and said, “Look, just tell me about your business. Taking my cue, I tell Guelfe to forget the Power Points and start peppering him with questions.
What’s the main operation you do here, I ask.
Our biggest task is recycling spent fuel from La Hague, he begins. When the depleted fuel rods are removed the reactors they are shipped to La Hague for reprocessing. They let it cool down for a few years and then remove the uranium and plutonium. They ship the plutonium here. We take it and mix it with another stream of material, which is the scrap that is left over from uranium enrichment. The U-235 content of this is very low, as you know, U-235 is the fissionable isotope -
Yes, I know.
But the plutonium is much more fissionable than the depleted uranium. So when we mix them together, you get a fuel that is very close to enriched uranium. It’s called Mixed Oxide Fuel MOX. We have 20 reactors here in France running on MOX and there are ten more in Germany and two in Switzerland. So we’re plutonium and scrap uranium together. We use everything. We don’t leave any waste.
There’s one thing I want to ask, I said. I’ve read this several times but I want to make absolutely sure. The plutonium that comes out of a commercial reactor, that you separate from the fuel rod, that cannot be used to make a bomb, right?
That’s right, he nodded. “You have four plutonium isotopes Pu-239, Pu-240, Pu-241 and Pu-242. Of the four, only Pu-239 can sustain a chain reaction. The others are contaminants. The PU-241 is too highly radioactive. It fissiles too fast so you can’t control it to make a bomb. But you can use all of them to sustain fission in a MOX reactor.
I lean back for a second. I don’t know whether you know all this I’m sure you do – but we completely ended reprocessing in the United States in the 1970s on the premise that if we extracted plutonium someone might use it to make a bomb. We were saving the world from nuclear proliferation. But in fact, as you’re saying, this is all wrong. You can’t use plutonium from a commercial reactor to build a bomb?
You have to have a special kind of fast reactor that breeds only Pu-239, he said. That’s what the North Koreans did.
So we’ve created this whole problem of nuclear waste on a false premise. And we’re building this huge complex at Yucca Mountain on a completely mistaken idea.
He gave a little Gallic shrug and smiled under his mustache. That’s right, he said.
The other thing we’re doing here is recycling former Soviet bomb material, he continued, returning to his Power Point. When the Soviets were making weapons they decided to stockpile all kinds of enriched uranium. Then the Soviet Union collapsed and all this bomb material was left sitting around. No one knew where half of it was and there and there were a lot people who didn’t have any money and would be happy to sell it. So two American Senators.
Peter Domenici and Sam Nunn.
Right. They negotiated a deal where we would de-enrich all this uranium down to reactor grade. And that is what we are doing now. They ship it to us here, we mix it with more scraps from uranium enrichment, and then we ship it to you. What is it they say? `One out of every ten light bulbs in the United States is being lit by a former Soviet weapon.
“You think people would be dancing in the streets.
“Swords into plowshares, he said with another little Gallic grin, just like in the Bible.
We don our Areva jumpsuits and make tour of the plant. As soon as we enter the first room we encounter a seven-foot cylinder painted yellow. This is plutonium, says Marty Delphin, our guide. “It just arrived from La Hague.
I put my hand up against it and sure enough, the container is warm. “So this is the dreaded plutonium? Delphin nods. Plutonium is not a gamma emitter, right?
“Just alpha, he says.
Feels like energy! I say.
And it can’t blow up! adds Guelfe. Everyone gets a laugh out of that.
The working part of the plant is narrow and cramped, so that it feels like we are in the bowels of a submarine. At every turn there are glass compartments behind which some mechanical task in the pelletization of the fuel is taking place. They are somehow reminiscent of aquariums. Each unit has a glove box where workers can reach in and manipulate the process if something goes awry.
“We have different a different fuel for each country, explains Delphin. “Every reactor has a slightly different design so we have to mix the fuel to very tight specifications. These ones are headed for Japan, indicating a sealed container.
Like the original uranium fuel rods that arrive at a reactor, they are only mildly radioactive. Don’t get too close, says Delphin as I do a close inspection. Just a precaution, he says apologetically. I want to see the Russian material but we must rush back to catch the afternoon train. We’re due in Paris for another round of appointments in tomorrow morning.
The next day we meet at Areva’s headquarters with Arthur De Montalembert, vice president for international and marketing and Jacques Besnainou, vice president for the back-end sector. Anne Lauvergeon, the president of Areva and rated one of the ten most powerful women in the world by Time, has a busy schedule and was unavailable for an interview.
De Montalembert is the kind of suave, debonair Frenchman you would expect to meet in the upper reaches of the national bureaucracy. He talks in measured tones, the gray at his temples adding gravity to his words. Besnainou, on the other hand, is a pudgy, ebullient Sancho Panza with a hawk nose and a bubbling enthusiasm that counters de Montalembert’s reserve.
Naturally, they want to give us the same Power Point but we quickly tell them we’ve seen it. Well, you’ve come at a very opportune moment, De Montalembert begins. We’re just announcing our new uranium enrichment plant in the United States. We’ve been considering five sites and we’re now picking the winner.
What were the five sites?
“Columbus, Ohio, where there is already an enrichment plant, the Argonne Laboratory, near Chicago, Los Alamos, Hanford, Washington, and Idaho Falls, near the national laboratory, he says. I feel good I’ve already visited three of the five.
So who’s the winner?
I can’t say until the announcement is made, De Montalembert smiles.
“I promise I won’t phone my rewrite desk. He smiles again but no answer. (It was Idaho Falls.)
We are building a reprocessing plant in South Carolina as part of the GNEP effort, he continues solemnly. And we have plans to build two new reactors at the Calvert Cliffs site in Maryland.
Do you think you’ll run into opposition on any of this? I ask.
De Montalembert demurs. We know we will have the academy against us, he says, choosing a nice French word to describe the universities. I am just going down to debate Mr. Frank Von Hippel of Princeton this afternoon. He says he is in favor of nuclear power but is against reprocessing. <!–[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]–> <!–[endif]–> Basically, you’ve dropped the ball, chimes in Besnainou enthusiastically. The U.S. was the leader in this technology for a long time but then you stopped. Glenn Seaborg invented the process for extracting plutonium in 1944. It was very difficult. He tried hundreds of solvents but finally found one that worked.
Sounds like Thomas Edison.
Right. So the process hasn’t changed at all since then, he says cheerfully. You provided the theory. We’ve just done the engineering. We’re keeping the torch alive.
The younger generation will probably be different, says de Montalembert. Anne Lauvergeon spoke at Harvard last winter and invited a group of nuclear opponents to come over to France and see what we are doing. We’ll be showing them around next month.
It’s difficult to see why this is so hard to sell to America, says Besnainou with only a touch of regret. You recycle household garbage. You’re very good at that. Why not recycle spent fuel as well. We’ve cut our need for uranium 30 percent by reprocessing. There’s so much energy left there. We’re calling spent fuel the new uranium mines.
The next day we make our final visit to the reprocessing plant at La Havre. This time it’s only 120 miles through the beautiful French countryside but still two hours since the train doesn’t travel as fast. As we approach the coast of the English Channel, the landscape begins to undulate and I try to imagine American soldiers fighting along the hedgerows in the Normandy Invasion. I am still reading the publicity brochure from the Paris headquarters:
Source of Life. Since that gigantic nuclear explosion, origin of the universe, called the Big Bang, matter and energy have remained a united and faithful duo. Man himself is stardust. . . Today the stars, the sun, and the burning core of the earth are ceaseless beds of nuclear reactions . . . . From distant stars to the earth’s core, it continues its constructive work. Man has learnt to master one nuclear reaction, fission, taming it into a clean and inexpensive energy.
They understand these things over here.
The La Hague Reprocessing Center sits on top of a cliff just outside Cherbourg overlooking the English Channel. It’s the same flat, industrial design, trying to look unobtrusive, with its prison-fence surrounding. Security here is even tighter, with an endless round of ID cards and personal codes that change every time we enter a new section. Our guide is Christopher Naugnot, a mid-30s, brush-cut communications director whose English, like everyone else’s, is very good.
Naugnot leads us into a conference room and once again there is the same old Power Point ready to roll. We’ve got it memorized by now, I tell him. So he provides us with some bare details the facility employs 5,000, 20 percent of the jobs in Cherbourg, it’s been operating for twenty years, the locals love it. (We were to meet with the Mayor of Cherbourg but he had to cancel because of one of the ubiquitous French holidays.) The U.S. has produced 50,000 tons of spent fuel and has designed Yucca Mountain to hold 70,000 tons, says Naugnot. We’ve already recycled 24,000 tons at this facility.
Why don’t you just take all our fuel off our hands? I ask.
You’re producing about 2,000 new tons a year. We can only reprocess 1,700 tons a year at this facility so we’d be hard pressed. We’d much rather recycle in the United States.
So are you going to do it?
That’s what we’re trying to do in South Carolina.
We don jumpsuits once again and start through the facility. Naugnot tells us how the spent fuel casks are generally shipped by rail, then offloaded into trucks, which bring them to the plant. They enter through the basement and then are brought into a sealed room where they are cooled for awhile before they’re put into the storage pools. We’ll see that next.
We climb a stairs and find ourselves standing outside a glass window looking through a thick yellowish glass into a room perhaps about 2,500 feet square, brilliantly lit and filled with about as much equipment as the average weight room.
Why is the glass yellow, I ask with one of those innocuous questions that usually lead someplace.
It’s treated with lead, for shielding the radiation.
And suddenly, there it is before us. Like some benthic organism being hauled out of the deep, a complete fuel assembly is slowing rising out of the floor, lifted by an overhead crane, until it reaches the full height of the room. With its steel frame and vertical black lines the fuel rods it looks eerily like a miniaturized version of the World Trade Center. Yet its blank and featureless face has the soulless menace of a shark’s eye.
What’s the radiation coming out of that thing?
Naugnot consults quickly with a nuclear engineer who speaks only French.
“Un million millirads, says the engineer. A million millirem. Quick calculation that’s 1000 rems. The highest exposure people got standing near ground zero at Hiroshima was only 500 rems. This is truly the most powerful and dangerous material on earth. Yet here we are, perfectly shielded by a foot of lead-laced glass. If we suffer the slightest exposure, the full-body radiation detectors will catch it when we leave.
What happens if something goes wrong in there? I ask.
Right here, says Naugnot. On either side of the window there are handles that attach to two long arms extending inside the room that can reach almost 20 feet in any direction. You should see what those guys can do with these things. We should have brought someone down to show you.
How long has it been since someone was in that room?
Not since it was built. And they won’t be in there again until years after it’s decommissioned. If you walked in there now, you’d be killed instantly. But we have that wall and glass between us.
The next stop is the swimming pool, a larger version of the storage pools that hold spent fuel at almost every nuclear plant. This one is near-Olympic size. The blue Cerenkov glow is fainter, giving it the color of one of those horrible kids kool-aid flavors. As we scan the perimeter I suddenly see something wildly incongruous and yet perfectly appropriate - life preservers hanging about every twenty yards along the guardrail – a perfect conjunction of high- and low-tech.
Anybody ever fall in? I ask.
Not yet, says Naugnot. “But if they did, it wouldn’t hurt them. The water protects you. I tell him the story I have heard of American workers occasionally taking a splash in the storage pools, much to the consternation of the NRC.
How long do the rods stay in here? I ask.
Up to fifteen years.
Fifteen years?! I would have thought a few months. “So all this happens on a completely different time scale than any other industrial operation, I say.
It takes a long time to get one of these operations started, he says. “But once you get going, it runs pretty smoothly. We don’t have many lulls.
Next we see more behind-the-glass machinery slicing operations of the fuel assemblies being sliced into small sections and submerged in nitric acid, which dissolves the material. Then another solvent Glenn Seaborg extracts the uranium and plutonium, which is shipped off to Avignon. Other actinides are drawn off by similar procedures.
What remains are the fission products cesium, strontium and others all highly radioactive and highly compact. These are vitrified dissolved into a molten glass that hardens with the radioactive material in solution. The glass will stay the same for thousands of years, says Naugnot. It isn’t protective you need a steel container for that but the radioactive products won’t dissolve or move anywhere. It is this vitrified material that is put in final storage.
And so at last we find ourselves standing in that one room in La Hague, the place where the French keep all the nuclear waste from 25 years of producing 80 percent of their electricity beneath the floor. I have thought about this room for months. Now I am standing in it.
It is a bit larger than I imagined. Somehow I had seen it as about the size of a small visitors center. Instead it is more like a large basketball gymnasium. Still, it’s one large room. In the floor there are about 40 manhole covers stenciled with Areva’s triangular logo. All are so tightly sealed with no visible handles it seems impossible they could ever be removed.
They’re magnetized, Naugnot explains. He points to the ceiling. “See this large how do you say it in English.
Gantry?
Yes, gantry. There’s a magnetized crane that removes them. Inside the plug there’s another cap with handles. The crane can grasp them as well. The canisters are very small. There’s room for six in each ring. They’re stacked six-deep beneath the floor. The total material stored here for each French citizen is ten grams about the weight of a two-Euro coin.
And that’s it, the sum total of what the French call les dechets their nuclear waste. Even this storage is only temporary. The material can be retrieved any time the French Parliament decides that recycling of more radioactive isotopes is economical. The entire environmental footprint of 25 years of producing the France’s electricity, the equivalent of all those sulfur sludge piles and billions of tons of carbon dioxide hurled into the atmosphere is right here beneath my feet. The French have proved in practice what we can only say in theory - there is no such thing as nuclear waste.