Havana on Earth

The story of how a company in Switzerland built a computerized humidor.

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How a company in Switzerland built a computerized humidor to put the climate of Cuba on-line

In 1919, Alfred Henry Dunhill, an English merchant of pipes, cigars, and hand-blended tobacco, set out to capture Cuba in a box. It was the climate of the island he was specifically after--a consistent temperature of 68 degrees to 72 degrees Fahrenheit and a relative humidity of 60% to 72%--in order to maintain the optimum moisture levels of his quality Cuban cigars. But how, he wondered, could he simulate technologically something as natural as an atmospheric state? For guidance, Dunhill turned to studies conducted by England's National Physical Laboratory, and soon after began building the requisite structure in his Duke Street tobacconist shop, in London's St. James section. The finished product was a cedar-lined and carpeted walk-in chamber equipped with a humidification apparatus and an air-circulating system considered high-tech for its day. It was Europe's first humidor, and it brought the pearl of the Antilles home.

Dunhill's concept of Cuba as humidor lit a fire under cigar technology. Over the years, humidors modeled after his climate-controlled room shrank to the size of shaving kits and grew to huge "cigar cellar" proportions, depending on the user's needs. What remained constant were the temperature and the humidity inside the wooden box--regardless of its dimensions. The temperature of the 42,804-square-mile island was reproduced by factors as simple as the unit's proximity to a radiator or as complex as an electric heater. The proper humidity was achieved by everything from a drenched sponge, a porous rock, or a "moisture disk" inserted into a standard cigar box to a chunk of water-infused phenolic resin--whose moist output was regulated by a digital hygrometer and spread by a microprocessor-controlled electric fan--placed inside a cupboard that could hold 1,000 Montecristos.

Given the humidor's need to process critical information, it was only a matter of time before remote transmissions got into the act. About three years ago, engineer Robert Morf and businessman Michel Perrenoud, owner of Michel Perrenoud S.A., a purveyor of cigar paraphernalia, decided to make the humidor not just a humidor but an on-line computer as well. Their $150,000 Millennium--a solid-mahogany cabinet that stands 6.3 feet tall and 7.6 feet wide and holds 2,000 cigars--relies on a Motorola 68340 microprocessor tucked into its base to control its components: a steam generator coupled with an electric heater to warm and humidify the air and an air-conditioner using thermoelectric elements to cool the air. The microprocessor is programmed not just to maintain the proper temperature and humidity but also to change the air circulating inside the Millennium's 14 drawers three times each minute. And it's all monitored, from perhaps thousands of miles away, via a 14.4 Kb internal modem that connects to a computer at Michel Perrenoud S.A. headquarters, in La Chaux-de-Fonds, Switzerland. "The processor is the controller of the Millennium," says Morf, "so if something goes wrong, it can call us every time."

That "something" could be a malfunctioning heater, a power outage, a near-empty water tray, a broken fan (there are six of them), or even a door that's slightly ajar. Sensors, strategically placed throughout the 1,500-pound vault, pick up the problem and relay it through the modem to computer screens in Switzerland, where technicians stand ready to correct it (in the case of the humidity or the temperature) or to call the owner (in the case of a mechanical breakdown).

"With the microprocessor, we know exactly what is wrong," says Morf. "Maybe we can correct something from here; maybe we have to go to the place to fix some component. It depends on what has happened."

Perrenoud provides a simple example. "If perhaps the gentleman forgets to put in some water," he says, "the computer will tell us that he has two days before he has to have some distilled water in the system. So we can call him: 'Mr. So-and-so, you have to put some water in your system.' Or, if he does not have any more electricity, the Millennium will stop; it will tell us that it's not working, and we can ask the gentleman why."

Each of the 50 Millenniums the 24-year-old company hopes to manufacture (just two have been sold so far--one in Toronto and one in Hong Kong) will have its own computerized SOS, so technicians will be able to distinguish one distress call from another. Such personalized service only makes sense: at $150,000 a pop, Michel Perrenoud S.A. has to target--and handle--the Millennium's market carefully. "When we started to build the Millennium, I found very rich people who are traveling quite a lot," says Perrenoud. "These people don't have time to watch after their humidors. Therefore, they asked me to make something that would let them rely on us. That means they don't have to watch after their cigars, we are doing that for them."

To hear Perrenoud tell it, the owners of his high-tech version of Cuba-in-a-box will never have to see their dreams go up in smoke: he vows the Millennium will keep their favorite cigars with the prized Connecticut wrappers fresh for a lifetime.

Henry Santoro is news director at WFNX-FM, Boston. He has written articles on popular culture for the Boston Phoenix and Stuff magazine.