Secret of the woods

   The last day they saw each other, they didn’t say a word. They just stared and finally left, each own his or hers on way. They were six people and they had all been there as the war had happened. They had been useful servants, slaves if you will. They had done everything they were ordered and even then the ones that ruled over that place had beaten them with sticks or solid rods. Everyone was cruel and sick during the war and the secret that they all shared was proof of that. When it happened, they all shared that moment but they never really spoke about it. First, because there was no time to do so and, second, because it was extremely hard for them to do it. The war then pressed on and reached its desired end; they were liberated one morning and found themselves to be free.

 Clara was the youngest of the group and the first one to leave that horrible place. She noticed, as she left in a truck filled with liberated people, how the surrounding forest was still dark and scary and how it had no life inside of it. It had been rendered lifeless by the atrocities of war. Eventually, Clara made it to the nearest town and there she desired to get to a port and then away from that forsaken continent. But she never got to do it because she had no money. She decided to work in the town, doing small chores all over. It was doing so that she met a nice young man, a baker, and she fell in love. They eventually married and had a very large and happy family. She was almost seventy years old when she received a phone call, one she never thought she would get.

 Robert, the youngest man, left in the following truck. Its destination was another place like the one he had come from, which made him sick. He vomited several times and made the soldiers think he was sick with something. They left him in a provisional hospital, not too far from there. He wasn’t sick, just nervous and scared. In the hospital, one of the doctors asked him for help, as nurses were very scarce. Eventually, Bob followed the medicine man to a big city in the south and there he paid Robert’s studies to become a doctor. The man turned to be a second father who loved Robert as his own son had died months earlier in battle. Bob turned himself into a great doctor, getting the call too after one of his lectures.

 The oldest was Irina, a woman that didn’t say a word and that left the place by foot. She was not that older but she had seen more of life than Clara and Robert. She was hunted by the violent deaths of her family, which she couldn’t forget. Feet bleeding, she collapsed and was rescued by a group of women, who nursed her back to health. They were also escaping violence, so she joined them. The group eventually settled in the east and became of the first feminist groups of the area. They were adamant in their convictions and Irina proved to be a real fighter. She did good things for women all over the region and was in a frail state when she got her call.

 Next was Alexander, who was the first one that talked publicly about the atrocities he had seen. He became a renowned writer after been able to travel abroad and reunite with his family. He was member of an aristocratic family who had disowned him but now that everything had change, they recognized him again and even more as his fame grew larger. Alexander published books about the war, all very successful. He did novels, and documentaries and short stories. He even sold his rights to make movies about the subject. By the time he was an older man, he was one of the richest persons on that side of the world. Privately, he had grown tired of the subject but as it was his life, he couldn’t drop it. His call caught him in the middle of the night.

 Marissa was the only one that had been transferred from a proper prison camp. She had seen other atrocities and when she was transferred she thought she would have a better life but she didn’t. After the liberation, she had to be institutionalized because of her mental state. She received shock therapy for several months and was even the subject of several dissertations about paranoia. She was finally released to a resting home when she was a woman in her forties. She had no skills and had been permanently damaged but that didn’t stop people at the home to make her clean floors and bathrooms, use her as many had used her before. Then, one morning, someone came and took her away.

 To complete the group, there was Louis. He had been a musician but after the war his fingers were not the same ones. He couldn’t play anything and he did not have any other skills. He tried finding a job as a waiter or as a chauffeur, but he would always ruin it by having awful breakdowns that involved hitting himself repeatedly. His guilt always showed itself to others, and it couldn’t be controlled. He was violent and unpredictable so, when one day he shot himself in the head, no one really made a fuss about it. So many people that had been liberated were committing suicide, so it wasn’t a real shock. When they called Louis, trying to locate him, the news hit hard and deep.

 The person who called was Clara. She had started to contact everyone else for one simple reason and that was because she had received a call by a state officer who was investigating the events that took place in that place in the woods all those years ago. They had identified her as a resident for some time, as well as some others. They wanted to talk to them in order to know exactly what went on there because there were these rumors and it was necessary to know if they were true. Clara just hung up, asking her husband never to pick it up again. When the government came to her doorstep, she chased them away.

 For her, it was too much. Her children and husband didn’t understand, but for Clara it was all a disaster. She was an older woman now, someone who had already done what she had to do, and someone that was already planning to come to terms with her existence as a human being. Clara was almost ready to meet her maker and she had no intention to face the human justice. That was when she had the idea to track all of the people that had been there with her, in those basements with rooms with no windows or proper lighting. She looked for them and after some time she had called them all. They had all agreed to meet, no questions asked, in the town where she lived.

 It was fun, at least for a while, to see how different everyone was. Clara had been a housewife all of her life so she did an effort to look good. She was the one who picked up Clara and, with the help of her husband, nursed her back to a better health in order to be more aware of the world. But Marissa was gone and would rather play with the dogs than talk to those people she didn’t know anymore. Bob and Alex looked fantastic. They were all so dapper and successful in their respective fields. But once there, once they got all together, they went back to being young and simple. Irina walked slow and needed to be waited and helped. But her demeanor was strong and resilient, having struggled all of her life for others. They reunited and, once again, just stared.

 But those empty looks turned into tears and hugs and kisses. They had never done that while at the woods, they had never shared a moment of love because love had been outlawed. They only law, the only real thing there was violence and cruelty and they had been poisoned by it. They talked about their lives and about how everything had changed but had stayed the same in some parts. They also spoke about Louis and Marissa was the first one to smile when hearing his name. She had helped him once and they were the only friends in existence in that awful place. They went there and the cold wind that greeted them made all the memories come back.

 The place was now a museum with a park. A young woman came to them as asked if they wanted to take a tour of the place but they told her they knew it too well. They each told the story of how they had gotten there and how they had gotten out of it. They also confessed to have helped to the killing of several people, including children. The place was used as a testing site for several weapons: biological, chemical and radioactive.  They also tortured them with other experiments and them, who were prisoners, were made to watch and help. If they didn’t, they died. So they did. That place had been hell and now they had liberated themselves from it, in order to leave it there forever.

Rutinas matutinas

   Recuerdo que era horrible despertarse hacia las cinco de la mañana. Siempre pensé que era casi un castigo divino el hecho de hacer semejante cosa con un niño, despertarlo a una hora en la que muchos adultos ni siquiera estaban conscientes y a la que los animales tampoco respondían muy bien que digamos. El frío instantáneo al despertar, la gana de quedarse cinco minutos en la cama o el hecho de hacerlo todo medio dormido era un ritual bastante extraño, como si todo se tratase de algo que había que hacer por obligación y porque no había más remedio. Y de hecho así era, porque había que ir al colegio, no era algo muy opcional, incluso cuando estaba enfermo. Mis padres no veían muy bien que se faltara a la escuela un solo día, así fuese el ultimo antes de vacaciones o uno atrapado entre dos días festivos.

 La rutina era la misma siempre: primero despertarse a esa hora tan horrible. Cuando era pequeño era mi mamá la que me despertaba, actuando como mi despertador. Ya después yo fui poniendo una alarma que a veces escuchaba y otras no. Pasó varias veces que se nos hacía tarde, que el bus no se demoraba en pasar y que solo tenía tiempo de vestirnos y ya. No era lo mejor puesto que a mi no bañarme siempre me ha parecido difícil porque me siento físicamente sucio por horas después. Siento como si no hubiese salido de la cama. Es que la cama tenía mucho poder. Por eso seguido en el bus del colegio me quedaba dormido y solo me despertaba una vez en el colegio, para mi completo desagrado.

 Después de ducharme dormido, porque el agua no ayudaba en nada, me ponía la ropa lentamente: la ropa interior, las medias, el pantalón y así. Todo con una ceremonia que terminaba con mi mamá viniendo para decirme que apurara porque no tenía tanto tiempo y porque ya llegaba el bus. Esto era muchas veces un mentira que mi madre usaba para acelerar el paso. El resultado era siempre variado, nunca siempre el mismo. Después de cambiarme y tomar la maleta, había que desayunar. Siempre era algo simple como tostadas con mermelada o cereal con leche. Nunca comíamos nada demasiado complejo. Primero porque a mi mamá cocinar tan temprano no le gustaba pero también porque no había tiempo de tanta cosa.

 A mi me daba igual porque nunca me cabía mucha comida. Sigue siendo lo mismo de hecho. Y el desayuno, a pesar de ser pequeño, también lo comía con ceremonia, tratando de alejar al sueño de mi mente, muchas veces sin éxito. Mi hermano muchas veces estaba tan dormido que su cara quedaba a milímetros de su cereal. Normalmente teníamos unos pocos minutos más para cepillarnos los dientes y luego llegaba el bus. A veces se demoraba pero normalmente era bastante puntual. Había que bajar corriendo y sentir decenas de ojos cuando uno se subía y tomaba asiento. El de al lado mío siempre se demoraba en ocuparse.

 En la universidad, la rutina cambió sustancialmente. Ya le horario no era rígido, no era el mismo todos los días. Había algunas veces que de nuevo tenía que despertar a las cinco de la mañana pero normalmente era más tarde. Eso sí, nunca modifiqué el tiempo que me daba para hacer lo que tenía que hacer antes de salir: siempre era una hora, a veces con algunos minutos de más. Lo calculé así por la sencilla razón de tener más minutos de sueño. Lo primero para mi era poder dormir a gusto porque así me despertaba con más energía y disposición. Eso sí, no servía de mucho porque empecé a dormir hasta tarde, costumbre que todavía tengo y seguramente no dejaré.

 En ese momento la rutina era la misma pero variaba por la hora del día. Me encantaba cuando solo tenía una clase en la tarde. Hubo semestres en los que almorzaba en casa o al menos desayunaba rápidamente teniendo a mi madre ya despierta. Los días en los que ella era mi despertador habían pasado y me tocaba a mi despertarme todos los días. A eso me acostumbré rápidamente y descubrí mi sensibilidad a esos sonidos. Hay gente que no oye las alarmas y tiene que levantarse con movimiento pero a mi en cambio nunca me gustó que me sacudieran para despertarme. Era demasiado violento para mi gusto.

 De pronto el cambio más significativo entonces era que me despertaba para ir a un sitio que yo había elegido para aprender de algo que yo quería aprender. No era el colegio en el que a veces la primera clase del día era matemáticas. Eso era una combinación mortal. Pero en la universidad ya no había matemáticas ni nada demasiado críptico para que yo lo entendiese. Así que muchas veces despertarse era un gusto y yo lo hacía con un ritmo envidiable, creo yo, pues sabía usar el tiempo de la manera más eficiente posible. Además que ahí empecé a aprovechar ese tiempo del desayuno para también ver televisión o algo en internet, pues así podía relajarme aún más antes de clase.

 Los desayuno seguían siendo pequeños pero, como dije antes, esto es porque me quedé así. Los grandes desayunos con muchos panes y huevo y caldos y bebidas calientes, eran para los sábados y los domingos. Entre semana todo eso me hubiera caído como una patada y más si tenía que levantarme temprano. En la universidad yo hacía mis desayunos y aunque sí comía mucho huevo, la verdad era que no había nada más ligero que eso y a la vez más completo. Después era cepillarme los dientes e irme a tomar el transporte. Entre que salía de casa y llegaba a la universidad, pasaban tal vez cuarenta minutos, considerando que eran dos transportes lo que tenían que tomar.

 Por dos años, aunque eso terminó hace un mes o un poco más, tuve la fortuna o el infortunio de no tener responsabilidad alguna con nada. Es decir que no  tenía clases a las que ir ni tenía un trabajo al que responder. No había nada porque no conseguía nada. Entonces la rutina de entre semana cambió a su modo más relajado que nunca. Ya no importaba dormir hasta tarde pues podía levantarme casi a la hora que quisiera al otro día. Al menos al comienzo fue así. No era poco común que me acostara a las casi tres de la mañana y al otro día despertara casi al mediodía. De raro no tenía nada y siendo ya adulto nadie me decía nada. La rutina entonces se diluyó bastante pues no había como modificarla de verdad. Así que yo solo hacía lo que tenía que hacer.

 Dejé de bañarme después de despertarme para poner el desayuno primero o comer algo antes del almuerzo, porque no tenía ya mucho sentido comer mucho a dos horas de comer la mejor comida del día. Hubo muchos días en los que simplemente comía un pan o algo de pastelería o solo el jugo de naranja y con eso duraba lo que tenía que durar hasta la hora del almuerzo. No era lo mejor pero así era. Después me duchaba y podía durar el doble de antes cambiándome, ya no porque me estuviese durmiendo sino porque hacer que las cosas se demoren más es una técnica muy obvia para hacer que los días tengan algo más de peso, si es que se le puede llamar así.

 Ya después, cuando empecé a escribir, me puse una hora para despertarme con alarma incluida. Me despertaba minutos antes de las nueve de la mañana, me demoraba una hora o una hora y media escribiendo y luego me premiaba a mi mismo con el desayuno que podía variar de solo cereal a un sándwich de gran tamaño o de pronto algo especial que hubiésemos comprado en el supermercado y que vendría bien a esa hora. Empecé a darle una estructura a mi rutina de la mañana, y de todo el día de hecho, porque me di cuenta que me faltaba esas líneas, esos muros en mi vida para sentirme menos perdido y más coherente a la hora de decidir o de pensar que hacer en el futuro próximo.

 Hoy en día, de nuevo, mi rutina cambia según el día aunque son variaciones pequeñas. A veces desayuno a las diez y media, a veces una hora más tarde. Duermo más o menos dependiendo de mi nivel de cansancio y, en ocasiones, del nivel de alcohol. Me ducho hacia el mediodía porque no le veo la urgencia a hacerlo antes y hago mi almuerzo a la hora que lo comía en casa que era hacia las dos y media de la tarde. El resto del día lo ocupan las clases o mi esfuerzo por rellenar las horas caminando y conociendo cosas que no sé muy bien que son. Todo va cambiando en todo caso y seguramente tendré otra rutina de estas en unos años y otra más en otros años más.

 En todo caso creo que necesito la estructura de una rutina diaria y no creo que haya nada malo con eso. Solo que, al parecer, no soy muy bueno a la hora de hacer las cosas tan libremente.

Going...

“Well, I will just have to live with that, I guess.” So thought Roger, a thirty-year-old singer who had recently released his first album. He had been trying for a long time now to have a record around and he had finally achieved his dream. But a routine visit to the doctor had changed his life forever. It had been the look on the doctor’s face that said it all and nothing, at the same time. He asked Roger some questions beforehand, like “What are your parents like?” and “Do you know of any illnesses in your family?”. He had answered as best as he could but the truth was that those answers and those questions didn’t matter at all. The doctor seemed authentically shocked and sad when he told Roger he was going to loose his eyesight in a matter of months.

 The reasons were very technical. He cited some scientific names and a number of reasons for this to happen but Roger didn’t care about that at all. He just wanted to now if there was a cure or if he had heard correctly. The answer to the second question was obvious but to the first, there was no real answer. The doctor sent Roger to other doctors, specialists, who would now, more about his condition and maybe they would be able to help them. He assured Roger that his condition was very unique and that’s why he had noticed it right away. Maybe if it was in the earliest stages, the disease could be stopped somehow but he didn’t even try to guess how that would be done. He seemed pretty appalled but Roger didn’t notice, right then he didn’t care about anyone but him.

 Roger walked home in order to think a bit about what had just happened. Moments earlier, he had been pretty happy, telling the doctor the name of his album and telling him it was going to be a huge hit. People liked him before, when he started rapping as an amateur and even more when he actually started to train in order to be a proper singer. He had participated in contests all over the place and had dedicated his life to his music for the last few years. All of that was pure joy until that moment. He didn’t cry but he wanted to. He felt desperate and hopeless at the same time and, although he knew it wasn’t it for him, he would never be the same.

 When he entered home, he avoided talking to his roommate, who happened to be his manager. Malik had always been there for him, being his cousin and all, and he knew he could trust him but he didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to go to bed and try to get some sleep, even if the summer sun was high in the sky outside. He didn’t care about at as he secretly wanted to disappear right then. When he woke up, his cousin had ordered some pizza and had left him some on a plate in the kitchen. He wasn’t there anymore, probably because of business. Roger ate and thanked Malik for leaving him alone to think. It was then when Roger finally cried in silence, his tears falling to the ground in complete silence.

 The next day, they had an appointment in Jamz Records. The album had been released a month ago and they needed to have a meeting to discuss how everything was doing and if further efforts to do a campaign for the album had to be done. There were already plans for a national tour but now Jamz wanted to add a couple of foreign dates as the digital download was receiving rave reviews in other countries. Roger tried no to force his face too much to make a smile and he felt that the he was able to do that but it hurt. He was just not into hearing people talking and talking right now. In secret, he had thought of just dying in his room, one way or the other. He was desperate and wanted everything to have a fast conclusion.

 He also went to a couple of specialists who wanted to try some new medicine with him. It was mainly about using natural things to make his illness go away or at least act slower. He was told that it would take months to be rendered blind by the disease but the specialists agreed that they could make it slow down to give them more time to discover something that could stop its advance altogether. This cheered him up a bit, as it was some hope he didn’t think he would have. He took all the medicine, all the eye drops they gave him to take. He just wanted for this entire nightmare to be over soon and just be able to enjoy music like he had before. After all, he was promoting an album.

 Actually, Roger was unable to go to his next appointments with the specialists. Malik toured him around the city, going from radio station to radio station, giving out singles of his most recent release. The idea was authorized by Jamz, as they thought giving the album a personal seal as the artist handing out singles may create a certain myth about the artist that they could use in the future. Roger had a nice time going from door to door as he was asked to sing several times and also talk a bit about whatever it was that they were talking about. He felt important and loved and he needed that more than ever before. So he enjoyed the experience from start to finish, as he felt like a proper rapper.

 The album went on to have amazing sales and then the tour became a reality, with even more dates added to it all over the place. Roger was going to be on the road for at least three months, a very long time which scared him do to his disease. He visited the specialists before leaving and they gladly confirmed the disease had slowed down and it wasn’t advancing as fast as before. They gave him new medicine and begged for him to try to shorten the tour, if it was possible. Besides, they asked Roger to wear sunglasses at all times in order not to force his eyes too much. Hope was very much alive and he decided to be a good boy and just follow everyone’s advice.

 The first date of the tour was simply the best day of his life. People were cheering his name and they all sang the lyrics at the same time he was rapping and singing. He was pumped all through the performance, even in such a small venue (about a thousand people could fit in). When it was over, he signed autographs on copies of his album and posed for pictures with many people, men and women and even some kids that somehow appeared after the show. He celebrated that night at the hotel with a small party, thanking everyone involved in putting him in the place where he was now. He felt like the luckiest man on Earth and he just wanted to share that feeling with every single person.

 The following dates, he used his sunglasses and received praise for that particular style. Many more pictures were taken and autographs signed. He even got to do some press, mainly radio but also interviews for magazine that were specialized in music. He was glad to receive anyone interested in knowing his story, his struggle from when he was just a boy dreaming to be a singer and then having to do something else for a living because he had nowhere else to go but even then still singing and rapping and being who he really was. People liked his story because it felt real and honest and he loved to talk about it because he was very proud of his roots and of his pathway to recognition.

 The following day from that interview, he had his first foreign date. It was on a small venue, so it was going to be familiar and not intimidating. He jumped on stage and started with the most popular song there but then, as he was moving, he tripped and had to stop singing for a couple of minutes. He apologized and kept on going but the seed had been planted. He was nervous because he thought of the reason behind tripping. He kept singing and rapping, but people were not as pumped as in other places. Roger tried to finish but the stress was too much and he just fainted. He felt his body move and he heard some voice but he just surrendered to the pain and to tiredness of his body.

 In the hospital, the first thing he did was screaming. He had woken up but he hadn’t realized it for a while as he woke up blind. When he understood what was going on, he just screamed and almost tried to pierce his eyes to make them work. Some family members and Malik stopped him but he had to be sedated in order to be controlled. When he woke up, very late that evening, he heard his specialists talking with his doctor there. She was surprised about his condition but they were explaining how the disease just jumped ahead due to stress. It had been uncontrollable all along. In his bed, Roger cried in silence and tried to figure out what his life was going to be from then on.

El mejor lugar de la Tierra

   El hotel era enorme, con varios pisos de habitaciones, numerosos espacios de ocio y una vista hermosa sobra la bahía. Incluso tenía playa privada, algo poco común para la zona. La gente solo tenía que tomar sus cosas y bajar al lobby y a dos pasos tenía todo lo que podía ofrecer esta región. Porque monumentos históricos, museos y demás, la verdad no había. Todo eso estaba en ciudades o pueblos a unas horas de distancia en automóvil. Donde estaba el hotel era un balneario que había nacido precisamente por el bien del turismo y por ninguna otra razón. Quien iba allí, solo se quedaba en su hotel y rara vez salía de allí, a menos que fuese a visitar alguno de los enormes centro comerciales disponibles para que la gente se diere una vuelta y comprara lo que fuera.

 En la noche, era de las pocas ciudades de la región que no descansaba. Dedicada al ocio, la ciudad tenía cientos de discotecas de todo tipo y para todo público, así que siempre estaban llenas de gente, en especial si era fin de año o mitad de año. Esas temporadas eran las de mayor agitación. Ya en otros meses el movimiento bajaba pero todo seguía abierto y partes de la ciudad se convertían en un pueblo fantasma. Calles peatonales hermosas y playas adecuadas al menor detalle eran terrenos para que el viento jugara con alguna bolsa de papel o de plástico, pero nada más que eso. En eso meses bajos la gente se quedaba más en sus hoteles y eran pocos los turistas interesados en una ciudad tan artificial y sin ningún interés fuera del comercio.

 Era bastante especial imaginar, en una de esas noches locas de fin de año, todo lo que pasaba en el mismo momento en esa ciudad. En un solo hotel, sucedían cosas que nadie se imaginaba, desde orgías en uno de los pisos más altos hasta fiestas de cumpleaños para bebés en una de las pequeñas salas de conferencias. Si en una habitación había alguien predicando la palabra como si estuviese frente a miles de feligreses, en la siguiente algún adolescente se masturbaba con alguna de las decenas de canales pornográficos disponibles. Si alguien estaba comiendo solo en la cama, dos pasos más allá había alguien muriendo, tal vez por su propia mano o tal vez asesinado por alguien con envidia.

 El caso era que este balneario había sido construido sobre la premisa de permitir y posibilitarlo todo para los turistas, no dejar nada de lado y no juzgar a nadie por nada. La idea era ofrecer y que hubiera quién comprara. Había cosas ilegales, claro, pero se conseguían y era increíblemente fácil.  Los trabajadores de hoteles, casinos, parques temáticos, centros comerciales, restaurantes, discotecas y demás, habían aprendido a no juzgar a nadie y a aceptarlo todo con tal de que viniera atado a un precio en metálico y ese concepto había hecho de la ciudad en la bahía, una de las urbes más ricas de este lado del mundo.

 Claro, había muchos en la lejanía, que la condenaban como un lugar de perdición y de libertinaje. Pero la realidad era que había sitio para todos allí. Como podían reunirse miles de doctores para conferencias médicas relacionadas a mil y una enfermedades, también había retiros espirituales en hoteles situados a las afueras, había adolescente enloqueciéndose en grupo en verano o parejas de ancianos que venían a disfrutar de sus años dorados en las blancas playas de la zona. Todo podían venir y nadie podía condenar pues tenían espacios particulares para cada uno. Nada se transformaba ni cambiaba sino que estaba muy bien dividido y repartido. Por eso en temporada baja había zonas solitarias que en otras épocas del año estaban vibrantes de alegría.

 Eso sí, había policía y demás fuerzas del orden. No era un paraíso por completo y si hacía alguien algo reprobable, como matar, se le condenaba de la manera más dura y rápida posible. Esto era así porque no querían tampoco mostrar que era un lugar que lo perdonaba todo porque incluso en el cielo existen los limites. La policía era la más eficiente de la región, con los mejores equipos y la mejor gente trabajando para que las personas se pasaran su tiempo divirtiéndose y no preocupándose por cosas que ellos podían manejar a la perfección. Eran muy bien seleccionados para sus puestos y estaban listos siempre para reaccionar incluso antes que los mismos criminales.

 Eso sí, juzgados no había. Todo el que iba a ser procesado debía ser enviado a otra ciudad donde estaban los juzgados para la ciudad en la bahía. Era una situación muy particular que las cortes de una ciudad quedaran en otra pero esto era resultado, claro como el agua, del poder que tenía el dinero. Básicamente, los gobernantes del balneario controlaban la región y hacer que otras ciudades hicieran lo que ellos querían era bastante fácil pues cualquier interacción beneficiaba a ambas partes. No había nadie que se quejara, al menos no en voz alta, de estas transacciones. Menos aún con los millones que iban al bolsillo de todos un poco cada año. No parecía lo óptimo, pero lo era.

 Así era con varias cosas como la basura o el tratamiento de aguas residuales. Todo eso se hacía lejos, en poblaciones satélite que los turistas jamás veían. El aeropuerto había sido construido de camino a ningún lado, por lo que quién llegaba por aire solo veía una carretera perfecta muy bien decorada. Desde el aire posiblemente viesen un poco más pero incluso los planes de vuelo estaban hechos para dar vista al increíble balneario y no dar mucha cancha a que la gente viese lo que había más allá. Si querían visitar otras ciudades, habían buses pero no eran muy utilizados. Para que ir a otro lado cuando todo estaba allí.

 Claro, había gente que llegaba y se quería ir ahí mismo. Todos aquellos disque artistas que se peinan su imaginaria barba y creen que todo lo que sale de sus bocas y cerebros es oro, todos ellos odiaban o al menos fingían odiar al pobre balneario. Había escritores que informaban de sus oscura realidad e incluso poetas que condenaban a la pobre ciudad a ser algo menos que Sodoma y Gomorra, solo que con niños y parques acuáticos. Los músicos, siempre los más eclécticos, amaban en cambio el choque y el desastre que era la ciudad para sus sentidos. Y los cineastas trataban siempre de recrearla, en todo sentido, pues rodar en la ciudad era algo que no muchos directores se podían costear. Incluso para todos ellos había lugar, así no lo quisieran.

 Era gracioso ver la evolución de alguien que se quedara por más de una semana: los primeros días con su uniforme. Esto quiere decir con lo que usa siempre en casa. Se veían los sombreros anticuados de los “hipster”, los pantalones anchos de los “skaters”, las ropas negras de los góticos y demás atuendos particulares. Pasada solo la primera semana, todo eso ya estaba en una maleta y el uniforme cambiaba diametralmente: chancletas, bermudas y camisetas de tela delgada. Eso sin contar los vestidos de baño que existían en todas formas y colores en el balneario y se podían ver en las playas con facilidad. Incluso habían una playa nudista por si el cambio de vestuario había sido extremo.

 Sin duda, era un lugar muy particular de este mundo. La gente se convertía en alguien más allí. La mayoría de las veces se puede decir que eran mejores versiones de si mismos pues, como la ciudad no juzgaba, a ellos eso se les pegaba y empezaban a no juzgar. En esos momentos era cuando se veía en la calle conversaciones entre personas que en otros contextos jamás se reconocerían una a la otra e incluso relaciones amorosas y sexuales entre gente que jamás cruzaría caminos en ningún otro lado del mundo. Eso sí, todas esas relaciones amistosas casi siempre morían allí mismo, fuese en el hotel o en el aeropuerto. Pocas sobrevivían el vuelo a casa, pero es que no estaban hechas para ello.

 Cuando las personas volvían a casa y se les preguntaba que tal era todo, siempre eran reacios. Era como si les diera vergüenza confesar que era el mejor lugar de la Tierra. No les gustaba confesar que la diversión pudiese tener tantas vías y que las cosas podían ser mucho más simples que en la mayoría de sus vidas. Se daban cuenta que era un lugar donde estaban felices. Tal vez demasiado cerca de un consumismo desenfrenado, pero auténticamente felices. Desde los que iban a comprar todos los días hasta los que iban a quedarse al campo nudista que quedaba en la periferia. Todos sonrían más allí.

  Debe ser por eso que la gente sigue promocionando al sitio a pesar de que nadie lo hace con argumentos de peso. Suele ser una recomendación simple que cada persona debe tomar como mejor le parezca. Y como la curiosidad mató al gato, la gente termina yendo simplemente por saber cual es el misterio del balneario de la bahía. Y el misterio es, al fin de cuentas, que no existe nada detrás de la cortina pues todo está a la vista y solo hay que decidirse a tomarlo.