CHAPTER V: TROPICAL LAGOON
Dawn rises over Nomad Coast with a blanket of rosy glow that covers the entire island in its splendor. Monica, Dafne, Alex, and I are on the beach, watching the waves rise over the waters with a gentle force, while Fabio, Jordan, and Lena glide over them on their winding surfboards. Lifeguards open the lifeguard station, and hammock attendants at Tropical Lagoon come and go with mattresses and umbrellas between the lounger aisles. Seagulls take flight, tumbling into the sea. The occasional passerby walks alone along the shores of Nomad Coast. A disconcerting calm spreads across the beach, and as I contemplate everything around me, a light and peaceful harmony fills me.
At the beach, time flies, so fast we don't even know how long we've been here. The surfers leave the water and the morning continues with laughter. Lena gets up from her towel and waves to someone from a distance. We all turn to see who it is, as she says:
—Guys, there's my grandpa, I'm going to say hello.
Lena heads to the beach bar and I ask Monica:
—Who is your grandfather?
"It's Mikel, the owner of all this," Monica answers. "He's a very important person on Nomad Coast. He started with a beach bar with just a few sunbeds from nothing and is now one of the island's richest people."
"You must be a very interesting person," I tell him.
“Absolutely,” Jordan chimes in, “and a bit quirky.”
"Come on, let's go over there! You'll love meeting him," Monica tells me.
—Today is one of the most anticipated parties of the year—says Dafne—the end-of-summer party...
"That's why we came so early," Fabio interrupts. "We have to take advantage of the calm before chaos begins. In a few hours, this place will be invaded by the Palm Road people."
"When does the party start?" I ask.
—In a few hours, —Fabio answers me— it will last almost all day.
"We'll have a great time!" Dafne adds with a sweet smile.
We arrive at the Tropical Lagoon Beach Club, where Lena introduces us to her grandfather. Mikel is a truly mysterious person. His hair is very slicked back and snow-white, dark glasses obscure his eyes, and he's wearing a yellow linen shirt and white Bermuda shorts that add a touch of luminous freshness to his outfit. His steps are filled with sparkle from his golden sneakers, which sparkle as if carrying the sun's rays. Despite his unusual appearance, Mikel is a very endearing person.
"Guys, come in and have a drink," Mikel invites us. "The bar will soon be packed to the rafters."
The Tropical Lagoon is beautifully decorated. Every corner is decorated with bunches of lilies and white wisteria hanging from the wooden beams. On the beach bar's terrace, there's a pergola with long rows of garlands draped across its roof. I notice that the Tropical Lagoon waiters are wearing the same T-shirt as Lena. It's as white as a sea of clouds, and against that luminous whiteness stands out a spiral sun printed in dark gray. In addition, arched letters spell out the name of the beach bar: Tropical Lagoon Beach Club.
"Sorry, your face doesn't recognize me," Mikel suddenly says. "You're from out of town, right?"
—Yes, I've come on a trip...
"Grandpa, he came to Nomad Coast to meet me," Lena agrees. "He's a very interesting person. I'm sure you'll get along well."
"That's important," Mikel says. "Knowing yourself is the first step to making your way in the world, to smiling at life, to enjoying every moment, and, above all, to not getting lost on winding paths. My father also came to this island to get to know himself. On Nomad Coast, he found a place to plant his seed by starting a humble fishing business."
"So how did you get started in this business?" I ask, very curious.
—Following my father's example, I set up a small wooden beach bar on this very beach at just sixteen years old. It was a modest business, and I always dreamed of something bigger, something that would excite people and transform this beach into a unique destination. So I saved a little money and decided to risk it all. I closed the beach bar for a summer and traveled to different continents, visiting places where I discovered new ideas to transform my business. Upon returning from my travels around the world, I renovated the beach bar with an innovative approach: new facilities, exotic cocktails, parties, and a unique atmosphere. The change was overwhelming; the beach bar became a reflection of all those moments I had experienced abroad, and that made the people of the island discover new ways of life and made those who came from outside feel at home.
"Entrepreneurship has always appealed to me," I say, noticing that Lena and everyone else have left. "And were you happy about it?"
—For me, all of this was a personal goal, but when I achieved it, I realized that what truly made me happy was sharing it with others —he answers—, because we believe that happiness depends on what we get for ourselves, but in reality it lies in what we give to others.
Wise words. What Lena's grandfather just said makes me think. Suddenly, Alex comes to mind.
—Mikel, I know someone I'd like to help, I say, but I don't know how. Could you give me some advice?
—Yes, of course —Mikel answers me with a smile—, what's wrong?
—Look, you see...
Suddenly, one of the waiters approaches Mikel, and since they're making the final preparations, we can't continue the conversation, so I'll have to keep thinking on my own about how to help Alex keep Bunker Port standing.
I have lunch with Monica's group at the Tropical Lagoon, and then we have coffees. The end-of-summer party is about to begin, but suddenly a doubt strikes me, causing me to leave the pleasant bubble of relaxation that surrounds me at the Tropical Lagoon. These days on Nomad Coast have been very intense, and I've just forgotten what my true purpose is on this island. I still haven't figured out the meaning of the white necklace and the letter with that address. Suddenly, I'm overcome with an insatiable desire to discover the truth. I won't be able to stay at the party; I can't waste any more time. I have to go to that place to discover my roots. So I decide to get up from my stool and say to Monica and her friends:
—Guys, I have to go.
"How are you going to leave? The party's just getting started!" Lena chimes in.
"I forgot something at the hostel. I'll be right back," I reply.
"What?" Monica asks me.
I don't know what to say to this. I don't know if I should tell them the truth. If I do, they might be surprised at me, but if I do, maybe one of them can help me find answers.
"I have to go in search of my origins," I reply.
As I say this, a deafening silence forms between us and everyone stares at me with their eyes in suspense.
"In search of your origins?" Jordan asks me, puzzled.
"Yes, I came to this island to find my roots," I reply. "A few months ago, I found a string of white clay beads and a letter with an address on this island in my grandfather's basement."
"It can't be! Now I understand why you were wearing the white clay bead necklace," Monica says. "It probably belongs to an ancestor of yours."
—I don't know, but my mission is to find out.
"I'll help you," Monica suggests. "What address was on the letter?"
“Old Town 1 of Nomad Coast,” I answer.
"Ah, Old Town! It's not that far," Monica asserts. "It's the oldest neighborhood on the island. I'll take you there; we'll be there in no time."
"Is the letter very old?" Lena asks me. "Old Town has changed a lot from one year to the next; the address on the letter probably isn't the same anymore."
"There are some people who have lived in Old Town all their lives, someone must know something," Monica says.
Monica and I leave Tropical Lagoon and get into her car. On the way to Old Town, I admire the beautiful landscape from the window. After driving a mile inland, we reach Old Town. This district is a harmonious and light-filled place. A stone fountain decorates the center of the square, which is surrounded by restaurants and small shops. While Monica looks for parking, we pass by the Nomad Coast town hall, a tall and imposing building.
Since I don't want Monica to miss the end-of-summer party, I tell her:
—Monica, don't worry about parking, drop me off here, I'll figure it out however I can.
"No, I'll help you find that address," Monica says.
"I insist, Monica, I'll find her," I say, given her persistence. "Go to the party. I'll be back a little later."
"Okay, but don't take too long," he says as I get out of the car. "Good luck, Nomad! Let us know later."
Before Monica leaves, last:
—Thank you for everything, Monica.
Now I'm in the only place where I might find the answer to all my questions. All I have to do is ask any resident of Old Town for the address of the letter. However, I can't find anyone to ask. I'm in what appears to be a residential area, and there isn't even a murmur to be heard around here.
After walking down a lonely alley, a very short, elderly man passes by me, carrying a tame lark on his right shoulder, like a lovebird. This man doesn't use a cane and dresses in a modern style. I approach him and ask:
—Excuse me, could you tell me where number one in Old Town is?
A slight smile appears on the old man's lips and he answers me:
"Number 1 Old Town doesn't exist," the old man mumbles, and when he tells me this, I feel terribly confused. "But I can tell you that Number 1 Old Town is now a nursing home; that's precisely where I come from. My nephew lives there, and since he's so kind to his family, he always helps us in any way he can."
Without asking me if I want to hear his story, he begins to ramble on about what happened to him today, while the wandering lark flaps its wings, lands on his head, and begins to peck at his gray skin.
"Excuse me, are you a wandering lark?" I ask, interrupting his monologue.
"Yes, I tamed her when she was still a fledgling," he answers very slowly, not caring that I've interrupted his long-winded rant. "I'm a keen ornithologist; my house is full of birds. If you'd like, you can come with me and I'll show you all my little animals. Do you like birds too?"
"Well, in a way, I'm on this island for the first time, and I've already seen more than one wandering lark," I reply, "but don't worry, I'm in a hurry and I'm trying to find this address, even though you told me it no longer exists..."
—If it helps, ask for my nephew. His name is Dallas. He's blond with blue eyes and is always very busy calling around on business matters... He'll be able to give you all the information you need about Old Town 1. He's lived there for a long time, even before the student dorms were built. To get there, you'll have to follow this street straight ahead. Keep to the right, and there's the town hall. You'll see a tailor-made suit shop, and right in front of you, you'll see the housing development.
—Thank you very much —I conclude.
Without another word, the old man walks off, his steps briskly in the opposite direction. I follow what he's told me, and as I continue forward, I turn right and, after a few steps, I reach a street adjacent to the town hall. As the man told me, I can see the suit shop and the residential development in the distance. However, as I continue on my way, I wonder if what I'm doing is worth it. Nomad Coast's Old Town 1 no longer exists, and perhaps what I'm trying to find no longer exists either. Maybe it's time to give up, leave everything behind, and return to the end-of-summer party... However, now that I've come this far, I can't give up; I have to try one last time.
Upon arriving at the residences, I find myself in front of a vast, beautifully decorated garden. The stench of e-cigarette smoke and alcohol wafts through the garden, as a lot of young people are partying. Suddenly, the door to one of the buildings opens, and a young man in beach attire appears, his phone pressed to his ear, talking and paying little attention to the revelry. He has golden hair and expressive blue eyes. He fits perfectly with the man the elderly gentleman described to me; perhaps it's his nephew, Dallas. I'm going to ask him about Old Town 1; he's possibly the only person on the island who can give me any information about this damn address. However, before I can get close to him, he gets into his car and quickly drives off.
Since I haven't been able to talk to him, I approach the party and ask one of the young people:
—Excuse me, do you know the boy who just came out of the doorway?
"Not me, but my friend probably knows who he is," he replies. "He lives here. Saul, come here!"
Saúl, a young man with blond hair and very bulging light eyes, approaches us and asks us with a slightly French accent and stammering:
-What do you want?
"Ask for the boy who just came out of the doorway," he says, mumbling, since he's under the influence of alcohol.
"Oh yeah, Dallas!" Saul says, smiling with his French accent. "That's my neighbor from the first floor."
Sure enough, it was Dallas, the nephew of the strange man I had passed a few moments before.
"Well, I've been looking for him, but he left too quickly," I say. "Do you know where he might have gone?"
"I'll probably go to the end-of-summer party," he tells me. "The Tropical Lagoon beach bar throws a huge party every year. We're going afterward. We're waiting for some friends. Are you up for the pre-summer party?"
I can't believe it, Dallas is going to the same place I was just a few hours ago. I could have stayed there and everything would have been easier. I couldn't find Dallas in Old Town, but at least I visited a new neighborhood.
—Maybe another time, thanks.
I quickly leave the residence's garden and look for a way back to Tropical Lagoon. I've called Monica, but she doesn't pick up. She's probably already at the party, so I'll have to walk back. I head for Nomad Coast beach, following the GPS on my phone. Although it's a long walk, I finally reach the coast and, after a short walk along the promenade, I arrive at the beach bar. Just then, the sun is beginning to set, turning the sky orange. Tropical Lagoon is packed with people. The music is lively, mingling with laughter and the clinking of glasses. On the beach, people are dancing barefoot on the sand, joyfully celebrating the end of summer. On the terrace, they're enjoying the last few hours, sitting with a drink while chatting or watching the sunset. I look around for Dallas, but I can't find him. I can't see Monica and her group either; the crowd doesn't let me see anything.
As I look at the bar at Tropical Lagoon, I suddenly see Dallas himself sitting on a stool, sipping a cocktail, after having lost sight of him in Old Town. As I approach the bar, I think about the first thing I'm going to ask him, everything I have to say, and all my questions about Old Town 1.
Dallas is sitting with his back turned, so I approach him with small steps and he immediately notices my presence, turns around and looks at me strangely.
"Excuse me, are you Dallas?" I ask with some seriousness.
"Yes, who are you?" he says, astonished.
"You can call me Nomad," I reply immediately. "I wanted to ask you about Old Town 1."
—Old Town 1, a long story... —Dallas sighs.
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