CHAPTER V: TROPICAL LAGOON
Dawn breaks over Nomad Coast with a scarlet mantle covering the entire island in its splendor. Monica, Daphne, Alex, and I are on the beach, watching the waves rise with gentle impetus, while Fabio, Jordan, and Lena glide over them on their winding surfboards. The lifeguards open their post, and the hammock attendants of Tropical Lagoon come and go with mattresses and umbrellas between rows of hammocks. Seagulls tend to fly, dropping onto the sea. Some passers-by walk in solitary company along the shores of Nomad Coast. A disconcerting calm spreads across the beach, and as I contemplate everything around me, a calm and peaceful harmony invades me from within.
Time flies on the beach, so much so that we don't even know how long we've been here. The surfers come out of the water, and the morning continues with laughter. Lena gets up from her towel and waves to someone from afar. We all turn to see who it is, as she tells us:
—Guys, there's my grandpa, I'm going to say hello to him.
Lena heads to the beach bar, and I ask Monica:
—Who is her grandfather?
—That's Mikel, the owner of all this —Monica replies—. He's a very important person in Nomad Coast; from nothing, a beach bar with a few hammocks emerged, and now he's one of the wealthiest people on the island.
—He must be a very interesting person —I say to her.
—Indeed —Jordan interjects—, and a bit eccentric.
—Come on, let's go over! You'll love meeting him —Monica tells me.
—Today he's going to hold one of the most anticipated parties of the year —Daphne says—, the end-of-summer party...
—That's why we came so early —Fabio interrupts him—. We have to enjoy the calm before chaos erupts; in a few hours, this place will be invaded by people from Palm Road.
—When does the party start? —I inquire.
—In a few hours —Fabio replies—, it lasts almost all day.
—We'll have a great time! —Daphne adds with a sweet smile.
We arrive at the Tropical Lagoon Beach Club, and there Lena introduces us to her grandfather. Mikel is certainly a mysterious person. His hair is slicked back and white as snow, dark glasses hide his eyes, and he wears a yellow linen shirt and white Bermuda shorts that add a touch of luminous freshness to his attire. His steps sparkle with golden sneakers that gleam as if carrying the sun's rays. Although he has an unusual appearance, Mikel is an endearing person.
—Guys, come in and let's have a drink —Mikel invites us—. The beach bar will soon be packed.
The Tropical Lagoon is beautifully adorned. Every corner is decorated with clusters of white lilies and wisteria hanging from the wooden beams. On the terrace of the beach bar, there is a pergola with long rows of garlands extended across its roof. I notice that the waiters at Tropical Lagoon wear the same shirt as Lena. It is white as a sea of clouds, and on that luminous white, a spiral-drawn sun, printed in dark gray, stands out. Additionally, arched letters form the name of the beach bar: Tropical Lagoon Beach Club.
—Excuse me, your face doesn't ring a bell —Mikel suddenly says to me—. You're from out of town, aren't you?
—Yes, I've come on a trip...
—Grandpa, she's come to Nomad Coast to find herself —Lena asserts—. She's a very interesting person; I'm sure you'll get along well.
—That's important —Mikel says—, getting to know oneself is the first step to making one's 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 find himself. In Nomad Coast, he found a place to plant his seed by starting a humble fishing business.
—And how did you start with this business? —I ask him with great curiosity.
—Following my father's example, when I was barely sixteen, I set up a small wooden beach bar on this very beach. It was a modest business, and I always dreamed of something bigger, something that would make people feel alive and transform this beach into a unique destination. So I saved some money and decided to risk it all. I closed the beach bar for a summer and traveled across different continents, visiting places where I discovered new ideas to transform my business. Upon returning from my travels around the world, I changed the beach bar with an innovative approach: new facilities, exotic cocktails, parties, and a unique atmosphere. The change was overwhelming; the beach bar transformed into a reflection of all those moments I had experienced abroad, and that made the island's people 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 has left—. And, did achieving it make you happy?
—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 replies—, 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 reflect. Suddenly, Alex comes to mind.
—Mikel, I know someone I'd like to help —I tell him—, but I don't know how I can do it. Could you give me some advice?
—Yes, of course —Mikel replies with a smile—, what's wrong with them?
—Well, you see...
Suddenly, one of the waiters approaches Mikel, and as they are organizing the final preparations, we cannot continue our conversation, so I will have to keep thinking on my own about how to help Alex keep Bunker Port afloat.
I have lunch with Monica's group at Tropical Lagoon and then we have some coffee. The end-of-summer party is about to begin, but suddenly a doubt assails me, pulling me out of that pleasant bubble of relaxation that envelops me in Tropical Lagoon. These days on Nomad Coast have been very intense, and I've just forgotten my true purpose on this island. I still haven't found the meaning of the white necklace and the letter with that address. Suddenly, an insatiable longing to discover the truth invades me. 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 find out about my roots. So I decide to get up from my stool and say to Monica and her friends:
—Guys, I have to go.
—What do you mean you're leaving? The party has just begun! —Lena interjects.
—I forgot something at the hostel, I'll be right back —I reply.
—What? —Monica asks me.
I don't know how to answer this. I don't know whether to tell them the truth; if I do, they might be surprised by me, but if I do, perhaps 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 falls between us, and everyone stares at me with eyes wide in suspense.
—In search of your origins? —Jordan asks me, surprised.
—Yes, I came to this island to find my origins —I reply—. A few months ago, I found a necklace 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 surely belongs to one of your ancestors.
—I don't know, but my mission is to find out.
—I'll help you —Monica offers—. What address was on the letter?
—Old Town 1, Nomad Coast —I reply.
—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 arrive in no time.
—Is the letter very old? —Lena asks me—. Old Town has changed a lot from year to year; the address on the letter is probably no longer the same.
—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, a beautiful landscape stretches out that I gaze at from the window. After driving a mile and a half inland, we arrive at Old Town. This district is a harmonious and bright place. A stone fountain decorates the center of the square, which is surrounded by restaurants and small shops. As Monica looks for parking, we pass near the Nomad Coast town hall, which is 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; just drop me off here, I'll manage somehow.
—No, I'm going to help you find that address —Monica states.
—I insist, Monica, I'll find it —I tell her, given her persistence—. Go to the party, I'll arrive a little later.
—Alright, but don't take too long —she tells me, as I get out of the car—. Good luck, Nomad! You'll tell us all about it later.
Before Monica leaves, I finish:
—Thanks for everything, Monica.
Now I am in the only place where I might find answers to all my questions. All I have to do is ask any resident of Old Town for the address on the letter. However, I can't find anyone to ask. I am in what appears to be a residential area, and there isn't a whisper to be heard here.
After walking down a solitary alley, an elderly, very short man passes me; on his right shoulder, he carries a domesticated Nomad skylark as if it were an inseparable companion. This man doesn't use a cane and is dressed in modern attire. So I approach him and ask:
—Excuse me, could you tell me where number one of Old Town is?
A slight smile forms on the old man's lips, and he replies:
—Number one of Old Town doesn't exist —the old man mutters, and as he tells me, a tremendous confusion reigns within me—. But I can tell you that now number one of Old Town is a residence, that's precisely where I'm coming 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 if I want to hear his story, he starts to ramble on about what happened to him today, while the Nomad lark flaps its wings, perches on his head, and begins to peck at his graying complexion.
—Excuse me, is that a Nomad lark? —I ask, interrupting his monologue.
—Yes, I tamed it when it was still a chick —he answers very slowly, not caring that I interrupted his lengthy discourse—. I'm an ornithology enthusiast; my house is full of birds. If you want, you can come with me, and I'll show you all my little animals. Do you like birds too?
—Well, in a way, I've come to this island for the first time, and I've already seen more than one Nomad skylark —I reply—, but don't worry, I'm in a hurry, and I'm trying to find this address, although if you told me it no longer exists...
—If it helps you, ask for my nephew, his name is Dallas. He's blond with blue eyes, always busy calling people for business matters... He'll know how to give you the information you need about Old Town 1, he's lived there for a long time, even before the student residences were built. To get there, you'll have to follow this street straight ahead, continue to your right, and there's the town hall; you'll see a tailor shop, and right across from it, you'll see the urbanization.
—Thank you very much —I conclude.
Without saying anything more, the old man walks away with very light steps in the opposite direction. I guide myself by what he told me, and continuing straight ahead, I turn right, and a few steps later, I reach a street adjacent to the town hall. As the gentleman told me, I see the tailor shop and, in the distance, the urbanization. However, as I continue on my way, I wonder if what I am doing is useful. Old Town 1 of Nomad Coast no longer exists; perhaps what I want to find doesn't exist either. Maybe it's time to give up, leave everything, and go back to the end-of-summer party... Nevertheless, now that I've come this far, I can't give up; I have to try one last time.
Upon reaching the residences, I find an immense garden decorated in a very exquisite way. The garden has a stench of electronic cigarette smoke and alcohol, because there are a lot of young people having an outdoor drinking party. Suddenly, the threshold door of one of the blocks opens, and a young man dressed in beach attire appears, with his phone glued to his ear, talking and not paying much attention to the ruckus. He has golden hair and very expressive blue eyes. He perfectly matches the man the old gentleman described to me; perhaps he is his nephew, Dallas. I'm going to approach him and ask him about Old Town 1; he might be the only person on the island who can give me some information about this blessed address. However, before I can get close to him, he gets into his car and quickly drives away.
Since I couldn't talk to him, I approach the drinking party and ask one of the young men:
—Excuse me, do you know the guy who just came out of the portal?
—I don't, but my friend surely knows who he is —he replies—, he lives here. Saúl, come here!
Saúl, a ruddy-faced young man with very prominent light eyes, approaches us and asks with a somewhat French and stammering accent:
—What do you want?
—Ask about the boy who just left the building —he says, slurring his words, as he is under the influence of alcohol.
—Oh yes, Dallas! —Saúl exclaims, smiling broadly, with his French accent—, he's my neighbor on the first floor.
Indeed, it was Dallas, the nephew of the strange man I had just bumped into.
—Well, I'm looking for him, but he left too quickly —I tell him—. Do you know where he might have gone?
—He's probably going to the end-of-summer party —he tells me—. The Tropical Lagoon beach bar throws a big party every year. We're going right after this, we're waiting for some friends, do you want to join us for the pre-party?
I can't believe it, Dallas is going to the same place I was at 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.
Quickly, I leave the residence's garden and look for a way to get back to Tropical Lagoon. I call Monica, but she doesn't answer. She's probably already at the party, so I'll have to walk back. At a forced pace, I head to Nomad Coast beach, following the directions on my phone's GPS. Although it was a long walk, I finally reached the coast and after walking a short stretch along the promenade, I arrived at the beach bar. At that moment, the sun begins to set, painting the sky in orange hues. There are a lot of people at Tropical Lagoon. The music is lively, mixing with laughter and the clinking of glasses. On the beach, people dance barefoot on the sand, celebrating the end of summer with joy. On the terrace, they enjoy the last hours, sitting and having a drink while chatting or watching the sunset. I look for Dallas, but I can't find him. I also can't see Monica and her group; the crowd prevents me from seeing anything.
As I look at the bar at Tropical Lagoon, suddenly, after losing sight of him in Old Town, I see Dallas himself sitting on a stool, having a cocktail. As I approach the bar, I think about the first thing I'm going to ask him, everything I have to tell him, and all my questions about Old Town 1.
Dallas is sitting with his back to me. I approach him with light steps, and he immediately senses my presence, turns around, and looks at me in surprise.
—Excuse me, are you Dallas? —I ask him with a certain 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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