Our friend lost her identity after an extensive lifesaving brain operation. She used to be a successful lawyer.
Can she get her identity back?
Can she get an identity?
Can she get whatever it takes to feel joie de vivre as she once used to?
Can we do anything to help?
We have to.
Since Alcudia beach has been emptied of its millions of tourists by the end of October we are living in a secluded nature reserve with seven kilometers of unspoiled beach of white soft sand. The Mediterranean is shining emerald green and is so peaceful so you can hear and try to figure your own thoughts.
L is planing to join us. She says. But will she? Does she have the energy to raise herself up and undertake this journey?
We embrace her hope and make acquaintance with our paradise. We walk. Not only on the beach.
We begin to see things.
The promenade path through the beach is wide enough for sex people, or three people and two normally anxious dogs, and is daily cleaned. The bins are being emptied before sunrise, around six thirty. Shortly afterwards, as street lamps are still on, comes a vehicle with revolving brushes that are supposed to clean the asphalt and remove the sand.
It is merely distributing the sand all over the place.
This vehicle is though a tremendous success in waking everybody up, even those who are already awake. And it keeps unemployment low, driven by a chain smoking bored middle aged man.
There are so many ways to keep unemployment low round here.
They arrive later on. Shortly before sunrise.
An army equipped with enormous and constantly swallowing blue trash bags and backpacks with sandwiches and light drinks.
After a while you realize it is an army of individuals whereby each individual implements its own technique, discipline and appearance.
A young woman with a dark blue tie and a dark blue jacket and blue jeans is staring at the sand with a searching gaze moving like a lighthouse. While her proud figure advances and her blue trash bag swallows, the gap between her and the rest of the group becomes that big that you can’t tell she is a part of it.
Even a few other individuals are ambitious and do substantial efforts to justify their grant while talking to their mates. Yet not so few regard the trash finding and removing as a sideline unworthy to practice.
Yet they practice lots of other activities while their trash bags dingle beyond them in the sand.
They eat. They drink. They talk on their cellphones and do every thinkable activity with those gadgets. They interact with their colleagues. They smoke.
The only unduly activity seems to be sitting or lying down.
We even leave the beach. We have found a conditori and a grocery with a friendly clerk on a fish counter.
We feel at home and have seen a lot, already after a month.
Yet we have not seen L.