A day at the beach

 

(Thanks to the enormous Mariana Rimoldi-Sevellec for this translation!)

I could no longer put up with what started as a kind suggestion from my family and ended up as merciless criticism of the way I am, as they listed out: that only a weirdo like me spends almost a month by the sea without once setting foot on the beach, that I can’t go back home without at least having dangled my feet in the warm waters of the State of Florida and, finally, walking on the sand barefoot and letting the tropical breezes ruffle my hair is good for who knows what kind of spiritual harmony and other esotericism of the sort.

The members of my family have good intentions, but they are somewhat contradictory. On the one hand they insist that I should get a tan, on the other hand, they remind me a thousand times to smear myself with a sunscreen that is at least SPF 50, which, if I understood correctly, makes sure that your body feels like it hasn’t been exposed to the sun at all. Why do it, then? It's like going blindfolded to the movies.

So I went to great lengths to pick the perfect beach and I drove almost an hour to get there, hoping to find an appropriate place to sit and read (I forgot my mate-drinking set, the one activity that may justify the existence of beaches). Mission Impossible: the sun was too glaring to enjoy the book, the tropical breeze was quite similar to gusts of wind and, on top of that, birds and kids were equally screaming at the top of their lungs (not equally, actually the former were more in tune). I found a palm tree, but as soon as I sat down under its shade I saw a lizard pass by at the threatening distance of two meters. I decided that this place was too dangerous to be at leisure. I was forced to remain in a state of high alert, something incompatible with any attempt to rest or relax.

I got ready to get at last my ankles wet, so I headed for the shore and discovered, to my disgust, that there were at least four pelicans standing there, apparently trying to catch something underwater (more dangers, now hidden). They have a whole continent to go feed themselves on but they had to pick this spot. Pelicans are nasty critters. They have the most disproportionately large beak I have ever seen, which diverts your attention and prevents you from noticing their baleful gaze. So typical of treacherous beings… I had never met one in person, but I hate them ever since I saw a picture of them in a little children's book. What service does a pelican offer to mankind?

I had to be extremely careful in the face of so many aggressions from Nature, which, as we all know, must be subdued by humans (v. Genesis 1:28) and not the other way around, as Greta Thunberg claims. The struggle of man against irrational beings cannot have two winners: one of the two will not come out of the fight alive. I abhor any plant or creature that is not edible. If you can’t eat them, their very existence lacks any justification for me. And I have never met anyone who eats pelicans or lizards.

At home everyone knows that I love seascapes, but in the same way I love all natural beauties: only if I look at them from a fourteenth floor (it’s less noisy), with air conditioning, a white towel and a phone at hand to order pizza. It doesn’t have to be luxurious, but at least it will spare me of the discomfort from the scorching sand, the wind, the substances that get your skin all greasy and then stick to your clothes. To make matters worse, everyone now walks around with a camera in their pocket and grandmothers seem obsessed with photographing their grandchildren during their first time at the seashore. This also makes adults scream and prevents people like me from reading.

Not that I am insensitive, or that I remain indifferent when contemplating the Iguazu Falls or the Colorado Canyon. Of course I am moved by these natural wonders. But I can’t bring myself to bet that they were the result of a superior, almighty and benevolent mind. Who knows if that was the case, or if they resulted from a random jumble of atoms, an earthquake or an eruption that ended up burying thousands of innocent people whose skeletons are still under places that people now photograph oblivious of the fact that they are disrespectfully standing on a cemetery. The minute I think this might have been the possible origin of the Iguazu Falls, I feel like blasting them away.

On the other hand, when I look at the prodigies of the human mind, I get a little closer to the idea of God, and I even suspect his existence. That really moves me. But not only when I look at Michelangelo's Last Judgment, the Empire State Building or an iPhone. I also marvel at a dish of tortelli from Emilia Romagna, a bicycle or a bidet. If a human mind was capable of inventing such wonders, I say to myself, mankind cannot have been the result of an irresponsible scramble of molecules. Some talented designer must have intervened a few minutes after the monkey came down from the tree and stood on two of its legs. The fall in Mendoza, the archipelago of Los Roques in Venezuela, the Sahara or the beach of Culebrita in Puerto Rico, extraordinary as they are, are nowhere near as surprising to me as I am amazed that someone decided to put wheels on suitcases (a few decades ago we used to hurt our hands when carrying them) or a timer on coffee makers (is there any greater contribution to human pleasure than a machine that waits with freshly brewed coffee exactly when you plan to get up?)

To be honest, not everything was negative during my excursion. I was able to put all these thoughts in order. It is no small thing, then, what I take away from the twenty-two minutes I spent on the beach.