2023-05-28 03:59:36
Under the ray of the siesta sun, a considerable size iguana drinks water from the joints in the patio floor that the hotel maids have just washed down. Impassive sticks out a small pink tongue. It is not a long and thin tongue like that of other reptiles, it is rounded like a petal, it passes through the warm humidity of the tile. I see her drink like any animal, like a cat, and I miss mine and the dog, I haven’t seen them for a week, since I left home to fly here. I pass by him and he doesn’t flinch, he barely raises his head, that dragon or punk boy head, and he looks at me without interest.
The hotel is new. It was built just three years ago, during the pandemic. In the morning we went for a walk and saw that they are building another one next to this one. It saddens me to think that until so recently, this place was so different: the low jungle reaching the edge of the beach; the dwarf palms, the succulents, the bushes whose name I don’t know, entangling themselves with the tangles of red algae that the sea pulls out and piles up on the shore, all in a joyous communion. Instead, now the coast will no longer stop twitching with huge buildings, with hundreds of rooms and people scattered on the white beach. It is not the only iguana I come across, they are everywhere, in the gardens, in the sand, in the surroundings. Silent as stones. In this place where silence seems to be a sin. Where nothing is ever silent: the music in the pool sector, the announcers who harangue the vacationers, the pool for singles and cheaters that is like an open-air tinder where they talk loudly, laugh out loud, dance , show themselves, invite rounds of drinks; the buffet where family conversations and the crying of children bustle. Luckily we got the silent wing, the side of the hotel that overlooks the hill that separates the building from the road. On our balcony we can enjoy the silence, the sunset that falls with that particular light, the light of the magic hour. Right in front of it is a tall palm tree that has a nest. We thought it was abandoned, it looks a bit battered, but a few days ago we saw that a bird that looks like a benteveo occupies it. There are other small birds that hop in the grass and others with a very long tail feather. Those are very brave.
We saw how one scared an iguana. The thing regarding the iguana was funny: first we noticed it attached to the trunk of a tree, it looked like bark until it started to move, sliding until it reached the ground. On the limestone floor we saw her turn white, and when she moved onto the grass, which is parched, we saw her turn brown. We were amazed that we had the time to watch it while everything was happening. Of course we knew that these critters can camouflage themselves, but being right there to see it got us excited.
We became friends in high school. Then we spent a few years without seeing each other. I met one once more when I moved to Buenos Aires, where she had lived for quite some time, but also where she was leaving to return to town. Perhaps we didn’t see each other with the other for a whole decade until she also returned to town. Every time I go, we meet. This year the three of us turned fifty and that was the excuse for this trip. Let’s take a trip together, one said a few months ago and here we are, with an itinerary that we decided on in one followingnoon, tempted by the offers of a tourism agency. It’s weird how we still laugh at things just like we did when we were teenagers. The two of them see each other all the time, so they share codes of humor, jokes, winks… however, a few hours following being together I also begin to incorporate them as if I were humming a well-known song that I hadn’t thought of. a long time. I also like to listen to words, expressions, that I know we only say in our town. Listening to them, repeating them once more, is recovering them, giving myself the pleasure of letting them roll over my tongue like the homemade honey candies my grandmother used to make: rough and sweet at the same time.
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