Summer vacations in winter

The word ' summer ,' from the Latin veranum tempum, means springtime or warm season. Since in Spain we tend to form verbs with suffixes from nouns, we use ' veranear ' in the sense of 'to spend time in' or 'to live life in the summer.' After closely observing the different ways in which Spanish people spend their summers, I have come to the conclusion that it is best to spend their summers in the winter, and immediately destroy this entire anthropological etymology of our meanings. Spending their summers in the summer is, therefore, a folly typical of a race on the verge of extinction. Ours is.

We've seen that traveling by plane is the closest thing to entering a corral to have our ear tag placed on us. Traveling by train is a daring move if you intend to arrive on time (or just arrive at all) to a summer destination. Cruise ships are a true nightmare on Elm Street, swimsuit version. And it has been more than proven that, in order of danger and threat of perpetual death, the most dangerous groups facing humanity are the Khmer Rouge of Cambodia, the Islamic State, and RV drivers. I urge you not to open the can of worms by arguing with them. For your own safety, for the safety of your loved ones.

Spending the summer in the village is like going back to when nothing hurt, only if you've had a past in those areas where people now report anything at the slightest sound if they hear a cowbell, a chainsaw (be careful! It's from a camper van driver !), or the sound of the bells from the old church tower. Just as trying to spend your holidays in an all-inclusive hotel mainly involves risking your life for a hammock by the pool or getting beaten up for the last slice of pizza at the buffet. So, I think the best way to spend the summer starting next June is not to do it and to rebel against everything we are. Because spending the summer is not an act but a state of mind, a character, a way of life. And doing it against the grain is the best way to avoid losing your temper, your sanity, and, therefore, your hope for life.

Modern man is no longer content with controlling his watch. He also wants to control the weather. And since he can't stop winter from being cold, he decides to stop himself from feeling it. Thus arises the phenomenon of spending the summer in winter, which is, in reality, the latest trend in civilization: a portable August that can be taken out of your suitcase any month of the year and achieves everything that is impossible in summer: a location, peace, serenity, and good prices.

Winter vacationers are easy to spot. In January, while everyone else looks like onions wrapped in seven layers of clothing, they show up at the airport wearing flip-flops , sunglasses, and a smile that's almost a public offense. Winter doesn't bother them: they simply ignore it, as if it were a bad neighbor greeted with disdain on the stairs or one of those advertising calls that have been banned for so long that we've forgotten they're a crime.

The most curious thing is that these tourists don't travel in search of warmth. They travel in search of envy. They want to return to the office with that catalog-like calm that no one achieves in Madrid at the end of February, unless they're on vacation. Ultimately, spending the summer in winter functions as a certificate of moral superiority: "While you were suffering from the frost, I was at home looking out the window."

The show continues at the destination hotels. Guests check in with an almost scientific peace, convinced that the sun is a perishable substance that shouldn't be consumed unless they're serving a sentence for triple murder.

Naturally, spending summer in winter has its homemade imitators. Some people, too prudent to spend money on flights, set up their own private tropical retreat in the living room. They turn up the heat to 30 degrees, dress in swimsuits, open a beer, and dream that the curtains are palm trees. The difference is that palm trees don't smell like fabric softener, and the fan never had the dignity of a sea breeze, but it works for those who spend it, and that's more than enough.

In the end, all this proves the same thing: we don't travel out of necessity, we travel for prestige. Summer, in its natural season, always bores us a little. But summer in winter gives us an air of privilege, of challenge, of a small victory against routine. That's why someone who vacations in July is an ordinary citizen, and someone who vacations in January is almost a hero. A hero who, by the way, will come back with a cold on the first plane home because to be completely well, you have to be a little screwed, a little unwell. You can't have the terrible manners to go through life smiling as if everything were fine.

Going on vacation in January or February has the great advantage that you don't have to share the beach with your neighbor, or your neighbor's family, or the three million tourists who, in July, settle on the sand like settlers. In February, the beach is so deserted that bathers can choose between lying by the sea, in the middle of the promenade, or, if they prefer, right in the hotel reception. Everything is theirs: the sea, the sun, and even the waiter, who finally serves a coffee without the despair of someone serving five hundred customers at once. The other advantage is that, while in July the heat melts anyone's will and turns every trip into a penance, in February one experiences the beach with the joy of the improbable. The simple fact of swimming in the middle of winter brings incalculable social prestige: it's not the same to tell people that you spent your vacation on the Costa del Sol as it is to explain, with a distracted air, that you took a dip in the Cantabrian Sea to escape the cold. Ultimately, it's a summer vacation with added value: in addition to relaxing, it serves to humiliate one's neighbor. So, dear readers, if you have the option of "sunbathing," I invite you to do so without hesitation. Summering, as a way of life.