Night conversations with people in uniform

Using exact phrases, the heading of this article could be 'starting with the roof' or 'don't let reality spoil a good headline'. The roof and the headline are from above. Not for a moment do I intend to talk about rearmament, or about the high temperature of the rentrée This fall's politics, which foreshadow a bleak future. We'll also cover this summer's weather and other social issues, to see if we can scratch a snag.

Summer always brings new developments. This year, however, there have been numerous calls to the Municipal Police late at night, complaining about excessively loud music at certain parties. The response tells you it's a classic. The Municipal Police has become a sort of hotline for "zero nighttime noise." It's worth noting that the officers who answer are extremely kind and understanding, even holding the conversation without showing any discomfort. When the noise comes from the forest, if you call and the phone conversation drags on, they may explain that the people responsible for the incident are "the people of Madrid."

"The Madrileños" are the inhabitants of a kind of newly built 'corral', around an interior area of garden, patio and swimming pool, formed by identical and uniform buildings, which is colloquially known as Big Brother, since, due to their layout, everyone can keep an eye on everyone else. They've become an inconspicuous settlement, where residents regularly hold nightly parties on the rooftop garden terraces. Fortunately, the apartments, for now, are mostly occupied only a few weeks a year; while this is a waste of space, it's appreciated. In August, when they're fully occupied, it's common to see trucks sucking up garbage from the street drains. Problems in the air and underground.

If the excessive decibels originate on the rooftop of the 'Foucauldian panopticon' of Madrid, the effectiveness of the nightly call to the municipal authorities is evident; although a short time later, sometimes, it has to be repeated, as the Capitoline colony reasserts itself from above (Alcover-Moll Dictionary, 'colony': "Establishment founded by a certain name of citizens of a nation who will populate a land far from their homeland and continue to belong to it"). However, if the noise is produced in a concessioned public space, it is better not to knock, since experience shows that it will not die down until two in the morning. In this case, the municipal machinery creaks, 'intra-urban' contradictions emerge. We live in a country where, sometimes, the general interest is interpreted in a provincial way: "Business comes before the rights of citizens."

There was a time when it was considered a seaside resort, the seashore was rocky, and the hotels had their sun loungers right next to the water, under public concessions. A unique landscape and place. The terraces, at night, until closing time, became a place for quiet conversation, and for the more leisurely, the party continued in the nightclubs and inside the cocktail bars. There were businessmen who made fortunes and workers who worked practically year-round. Seasonality was weak. But the day came, flush with success, when some had the "brilliant" idea of exchanging the sun loungers for an artificial beach, which is the same as saying something unnatural. The folded chairs made of striped summer-colored clothing on the old concessions became hammocks for rent on the beach. The seaside resort's soul was mortally wounded; all that remained was to wait for the times to pass, institutionalize the most radical seasonality and put the boilers at full pressure for a limited period of time to cover the needs of the entire year.

The daily walk along the sidewalk of the anthropogenic beach has, for some time now, acquired a statistical significance: permanently, at any time of day, there are unoccupied sunbeds, often far exceeding the actual number. On the other hand, at the other end of the urban area, more sheltered from the wind, the meager sand cover has been dwindling for some time. Paddle boards serve as floating devices for sunbathing, a sophisticated version of the old inner tube used as floats. They anticipate a dystopian landscape, in which rising sea levels will cause the layer of sand on which to lay towels to be reduced, and the bathing area will be filled with these floating pocket solariums. A new business opportunity: small-time mafias renting dead people to moor their boards will abound, effectively dwarfing the current organized boat mooring business.

It's impossible to generalize, nor can we draw sweeping conclusions from the rooftop, even though the exceptional Miquel dels Sants Oliver did so in his day. But there are many indicators that suggest the growth model is running out of steam and entering a "comfort zone"; even the big economic figures are beginning to falter (the small ones have always left much to be desired). Indeed, climate change, coastal impacts, environmental vulnerability, and the overexploitation of resources could lead us to the moment of "nothings," in which strength mutates into structural weakness.

In my walk through space and time I have spoken of the discotheque and cocktail bars for the most adventurous; then came the time when the nocturnal men in uniform chased the young people's bottles; and now, the noise phone is called. This is not the night of the ignorant, perhaps it is time again The Key (a Spanish nighttime television program, an essential reference in the years of the democratic transition). The time has come to stop believing in dying of success, and start thinking about the danger of dying of stupidity.