The club of the storms – The New Herald

I have been invited to be the moderator of the charity gala of Spanish Association Against Cancer this past Saturday in Marbella, the capital of glamor international in the southwest of Malaga, Andalusia. I confess that I accepted because I was fascinated by the idea of spending the night at the Marbella Club, one of those places that all my life I have wanted to know. It is not a club, it is a relic and not only is populated by photographs of the great figures of the history of the glamour of the TWENTIETH century, but once in a while, some of them appear, either in the form of phantom or Instagramer mature, between the classrooms, swimming pools, or gardens of the fascinating environment.

Almost all of my family, many of my friends and a lot of tweeters I have criticized this trip for multiple reasons but especially, because that should wrap up my flirtation with glories, social, and ride mariposeando sites of luxury while in Venezuela the dictatorship of Mature increases and reinforces them. I do not doubt that they are right but the truth I would disagree that my driving of a charity gala in Marbella can do much to straighten out my country of origin. In truth, I think I would have to do a big charity gala among the international powers to condemn that regime. That is a kind of party a little bit more difficult to organize a charity gala. And, although understand that not everyone can understand me, there is something unique and at the same time nutritious in order to bathe in the pool of marine waters of the Marbella Club and to see his famous water wall, where at different moments in time, stopped women such as the Duchess of Windsor, Lola Flores or Brigitte Bardot and a few days ago I. But it was dry.

In Europe and especially in the Mediterranean, the summer split of the year and do a balance of what you’ve done and what’s next. And happen the storms. “Time of storm, when my man is not with me,” sang Billie Hollyday. More or less I grew up listening to that song. Now I get to live them. Two or more air masses of different temperatures. And there are several. A, which is interior, drives me crazy, disoriented and groggy and prevents that ends at the end of my novel. Others are external, such as Emily in Miami, which forced me to stay inside my apartment, terrified but in truth fascinated by the wall of water that progressed and surpassed my balcony while a swirl of lightning is enclaustraba in a corner of the ocean. The amazing thing was the after, that that they say that after the storm comes the calm and Alton Road was completely paralyzed, the sirens of the fire was deafening and the standing water you would see gentlemen with their Prada and Hermes almost like an umbrella for not damaging them in the flood.

In Miami the storms are fashion shows in Ibiza, is the domain of terror. The palm trees seem to come loose from the ground, the waves grow desorbitadamente, the inhabitants take refuge in the homes of others and consume all the drinks, the food, the energy. The water falls like buckets of a production-apocalyptic Hollywood. “I am afraid”, shouted my host and there of truth that I came down. If your host is shit, what can you expect from a guest? The storm of Miami hard more than four hours. The Ibiza was to have two parts, an hour and a half and the other all the night. I thought that the climate change is a reality that can only check the “privileged” that we live within, as if we were the Club of the Storms.

Writer and presenter venezuelan.


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