The Summer in a Beer

It's June, and on everyone's mind is on the coming summer and vacation. Those who have children think about it. Those who have to take care of a relative's child think about it. Those who work with children think about it. But the only ones who are truly going to enjoy a long vacation are the children. 

Ah, but it doesn't have to be like that. Not according to just about every commercial on television. Publicity for websites, like Booking, Kayak, TripAdvisor, Rumbo, and others, tell you how easy it can be to book the cheapest trip possible, and show tantalizing pictures of five star hotel rooms in the most emblematic tourist spots. You know when you see them that the cheapest night there is still way above your budget, though, and they never show you just what you can afford, a tiny, cramped hotel room with a window facing an air well. 

Then there are the beer commercials. Yes, champagne commercials usher in the Christmas season, and beer commercials usher in summer. Every year a beer, Estrella Damm, makes a short film to be seen only on its web page, but they put tantalizing trailers on television, with a catchy tune, touting the beach, the Mediterranean sea, long festive nights, and cool bottles of beer. Last year Dakota Johnson was the invited actress, this year Peter Dinklage of Games of Thrones fame has been invited. Anything and everything to sell a medium range beer.

The problem is, these commercials awake a wanderlust and an expectation of a long, warm summer with a wonderful life just begging to be lived. But only children can really live that kind of summer, with a week at camp or a distant relative's house, and afternoons at the beach or pool with grandma or aunty or good neighbor, seeing old friends and making new ones. Mere mortal adults must conform themselves with a Sunday afternoon at the beach, and work the rest of the week, seeing the same, old, tired faces that are also wondering where their promised summer is awaiting them.

The daily news doesn't help, either, when they show Spanish tourists climbing into their cars, saying they hope to beat the rush, and saying how happy they are to be free for a week or two, the luckiest having an entire month. You watch the news and wonder who all those cars belong to, because neither you nor the people you know have vacation nor can afford to take one that involves paying for overnight stays. Are these people hired extras, helping the news programs to make their own "summer is here" commercials? Or are you and your friends and neighbors simply in the wrong jobs?

So, here I sit, in my kitchen, watching the grape arbor make shadow patterns on my window as the strong summer sun warms the air outside. I feel an urge to pack my one suitcase, get in the car, and drive till I hit nightfall, some twelve hours hence. That would take me to Barcelona, the Mediterranean, the eastern Pyrenees, that magical place where the sun will set behind the mountains instead of in the sea, and where a delicious summer and a wonderful life is promised. 

Since I can't, I'll just have a beer.

Paseo, Verano, Puesta Del Sol, España

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