"Look how black the sky is back there!", Simon marvels. Several people point to the black strip, which stands in stark contrast to the luminous horizon.
For a few years now, the small breweries have been flourishing with a wide variety of beers. And so there are good Pale Ales to drink in most bars. We place ourselves on the terrace at the outside front. A drunken Australian is talking loudly to his colleagues behind me, so that it hurts my ears. I turn my head away and look over the railing. The wind rustles the palm trees. A beautiful golden hue enchants the world. The wind gets stronger. And stronger still. A woman next to me leans far over the railing, fascinated by the force of nature, her hair dishevelled, laughing. The palm trees bend. The first drops are noticeable. And suddenly the whole sky falls on our heads. It rains in torrents. The palm trees bend to the breaking point. There is lightning and thunder. Something crashes on the roof of the terrace. Everyone runs inside the bar.
From safety we watch the storm. There is hail the size of hazelnuts. When the initial shock subsides, two Indians are daring and take photos of each other posing in the hail. The electricity is out and so is the bar. Most of the visitors, like me, stand at the window and watch the spectacle. And as quickly as the storm came, it stops. What remains is a double rainbow in a newly born world.