About Us

Here, in Murcia (Spain) things happen.
Yes, yes, in this corner sometimes forgotten by the gods of glamour and the media spotlight, we also have our own little big stories.

A while ago, in my dry ice business (yes, those blocks that puff smoke like at parties), a guy walks in. He says he’s a doctor. He’s here for ice, but not to throw a party or conduct crazy science experiments. Nothing like that.

It turns out his wife is fighting cancer. And he, in the middle of that whirlwind, discovers something: a special cap that, when used with dry ice, prevents his wife from losing her hair during chemotherapy.

Yes, hair, that part of us that, while not vital, defines so much of how we see ourselves in the mirror and how we present ourselves to the world.

Every two weeks, like clockwork, the doctor returns.
And me, unable to resist curiosity (a flaw or a virtue, I still haven’t decided), ask him. He tells me. Because I’m one of those who believes life puts what you need in your path (even if you don’t understand it until time passes), I clearly see this is more than just selling dry ice.

It’s helping, in my own way, in this battle.

So I tell the doctor:
“I’ll give you the ice for free, but let me talk to your wife. I want to know more about this cap.” He agrees.

And here’s where the story takes a turn.
Like those novels you start with little expectation, and they end up stealing your sleep.

The doctor’s wife, the one using the cap, turns out to be my daughter’s teacher. Yes, that same one. The world is small, and Murcia, apparently, is where all paths cross.

I go to her house. We talk. And what she tells me deserves to be carved in stone and never forgotten: not only has she kept her hair, but her dignity, strength, and identity in front of a mirror that, during these processes, often reflects a painful image.

And that’s when it clicks.
This business, beyond the dry ice, the numbers, the orders… it’s about people. About stories. About helping maintain dignity in the hardest moments.

After that conversation, which was more of a revelation than an interview, something changed. I didn’t just want to sell dry ice anymore. I wanted to be part of the solution, a link in that chain of hope.

The doctor had mentioned, almost in passing, that the cap came from the United States.
So, I put on my detective hat (metaphorically speaking) and started searching. I found one company. Then another. And another. In the end, I ended up with four different caps from three different companies, each promising to keep the hair in place, and I discovered they’ve been using them in the United States for over 40 years.

There I was, in Murcia, playing scientist with the caps.
But I had a mission: to merge the best of each, like someone mixing secret ingredients to create the perfect recipe.

And boy, did I do it.
After much trial and error, mixing this feature with that one, my creation was born after 4 years of research. My own cap. Improved to the point where it no longer needed dry ice.

This cap, the one you see on this page, is not just a product.
It’s the result of a story, a chance encounter that led me down paths I never imagined I would walk.

It’s the fusion of the best from four worlds, thought out and created with one purpose: to help preserve not just hair, but the smile, the hope, and a little bit of normalcy amidst the chaos of cancer.

And here it is, proudly presented on my website.
We’re not just selling a cap; we’re selling part of a story. A story of struggle, of homemade science, and an unshakable desire to do something, even if it’s small, in the battle against cancer.

Because in the end, it’s not just about business or products. It’s about the times life crosses your path with the right people, at the right moment, to remind you that we’re all part of something bigger. That a simple block of dry ice can open paths you never dreamed of walking.

So yes, here, in Murcia, things happen. Big things, even if they’re dressed as small gestures. Like a cap, born to care for something more than hair. To care for hope.