Like a Bridge over Troubled Water

You say something loving.
It’s so overwhelming the thrill of affection.

Bridges are marvelous architectural works, fascinating structures that connect two different pieces of land. But bridges could also be an interesting metaphor to describe an invisible connection between human beings, like the one which tied me with my friend Cathey, a passionate bridge lover and an awesome force of nature I met the previous summer in Toronto, who introduced me to this concept. Excuse me, is this the bus to the Niagara Falls? That’s how our friendship started, two strangers in line to reach the closest natural attraction outside the city. Two strangers who weren’t afraid of talking and discovering that the person in front of you has so many things in common that you never could have imagined. The day after that, I joined her to walk on a bridge in Toronto and we did this symbolic ritual of leaving a deep, intimate secret of our life on the other side of the shore. It seemed like an exorcism to bury something we left in our past that was still haunting us, but at the same time felt like an empowerment for the future: getting rid of a burden and feeling open for new exciting things. That day I promised to visit her in Portland as soon as I could, and that is where the last part of my American trip was bringing me.

Ironically, along the road, I thought several times about bridges, such as the underground one which connects Britain to the European mainland. While visiting the national park of Death Valley, a spectacular, arid territory that lies between California and Nevada, I met a 60 year old Englishman who was in my same guided tour. It was the first time I heard the opinions of someone who voted for leaving the EU in the recent Brexit referendum, a weird patriotic speech which, honestly, sounded almost like an after-war propaganda. I felt scared and disappointed, somehow also surprised by how a man who lives more than 40 years in Canada with his family could have had a closed mind like that. I thought about my trips in London, about the lovely British connections I have all around the world, and though I could find several differences between English and Italian cultures, I always felt they were coming from the same place. As a child, growing up during the making of the European Union, it made me feel more European than Italian, and though the goal of a federation of countries unfortunately hasn’t happened yet, I still strongly believe in this project, about a whole continent with no barriers in between. Separations never help because it’s through the observation of other cultures that we expand our knowledge and we become respectful towards them.

There were bridges in Las Vegas, too, which connects hotels, shopping malls and casinos from one side to the other of The Strip, the main road that divides the city from north to south. If bridges are made to connect diversities, those ones felt instead like useless ones, a sort of loop between the sick habits of spending money and gambling. The whole concept of Vegas is quite awkward: the city has been built in the open desert, in the middle of nowhere, so they had to bring water straight from the Monument Valley to build it from scratch and create electricity, which is used in huge quantities to make life comfortable, since the temperatures are so high that it wouldn’t be possibile to live in such a place without air conditioning. Though during the night the landscape full of lights looks impressive, even if almost like a big luna park, at daytime it’s that the city shows its real sadness: people gambling in front of the slot machines from the night before, the fake architectures of Venice and Paris, people taking selfies in front of them while they could have saved some money to see the real ones.

Through the Amtrak Cascades train, which runs in the northwest area of the country, I reached the Canadian city of Vancouver, just outside the American border. There I met Scotch, one of the funniest American folks I have ever met in my life, who was living in the city for more than a year. It’s so strange how we instantly felt a strong connection between us, in front of an expensive and way-too-light cocktail, that I didn’t think twice about his offer to drive me around the area the next couple of days, in those parks where Canada shows its best side. It could sound naïve to trust someone you just met, but my sixth sense was telling me not to care about fears. Exactly how it happened with Cathey, another invisible bridge was built in just a few minutes, and days later, leaving Vancouver, I realized once again that it was the beginning of a new and profound friendship with another special human being.

During my stay in Seattle I was hosted by Javad, a kind Iranian guy who was renting rooms on Airbnb, ironically exactly during the days of Donald Trump’s insane muslim ban. What a crazy times we are living in, I thought. How many excuses we find to make wars, how many times we see differences in other people as a danger. As two different pieces of land can be connected to each other, so do we: every day of our life we can unite with an invisible bridge made of empathy, compassion and understanding, moved by the curiosity to discover how many beautiful people share this planet with us.

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