A text of Amaia Barrena García
Two truths have been fighting against each other for centuries. They look at each other face to face and touch each other. Each bank is the heritage of those who once lived there. Sometimes they seem to have a remote control to direct the rain; others only seem to have old umbrellas that leak. Two different geographies, as if they were sometimes a drawer full of nicely ironed and folded clothes and the other times a drawer full of odd socks. Between the two of them, humble boats made of wet wood rock in the water like passengers do on a bus over an unpaved road. But it is not them who cross the river that separates these two soul mates every few minutes. This bridge, made out of the same material as the stars, is iron, holding a hanging carriage, a cubicle that looks like the puppet of an invincible giant. They come from all corners of the world to admire this shuttle, which is both linked to UNESCO and full of the rush of those who need to go from bank to bank to work, of schoolbags in school terms, or kisses that never touch the ground. If they would touch it, though, they would step on the fauna of the restless and lively fauna under the water. As lively and restless as the History of the two cities that now rest in front of you.
