B · READING (continued)
The bridge that was never built
Grzegorz, who runs the town's last hardware shop, sees a different ledger. "If the bridge existed, I'd have four competitors and five hundred more customers, and I'd take that trade happily. My son wouldn't be living ninety minutes away - if we'd built it, he could have stayed, taken over the shop, raised the grandchildren here instead of on a video screen. People romanticise isolation when their children haven't left yet."
The mayor at the time, Csilla Varga, now 84, is harder to place. "Everyone remembers the vote. Nobody remembers the rain," she says. "The night of the meeting, the road to the valley flooded, and forty farmers who supported the bridge were pumping out their barns instead of voting. If it hadn't been raining that night, the bridge would almost certainly exist, and we would be having this same conversation in reverse - you'd be interviewing people about whether we should have kept the ferry. There is no version of Vallinor that isn't arguing about this."
The ferry, incidentally, still runs: four crossings a day, eight minutes each way, run by the third generation of the same family. Tourists photograph it constantly. "If it were ugly, they'd have replaced it decades ago," shrugs the ferryman. "Beauty is a terrible argument. It just happens to be a very patient one."
Last year, the regional government offered to fund the bridge again - fully, no local contribution. The town will vote in June. The posters are already up, and several of them, on both sides, have been made by the grandchildren of the people who made them last time.