Once upon a time there was a bridge named Alexandra, queen of a distant king. It connected the hearts of two cities named Ottawa and Gatineau. Born in the cradle of a century, he displayed art in intellect, genius in delight. In an elephant budget, an uneducated government furtively ordered its annihilation. The reason ? “End of useful life”, definition deemed futile. From the plebs all consultation, all rebellion was rendered useless, the throne had rendered its decision. From the bridge to changing fittings and bolts, to rust finding a solution, no question. A magician on duty waved hundreds of pages of water, toads and cars to veil the gift of heritage. He showed off a “signature” bridge, a ritual of yellow hair, the kingdom’s symbol of stature. He led the eye not to see back the endurance of a cantilever structure joined to carry iron behemoths. His wand stopped all invention to create from corrosion another vision, another universe. Including that of an open-air walk, of a safe and centuries-old belvedere between two cities, of tutelary History.
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