You leave Madrid on your way to Valencia and normality leaves you little by little, almost without noticing, until you realize that you are driving along the road in perfect solitude. Then you know something has happened. Nobody can reach Valencia. The municipalities of Torrent, Paiporta and Picaña, ground zero of the floods that have devastated the east of the country, are cut off by train and road. The A3 is a trail of people waiting for the highway to reopen, which also became the scene of the tragedy on Wednesday when the water surprised hundreds. “Now the water continues to go down and what the machines fix, the torrent instantly breaks down,” explains a guard in a ditch equipped with a cone of light, two raccoon circles under his eyes and the last bits of his patience. I don’t know how many cars are piled up, there is talk of 200, or if they are going to find people inside. “I don’t know when we can open: in six hours, in a day or in two.” This is the story of an impossible journey to a place that no longer exists. We left Madrid on the road to disaster with a notepad, a camera and a pair of wellies, like someone who goes on vacation, but in reverse. The A-3 is the same as always, the Cod Route, the one for vacations, the one for going to the bullfights, but little by little it becomes strange and ghostly, and suspects misfortune as only it allows. the loneliness of the roads. When the time comes, you only overtake the Military Emergency Unit and those bearded guys who stick their arms out of the windows of their big, strange, red vehicles. They arrive from Zaragoza and Madrid and bring caterpillars mounted on trucks, tractors, SUVs with huge antennas and other rescue modules that one prefers not to know what they are for, if they are hospitals or worse. Related News Raquel, neighbor of Alzira standard No “There were people who went to the gym and could no longer leave the parking lot” Manuel Moreno One of the first reports puts the number of fatalities at more than 50 in the province of Valencia alone. In the morning, the military They stopped at the Caudete de la Fuente gas station and took whatever food they could. There, Ana Sáez serves normally, although if you look closely, her eyes shine and her hands tremble imperceptibly. «I’m from Utiel. It’s been horrible. “There are already several dead.” One of those mentioned is a man who, according to his story, lived in a wheelchair. «He is one of the Ramos. The water came and the caretaker had to abandon him. My God…» Almost no one stops at the gas stations because you can’t go beyond them: there are German reporters, journalists and truck drivers wandering back and forth along the ditches. At Rebollar, the bar looks like a fair and 18 people are queuing for a sandwich. Portuguese and Romanian are spoken in groups with flip flops, tracksuits and vests. When one of the guards announces that they are not going to open, the drivers cross the bridge to the town bar in search of bottles. They grab each other’s shoulders and shout with laughter in that merriment that at times allows the exception. That woman just missed a plane to Ireland, this one here is carrying pallets of cement and another one repeats like a mantra: “I have to get there.” “I have to get there.” Everyone talks on the phone. In a Seat León, a couple with a son of about ten years old in the back waits in silence with wet and red eyes like knife wounds, and one senses that misfortune awaits them in Valencia. When the reporter approaches the window and announces that he is a journalist, they put the palm of their hand in front of them without eye contact, like when someone is going to have their windshield cleaned at a traffic light without having asked. Everyone walks where they shouldn’t. , parks where it can’t and wanders nowhere, like processions when they lose their guide. There are no rules. The road, completely closed near Buñol, near Chiva, has suddenly lost its meaning, since a blocked highway is a patio, a vacant lot with asphalt, the parking lot of an empty hypermarket, whatever is less a road Outside the restaurant, the flood must have touched the septic tank and it stinks like a mix of latrine and grilled cuttlefish, but people stay because this is the last redoubt of civilization. Beyond there is practically no coverage and a vacuum of rescue work and corpses among the cars and stones is expected. Standard Related News No The testimonies of those affected by DANA ABC Those affected by the terrible consequences of DANA explain how they experienced the toughest hours of the stormEveryone swears that it can’t be done, but at some point we all think it’s worth trying. Perhaps along this track we will reach a road that leads to an intersection and a path that will allow us to reach Valencia, the shared obsession. And not. Instead of clearing the air, the flood has muddied it and a mist rises over the devastation that could be mistaken for a fire at dusk. Little by little, the first signs of disaster appear in the ditches and fields and hell begins to appear beyond the guardrail. The flooded vineyards shine like mirrors or estuaries of San Fernando in a poem by Villalón. The cement factory has stopped its activity and mud has covered the asphalt. Through the torrents the water has randomly spat out stones, logs and an overturned C-15 like a dead white cockroach. On the curves of the mountains, hundreds of drivers pick up their phones in search of coverage and clues that do not exist. In Siete Leguas, a native watches cars go by with his hands in his pockets. When someone slows down to address him, he shakes his head in response because he already knows the question: “No. “There is no way to get there.”
#impossible #trip #hell
