There are certain places I have visited that always fill me with happiness at their memories or stir some kind of palpable feelings within me. The cottage in Vermont, for example, that my family used to visit when I was younger always brings with it a kind of warm nostalgia. Or the beach in my hometown that was the local hangout in high school. Then there are places that made me feel somewhat at unease. Whether is was a graveyard or the part of the woods that never seemed to have any sunlight, I think we can all agree there are locations that always seem “creepy” for lack of a better word.
For me, here in Tuscany, it is absolutely the Ponte del Diavolo in Borgo a Mozzano. I will be the first to admit that it is a truly beautiful area and bridge, but I will also be the first to admit, I have not once passed this area without having chills run through me. And to add insult to injury, it seems like there is always fog. This does not help this bridge’s case.
I cannot quite put my finger on what disturbs me so much. Perhaps it is the curvature of the bridge that so closely resembles a skeletal spine rising out of the Serchio. Maybe the mere fact that it is asymmetrical making it appear slightly askew. It might be the way it looks when you stand at the base and cannot see the other side, but only the steep incline leading to nowhere.
The legend surrounding this bridge tells of an architect forming a pact with the Devil to give, not his own soul as is so often the case in these tales, but, “A mere trifle for you. Just the soul of who first will pass through here”. A dog is the first to cross the bridge at the incessant prodding from the architect and once it reaches the other side, the Devil is violently pulled back to Hell.
So, if a dog can safely cross this bridge, I am not sure why I feel so terrified whenever I am in its presence. Nonetheless, this bridge, strangely beautiful as it is…is just one of those places that will always make me double check that no one is behind me or cause my friends to step on the gas when we pass it at night, often screaming about how frightened we are. At least I’m not alone in feeling this way. Anyone else?
On the contrary, I find its remarkable grace in form and construction humbling — and reassuring. A reminder, at each passing, that our millennial ancestors understood not only the discipline of engineering but also the far more subtle principles that define beauty.