Arrived at Lisbon in Portugal. Early morning spectacular skies as dawn breaks, red colours the edges of the silver clouds.
A distant view of a sleek-looking suspension bridge framing the harbour approach. Marred only by the usual paraphernalia of all big ports – oil tanks, gas silos and spiky cranes.
As we get nearer there is a distant hum. Then closer still it’s now a whine. When we pass under the bridge, traffic tyres on a metal road, high in the sky, become a tuneless but loud brass band played by cars, coaches, lorries and the occasional train. Just to add to the cacophony the bridge is under the flight path of Lisbon Airport, so extra crescendo is added by jets landing.
The seventeenth largest suspension bridge in the world, built in 1966 called variously The Salazar Bridge, The 25 April Bridge, The Tagus Bridge and ominously “The Bridge”.
When this megalith was constructed, I wonder if the designer knew of the blight he was about to bequeath the thousands of people who live below the Buzzing Bridge.
It beggars belief that this sound mayhem could be inflicted on so many people.