The Hole That Fits a Pot

One of the sights of Boston in the spring, apart from the reappearance of the swan boats in the Public Gardens, or the blooming of the ancient trees on the Common, is the recurrent potholes. The truth is, though, they never really go away. So, you will find potholes of all sizes in all weathers and seasons. Or, at least, in the Boston I remember of almost thirty years ago.

It is also a permanent state of being of roads here in Galicia. Whether you drive a national road, or a local lane, or a highway that cuts across wide swathes of country, you will inevitably find the pothole. 

There are all kinds. There's the troublesome where the upper layer of special asphalt to prevent skids has worn off, and jars the car enough to make you look for a different spot to lay your wheels. Then there's the little hole that is unnoticeable at first, but after a few rain showers, the hole grows ever so slightly bigger, until it's big enough to swallow a tire. And then there's the mega pothole that just keeps growing, and gets covered with asphalt, which is never really well tamped down, and creates a hilly relief of its own. With time, the hole reappears, the hilly relief becomes worse, and then all hell breaks lose if a driver isn't aware of it.

That's what happened on the Ponte das Pías, the bridge that connects Narón with Ferrol and saves time and kilometers. Apparently, on the side closest to Ferrol, there's one of those mega potholes that just get worse and worse, and everyone passes off to everyone else. The city says it's the province, the province says its the city, and no one does anything except cover it with a little more fresh asphalt. Well, last week, a driver denounced that the mega pothole literally swallowed his car and broke the steering, as well as the screen of his navigator. He encountered it at night, the streetlights were off (that's another bugaboo of the roads), he didn't see it, and when he hit it, his car's death knell was sounded. He wants the proper authorities to pay for all the repairs. I personally think he'll be better off buying a new car. No one will claim the fault, and a new car will probably end up being cheaper in the long run. 

There was a similar pothole on the bridge that connects the two sides of the Ulla River, and allow us to travel across it to Catoira without going kilometers out of our way. It just kept growing, and growing. It got covered with a steel slab. I think it's been fixed since then, but in the intervening months, the hole has reappeared. The bugaboo of the lights also exists there. On the side of Rianxo, various poles are missing. They're wooden and seem to have been snapped off (the possibilities of how are endless and intriguing). On the side of Catoira, one or two are missing their heads, and a large part of the bridge is left in darkness. Again, no one takes responsibility.

There are areas in which the local lanes look more like they haven't been asphalted in their long life. More than asphalt, the lanes look like they've been covered in gravel and rocks, with a few smooth stretches. Those lanes can see twenty years or more in-between real repairs. A couple of years ago, a priest in a rural parish of Lugo organized a Mass to pray for the repair of the potholes the lanes had become. One Sunday, the parishioners and the sufferers of the potholes gathered at a crossing, and celebrated the Mass, offered in the hopes of a miracle. A miracle that the priest hope would come from the province of Lugo, in charge of the lanes. I haven't been able to find out if that miracle has happened. Most likely, it hasn't.

There is a custom here, that local roads remain the way they are until the local elections. There is a protest song by a regional group, Dios K Te Krew, Política de Asfalto, which sings about how politicians try to win votes any way they can. One of the verses goes, 

Asfaltame a eira a cambio do meu voto

Cómprame con axudas que xa me pertencían

Fai un trato conmigo, di que eres o meu amigo

Prometeme esa subvención que nunca verá o meu ombligo.

Asphalt my plaza in exchange for my vote

Buy me with money that already belonged to me

Make a deal with me, say you're my friend

Promise me that grant that my stomach will never see.

Before local elections, you can travel byroads and highroads, and on just about all the roads that are locally managed, you will see workers offloading black, steaming asphalt to cover potholes that haven't been touched in four years. If the locals are really lucky, some lanes or roads might even get a new layer of the black gold. But that hasn't been happening very often since the crisis began. 

So, next year being election year, this summer we might see some action, though the bulk of the action will be done a year from now, about a month before the election. That way, the voters, still breathing in the fumes from their re-conditioned roads, will go to put in their vote in a more open frame of mind. 

But there will be those whose votes will be a little more objective.