So it’s almost been two weeks since Julius and the Intern returned from the States, with a heavy heart (and a full stomach - full of doughnuts).
During our voyage, there was an article written about each city that we visited. All but one: Bridgeport.
Perhaps because, more than a “visited” city, Bridgeport - just an hour from New York - was a city seeming “squatted, occupied, and one which we’ve appropriated”.
And also because, being the city of Chaussette, our translator, it’s where we made our headquarters, kept our bags, emptied the fridge, and did our laundry. It’s where we net back to after a long excursions, between two flights, to find some sanctuary.
There we felt right at home while being in a completely new and unfamiliar place.
For breakfast, there were deer in the garden and bagels in the kitchen.
We ate only bagels.
There was, as in all of the suburbans cities we saw, a lot of old houses, and we took longs walks down each street to try to see them all.
We also took long walks along the sound. On the other side, if you looked hard, you could almost see New York.
We were in Bridgeport before and after Halloween, and, more so than colours of autumn, we saw the colours of American comedy…
We explored the deserted beaches populated by dilapidated factories - a fairly strange landscape where the horseshoe crab carcasses fitted perfectly.
We finally went to see the abandoned lighthouse, the one we had seen on our very first day, six weeks before, and which seemed to be so close when seen from the port.
Although, we rode for a while, walked along the embarkment, made our way over the rock jetty, and after a few hours, we were there.
It felt like being at the end of the world, though we were pretty close to the house
It was a bit like most of the trip: it was at another far end of the world, and though we felt right at home…