A28

The highway is a world apart. Non-places in their essence, free of identity and habitability, places of passage and ephemerality, where the chance of encounters and mismatches of thousands of itineraries gives them a certain charm. Urban places increasingly characteristic of contemporary cities, which do not allow us to forget this reality, even if camouflaged in the natural environment. They are kilometers of uncertain duration that function in themselves as a destination.  They are so fleeting that they are even familiar in the elements that can be seen — the service area, the milk factory, the infinite greenhouses, the flashy billboards — examples of the similarities found in different places, which give us the illusory sensation of traveling the same paths. They are the fictions created with the contrails of planes, the electricity towers, the lonely houses on the hills and the bales of hay rolled up. It is the nostalgia of the nocturnal kilometers, raced against the moon and the certainty of the cables that cross the trees. They are landscapes of which we only get partial views, fleeting in the ephemerality of the moment, accumulated in our memory, which lead us to travel, even if momentarily, to other places.