Pulse.

Polarstern entering the lock in Bremerhaven

Bremerhaven is a city that moves.

I've heard it described as a heart beat - the atria contract, and blood rushes in; the ventricles contract, and blood rushes out. The tide rises, and imports flow in; the tide falls, and exports flow out. Up and down the river they go, the sailboats, cargo ships, and yachts, carrying cars and electronics and produce and people. The very lifeblood of a continent.

This city has a pulse. It is in the air, in the streets, reverberating off of the plain white houses, vibrating the bridge under my feet. It is a low, pervasive rumble, like the heavy bass line of some distant music. I feel it in my rib cage, and I know I am alive. 

View out to the city from the lock

There is no separating the city from the port in Bremerhaven. The city is the port, and the port is the city. Waterways are interlaced with every neighborhood from Wulsdorf to Lehe. On the ride from our hotel to the ship, we passed (in order) the fishery port, the trading port, the old port, the new port, the emperor's port, Bremerhaven Harbor, the connection port, and the overseas port. We passed the double lock, the new lock, the old lock, Lock Street, New Lock Street, Port Street, four lighthouses, two rivers, and the self-proclaimed Last Pub Before New York.

This place is precious to me, and even though all my friends but one have moved away in the last 10 years, it still feels like a place that I belong. 

Over the last week and a half, I have only been able to view this city from my hotel room window. Now I emerge from 10 days in luxury solitary confinement certifiably covid-free and reasonably sane. Today, I board the famed icebreaker Polarstern with 50 other colleagues and begin our long transit north. 

Let the expedition begin.