The quarantine

Stepping out the glass door onto the narrow balcony, I could instantly feel the fog on my skin. It was chilly and gray, just how I expected for the port city this time of year. I put both hands on the railing and started scanning my surroundings.

"Yoo-hoo!" the call came from above me. I tilted my head up and to the right, and there was Thomas, leaning over his own balcony railing on an upper floor, waving at me. It's been two years since I last saw him, and I am delighted to be back. 

Friends, I am in Bremerhaven, Germany, my second home. More precisely, I am in a hotel room in Bremerhaven, Germany, which I will not leave for the next 10 days. I can step out onto the balcony and gaze longingly at the water, but I cannot touch it. I am just blocks away from my adopted grandmother, but I cannot visit her. I am confined to this space for the time being, but once (if) I survive, I will get to travel on my favorite ship with some of my favorite people to my favorite place on earth. 

To be honest, I'm shocked that I even made it this far. There were a hundred times I thought this expedition was going to fall apart - when the funding I applied for was declined, when my institution mandated pre-approval of employee travel, when I had to ask my postdoc advisor to loan me a set of deep-sea plankton pumps, when the cruise plan changed for diplomatic reasons, right down to the panicked moment at the airport check-in when I couldn't find my covid test result. But I am here, against all odds. I made it.

Over the next 10 days, I'll have plenty of work to do - proposals to write, data to analyze, correspondence to answer - but I'm going to carve out some time to just be. To be fully present, fully here in the fog on the waterfront. To be home. 

At least I have a view!