Alameda Viewpoint

Here's a picture of what I drive past each morning right before I roll into work. Some may find it rather depressing--the sketchy, desolate parking lot, a site of unusual and sometimes unmentionable activity; the sad harbor, garbage floating atop its narrow channel. But I look at this view and it exhilarates me. This is the Port of Oakland's inner harbor, with a view of both the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate in addition to a glorious picture of the entire San Francisco skyline. Many mornings the sun is shining brilliantly as I drive past. It's been raining so much lately, though, that the view has been pretty gray. On the day I shot this picture there was a nice cloud slice hanging above everything.

My father loves any form of transportation and growing up we had a power boat for a little while, but I never learned to drive it, nor did I learn to sail like some of my friends. I did grow up by the water, though, and we lived near a beach with a quaint lighthouse and a little channel that opened up into a harbor. I feel I have the sea in my bones from living close to it, and for some reason I have a great love for tugboats. There's something about the way they guide people and make sure everything is okay, something about their reliability and steadfast nature. They are like a loyal pet: small, sturdy, cute, and smart.

I wish I had time to sit in this lot and just watch the tugboats push and pull the container ships into place. It is rumored that these very container cranes were George Lucas's inspiration for the "AT -ATs" of Empire Strikes Back. I'm fascinated by the grace and stillness of these large, hulking machines as they slowly move into and out of the harbor. I love their colors and gigantic presence. How on earth do they paint such enormous type on the side of such a huge ship? How many people does it take to operate one? Tom's sister has a friend who pilots these things. I can barely pilot my own car, so I am in complete awe of her.

There is so much movement going on in the port; trucks drive through all day long, cranes move up and down, containers are lifted and dropped, but it all seems so silent and methodical. The noise from the port barely intrudes on my workspace beyond the occasional blast of a low, deep horn, which is a sound I find romantic and mysterious. Beyond the larger movement, I'm sure there is a precise coordination of all types of other activity--the detailed logs of what's come in and what's going out, the organizing of the trucks that drive everything off to other parts of the state, the wheeling, the dealing, the fruits, both fresh and spoiled, of good ole consumerism (anybody see the amazing season two of The Wire?).

I tried to do a little research about the Port of Oakland in general, and I can tell you that Jack London kept his sailboat "Razzle Dazzle" moored here and his favorite saloon, Heinhold's First and Last Chance still exists today in Jack London Square. It was the first major port on the west coast to build terminals for container ships and it is currently the fourth busiest container port in the US. Additionally, the port actually owns Oakland International Airport.

Sadly, though, despite all my fascination with the grand ships and their industrial beauty, West Oakland has some frighteningly high rates of diesel emissions from all those big rigs idling and driving into and out of the port, which means terrible health and environmental effects for all of us nearby. Old big rigs emit fine particle pollution that can travel as far as Fresno. This pollution equals asthma, pulmonary problems, you name it for the thousands of unsuspecting and innocent local residents. Yuck.

Isn't it funny how things change upon closer inspection? How something that brings intrigue and beauty into your life, can actually be creating something so dirty and foul right at the very moment that you are appreciating it for its mystery? I still love this grimy view, even knowing the extent of its filth, but I can't say I'm proud of it or happy about it. I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder, though what exactly that says about me, I'm not quite sure...