Field-research:
Maasvlakte

Maasvlakte is a massive artificial harbor located on the westernmost part of the port of Rotterdam in the Netherlands. It was constructed by reclaiming land from the North Sea through the process of pouring sand. This ambitious engineering project represents the intertwined relationship between human aspirations for land expansion, the pursuit of economic prosperity, advanced technologies that automate the transportation of enormous container ships, and the influential ideologies of trade, politics, and capital that converge to fill these square containers.

The Port of Rotterdam is the largest port in Europe and houses container ship terminals, coal power plants, oil terminals, pollution dumps, and carbon capture storage (CCS) facilities. It serves as a significant contributor to greenhouse gas emissions and air pollution in the Netherlands, releasing over 14 million tons of carbon dioxide annually. As the fifth largest industrial polluter in Europe, it holds the distinction of being the most polluted port on the continent.

Located quite far from downtown Rotterdam, Maasvlakte is not accessible by public transportation. However, you can reach it by taking a ferry from Hoek van Holland Strand station, which is the terminus of the B line of the Rotterdam metro. During the summer season (April–October), when the weather is generally stable, ferries operate from Hoek van Holland to Maasvlakte almost every day. It’s a fifty-minute journey filled with entertainment as capital, technology, and nature intertwine. You’ll witness container terminals, oil terminals, natural gas rigs, and container ships in Maasvlakte. If you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of seals sunning themselves on the beach.

As I observe the scene, a group of European teenagers, speaking a language I don’t recognize, repeatedly press the shutter on their cell phones. Inspired, I pick up my camera once again to capture photos and record videos because I, too, am conducting research. Though I’m uncertain of its purpose, I hope to one day unravel the meaning behind it all.

Human greed metamorphosed into entertainment. I contemplate the greed of individuals who poured sand into the sea, shaping a new land. In the center of this newfound territory, the Dutch constructed a remarkable edifice known as Future Land. It stands as a testament to their remarkable achievements and accomplishments.

I wonder if the sailors aboard the sailing ships of the East India Trading Company (VOC) centuries ago were also in pursuit of Future Land? Once again, our sacred seas are overwhelmed by the aura of mankind’s vast technology as we explore their depths. A profound realization dawns upon me; every morsel I consume, every garment I wear, every tool I employ, most likely traversed vast expanses across the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, encased within those very containers. In this web of interconnectedness, I am left pondering—can we ever liberate ourselves from the weighty mantle of responsibility that rests upon our collective shoulders?

Interestingly, Maasvlakte is a highly popular destination for cyclists. It is no exaggeration to state that the average Dutch citizen owns three bicycles, making Maasvlakte one of the most alluring cycling spots worldwide. In fact, during my ferry rides, I observed that the majority of passengers were either cyclists or groups of foreign students exploring the port.

The port serves as a stronghold of male power. From the ferry pilots and container truck drivers to the container ship pilots and laborers toiling beyond the fence, I did not encounter a single woman among them. The only women I came across were the staff at Future Land’s reception and restaurant, the fellow cyclists, and myself—the sole Asian woman during my two-month stay.

In the realm of Maasvlakte, I felt like an endangered species. Whenever an Asian woman pedals her bicycle across Maasvlakte’s expanse, the men operating the container carriers would incessantly honk their horns or, if particularly enthused, shout at the top of their lungs, desperately vying for the attention of an Asian woman battling against the wind. Ignoring their advances only seemed to provoke further persistence, so, for the sake of our collective sanity, it was wiser (both for them and myself) to offer a restrained wave or smile in response.

I contemplate my body, traversing at an average speed of 10 km/h, alongside colossal containerized trucks that likely zip by at an average speed of 120 km/h. My body, perched upon a robust Dutch bicycle acquired for a mere 70 euros from a second-hand store, exists in a state between youth and old age. Aside from a few minor ailments, its metrics align within the realms of normalcy. It is the feet and legs that fervently propel the bike pedals, revolving at a rate of one revolution per second. The fingers, hands, and arms steadfastly grip the handlebars, bracing against the gusts of the sea breeze. The bones, flesh, and muscles strain and relax, exerting with utmost effort.

In the Netherlands, the average height for men stands at 182cm, while women average 169cm. In South Korea, a country nestled in Northeast Asia, the average height is just 165cm. Pedaling harder and more frequently to bridge the gap of 17 and 4cm, I wonder at what speed that expensive racing bike, piloted by an average Dutch man of 182 cm, could be racing.

As summer officially commences, the sweltering heat engulfs me. Merely minutes into my bike ride, my body temperature rises, and my heart races. At times, it becomes challenging to distinguish if this endeavor is an act of research, art, or a cardio-focused cycling work-out. My body now resembles a fluid more than a solid, as Stacey Alaimo said. The heat is intense, and I feel as though I might dissolve into the air.

With no supermarket in sight, survival for the next four hours rests solely on the bottle of water I have brought along. I make the decision to call it a day and pedal vigorously. My senses awaken, eagerly absorbing the surroundings. The symphony of container terminal noises courses through my eardrums, permeating my cochlea. The acrid scent of steel being cut, accompanied by the gritty wind buffeting my skin, assaults my senses.

I can perceive the seeping of ultraviolet rays into my flesh, stimulating the activation of melanin pigment. A tingling sensation befalls my tanned and scarred skin. Invisible particles of carbon dioxide and nitrous oxide emitted from factories and terminals may have entered my respiratory system, reaching my alveoli. Could radioactivity from the waste concealed beneath the hill have permeated my being? Am I slowly being contaminated? To what degree am I affected? Have I unwittingly become a hazardous waste? How much of my body remains as an untainted organism?