On a chilly Saturday morning in December, it was still dark, David and I jumped into a bus to shoot some rare sights at the dockyards in my hometown, Basel, in Switzerland. Uneasy in its sodium nakedness, the container crane and his minions greeted us like bugs on a table cloth.
Underneath the hangar roofs, among nooks and crannies, a labyrinth of train tracks spread thinly, guiding yet confusing, watched over by knowing symbols.
Slowly, daylight creeped in, and revealed a myriad of structures, some curious, some threatening, all of them alien.
In the gorges of containers we walked, multicolored steel valleys full of cargo. The crane moaned and hissed as we passed it by.
And on the horizon, the wilderness of industry, the drums and spheres of containment, steam against the sky.
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