
Walk through the old quarter of Borkum and you may pass a garden fenced not with wood or iron but with the jawbones of whales, arched into the salt wind like the ribs of some beached leviathan. They are relics of the eighteenth century, when this island at the mouth of the river Ems sent its men to Greenland to hunt bowhead whales, and a successful captain advertised his fortune in bone. One of them, Roelof Gerritsz Meyer, made forty-seven voyages north before his death in 1798. The whaling is long gone. The bones remain, and so does Borkum's strange double life as a wild edge of the Wadden Sea and a place people come to be healed.
Borkum is the largest of the seven East Frisian Islands by area, roughly thirty-one square kilometres of dune and beach, yet for most of its history it was not one island but two. Westland and Ostland sat separated by a shallow channel until 1863, when natural drift and deliberate land reclamation finally fused them into a single body. The seam still has a name, Tüskendör, "in between," marking the old divide just east of the airfield. Locals say that if you squint at a map, the whole island looks a little like a dolphin. Flat as a tabletop, its highest dunes rise barely six metres, and the persistent westerly wind is the only real obstacle a cyclist will ever face.
Far out in the North Sea, beyond the shelter of the mainland, Borkum catches the full force of the open ocean. The climate here is genuinely offshore, raw and bracing, and the air carries remarkably little pollen. In the nineteenth century, Germans came to believe that air like this could cure what ailed them. Borkum opened as a North Sea bathing resort in 1850 with 252 visitors that first season; by 1900 more than sixteen thousand were arriving each year. Today it holds official standing as a state-approved Nordseeheilbad, a North Sea health resort, and tourism sustains nearly the entire island. The town of Borkum is unusual in spreading across the whole of its island rather than huddling in one corner.
In a chain of car-free islands, Borkum breaks the rules. Along with Norderney it is one of only two East Frisian Islands that permit motor vehicles, though even here cars are kept out of the settlement's heart in summer and banned everywhere from nine at night until seven in the morning. There is another quirk of geography: as the westernmost island in the chain, Borkum is actually faster to reach from the Netherlands than from mainland Germany. Ferries run from Emden and from the Dutch port of Eemshaven, and once ashore an island narrow-gauge railway, the Borkumer Kleinbahn, has been carrying passengers across the dunes for well over a century.
Almost all of Borkum, save the town and the airfield, lies within the Lower Saxony Wadden Sea National Park and the wider Wadden Sea UNESCO World Heritage Site, the largest unbroken expanse of tidal flats on the planet. The island is sliced into three protection zones. The eastern reaches form the quiet zone, where you may walk only on marked paths the year round; an intermediate zone opens outside the breeding season but still gives wildlife the right of way; and the recreation zone takes in the bathing beaches along the south, west, and north. It is a careful compromise between the millions of migratory birds that depend on these flats and the holidaymakers who come for the cure that first put Borkum on the map.
Borkum's position at the entrance to the Ems estuary made it a place that watched the water, and the Old Lighthouse, the Alter Leuchtturm, still stands as a memorial to that vigilance. Generations of pilots and merchants depended on islanders to guide vessels through the shifting sandbanks into and out of one of Germany's busiest river mouths. The same exposed setting that draws health-seekers to the beaches has always made the surrounding sea treacherous for sailors. Because almost everything sold on the island must arrive by the same ships that bring the visitors, prices carry an "island surcharge," a small toll the captive market pays for the privilege of living and holidaying this far out in the North Sea. Borkum has never been an easy place to reach, and that, in the end, is much of its appeal.
Borkum sits at 53.59 degrees N, 6.67 degrees E, the westernmost of the East Frisian Islands, lying just north of the Ems estuary where it forms the maritime border between Germany and the Netherlands. From the air it is a broad, rounded island, more compact than its long thin Dutch neighbours, ringed by pale beaches on its seaward sides and fringed by the brown tidal flats of the Wadden Sea where the water draws back. The dunes are low, peaking around six metres, and the town spreads widely across the island rather than clustering at one end; the Tüskendör basin marks the old seam between the island's two former halves, just east of the airfield. The island's own EDWR (Borkum Airfield) serves light aircraft. The nearest major mainland airport is Bremen (EDDW), roughly 130 km to the east-southeast. A viewing altitude of 1,500 to 3,000 feet captures the island, its beaches, and the surrounding flats in one frame; visibility is best after a frontal clearance, as the exposed North Sea position makes for frequent low cloud, haze, and strong westerly winds.