Notes from a Volcano Refugee in London

My notebook is already half full and I went back to Magma (no pun intended) to buy out their stock because there's no telling how long this will go on.

For the first couple of days, being a volcano refugee wasn't so bad. It's London in the spring, after all. Bright tulips and patches of sunshine-colored daffodils are up all over Hyde Park. We're here working with the British Council on a global cultural dialogue project and an extra weekend meant more time to bond with colleagues.

On the surface, life in London looks like this:

At the most delicious bakery in the world, Maison Bertaux, this afternoon, people were laughing and stirring cappuccino on blue and white checkered tablecloths decorated with yellow roses. From the ground, the plume is invisible. If you have nowhere to go, the chaotic flight disruptions aren't a big deal.


But the way life looks on the surface and the way things are in reality are two very different things.

Image copyright Stromboli Online.

Although I keep hearing that flights are canceled "through Sunday" or "at least until Monday" I wonder who really believes that a volcano is on a human timetable, or who might be willing to be in that first batch of flights that go out when the aviation industry and the government decide that it's "safe enough" to try.

Last time Eyjafjallajokull erupted, in 1821, it lasted for almost two years. The volcano doesn't care that we're all waiting to catch flights--there's no end in sight. The slightest bit of volcanic ash is enough to destroy jet engines, even when present in quantities so diluted that the plume can't be detected. And, "whatever is up in the sky must come down," so the World Health Organization is starting to recommend that people consider wearing protective masks in London.

More to come...