Just The Caffeine Talking

The Trip to Iceland, Day 2

We slept for about twelve hours on our first night in Iceland, then went downstairs for an excellent buffet breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Lots of different breads, a kind of baked scrambled egg dish, skyr (Icelandic yogurt — you're going to see that a lot), cold cuts, and so forth. And a very exotic Icelandic dish, which Sir William was at pains to describe to his readers:

"However, even this was not all; for a large dish of Waffels, as they are here called, that is to say, a sort of pancake, made of wheat-flour, flat, and roasted in a mould, which forms a number of squares on the top, succeeded the mutton. They were not more than half an inch thick, and about the size of an octavo book."

Well-fortified with breakfast, we put on our stoutest boots and walked a block to the old lava flow from 1973 which buried half the town of Heimaey under ten meters of rock. That lava was heading for the harbor, and would have choked it off and destroyed Heimaey's fishing industry. With no sheltered harbor, the island would be effectively inaccessible. Icelandic emergency crews sprayed cold seawater onto the advancing front of the lava flow to cool it and create a dam to divert the flow away from the harbor. There's even a monument to the heroic diesel pumps which saved the town.

The lava flow also displays the site of the old geothermal heating system, which tapped the heat energy of the cooling rock to heat Heimaey. It ran for 20 years until the dropping lava temperature made it impractical. Still, 20 years of effectively free energy isn't bad, especially for a town which gets all its electricity — and all its fresh water! — from the mainland.

At the southern end of the lava flow we began to climb up the cone of the Eldfell volcano, the source of all that melted rock. Until 1973 Eldfell was a sheep pasture, but in January of that year ash and rock began erupting from the ground. By summer the eruption had created a 200-meter mountain, and added two and a half square kilometers of land to the island.

The mountain is a half-cone. The crater is open on the north side (where the lava came out). This means that when one climbs it, one is climbing along the narrow ridge between the crater and the outer slope of the volcano. Fortunately it's currently inactive, so the bottom of the crater is just a flat expanse of dirt and rocks. But the actual material of the cone isn't solid lava. It's more like gravel. A huge pile of gravel.

So we chugged up the slope, with steep slopes to either side covered with jagged volcanic rocks younger than either of us. Slipping and falling wouldn't be fun. To add to the tension, it's windy on the island of Heimaey, doubly so up on top of an exposed mountain.

We did stop halfway up to take a picture across the channel to the main island of Iceland, with mountains and glaciers looming in the distance. The picture shows one of the other Vestmannaeyr islands, which has no permanent inhabitants but does feature a hunting lodge. Exactly what you're supposed to hunt there isn't clear. Seagulls? Kidnapped sailors?

After laboring up the narrow ridge we made it to the top, and braced ourselves against the aircraft warning light to survey the view. It was amazing. I'm sorry I don't have a picture from up there, but I wasn't about to fish my phone out of my pocket and risk having it blown out of my grip.

We descended, which was physically easier but harder to navigate, and walked back to our hotel through the town, stopping at a supermarket to pick up some well-deserved drinks and a snack. The snack was Hraun, an Icelandic candy bar which has become one of my all-time favorites. It's sort of like a Kit-Kat, only bigger, with a much thicker layer of chocolate over the cookie. The name means lava rock, and it kind of looks like it. Highly recommended.

After a rest we went back over to the western shore of the island, a little farther south than the day before, in hope of puffins. No puffins. Wonderful views of the uninhabited islands offshore, stretching off to the newest part of Iceland, the island of Surtsey, born in 1967.

In late afternoon we went back through the modern town of Heimaey, and got a glimpse of ordinary life in Iceland. Saw a new development of houses going up — each with its own hot tub, because hot water to soak in comes just behind oxygen as a necessity of life in that country. Japan, another volcanic island, also has its hot spring baths. Curiously, Italy — which has plenty of hot springs and practically invented baths — seems to have lost that tradition. Maybe the Mediterranean climate makes staying cool more important to Italians.

We stopped for "kebabs" in town, as most of the restaurants were still closed for the Easter holiday. Kebabs in Europe are what Americans call Gyros. I think that's because America got Greek immigrants who started restaurants, while in Europe the food was introduced by Turkish guest workers.

Though tired, we resisted the urge to go to bed early because it was predicted to be a clear night and we wanted the chance to see the Northern Lights. So we stayed up until twilight ended (it only got full dark at 10:30 p.m.), and hunted around Heimaey for a spot that didn't feature high-intensity street lighting. Eventually we found a little park, and stood around looking at the sky for about an hour. Alas, the weather on the Sun was too good, because there wasn't any activity to see. So at last to bed.

One final observation on Heimaey: for an island that's two miles wide by three miles long, there are a heck of a lot of cars there. Two reasons I can think of. First, there's a lot of steep slopes on that island. Walking around takes effort, and if one had to carry anything it would get very tiresome very fast. The second reason is that you can take your car on the ferry to the "mainland" and drive to Reykjavik or wherever. I was amused to see that Icelanders don't take off the snow tires until April's over.

There's even kind of a car culture. We saw a couple of dudes driving their boss vintage street rods around Heimaey, and at least once at night I heard what sounded very much like an impromptu drag race.

Next time: The Thing!

The Trip to Iceland, Day 1 (second part)

The ferry ride to Heimaey took about 20 minutes and was the quietest boat ride I've ever taken. We later discovered that the good ship Herjolfur is electric-powered, with a big recharging plug on the dock at Heimaey. It makes sense for a short-haul ship in a country with plentiful geothermal power and no local hydrocarbon fuel. (I'm willing to bet the ship has a diesel auxiliary power plant for longer voyages or emergencies.)

The approach to Heimaey is amazing: steep volcanic cliffs rising straight out of the sea, with a narrow entrance to the harbor. Sea birds nest in the cliffs and whirl around over the water. The whole island group is utterly fantastic-looking, like something off of an album cover or a fantasy novel.

Once ashore we dragged our bags to the Hotel Vestmannaeyjar and then went in search of lunch. Unfortunately, Sunday the 17th was Easter Sunday, and the Icelanders are pretty serious about their Easter observances. Only one place was open, a tourist-oriented bar & grill by the waterfront. The menu was mostly pub food — burgers and the like — with a few ostentatiously "exotic" items: whale steak, puffin, or reindeer burgers. The kind of thing you photograph with your cell phone and post to social media. "Check it out! I'm eating WHALE!"

I'll admit it: I had the reindeer burger. I can't really say what reindeer tastes like because the burger was loaded up with stuff like cheese and cranberry jam to offset the flavor. What I could taste was kind of halfway between lamb and beef.

And no, I have no qualms about eating Prancer. Reindeer aren't native to Iceland (nothing without feathers is, really). I'll let Sir William take it:

"These animals were first introduced into this country (according to Von Troil) in the year 1770, from Norway, by order of Governor Thodal. Ten out of thirteen died on the passage. The three remaining ones have done extremely well, and bred so fast, that at this time Count Tramp reckons that there are about five thousand head in the island. They are, however, quite useless to the natives, for no attempts have been made to domesticate them, nor can the inhabitants afford to buy powder and ball to enable them to kill then for provision."

Evidently the Icelanders have armed up since 1809, as I saw it on the menu a few other places.

Even though we'd been up for about 24 hours by that point, it was still afternoon (and afternoons go on a long time at that latitude in April), so we put on our walking shoes and went out in search of birds. The desk clerk at our hotel said he had spotted a puffin only the day before, so we headed for the cliffs at the west end of the island, about a mile away.

The landscape of Heimaey is phenomenal, with volcanic cliffs and old craters right next to the town. The town itself is . . . functional. Older buildings have corrugated iron roofs and siding (not a bad idea when occasionally flaming ash is in the forecast). Newer buildings are that boxy Scandinavian style which makes me think all their architects were big LEGO fans as children.

Eventually we reached the western cliffs, passing some replica medieval Icelandic houses along the way. We saw a gorgeous view across the water of more fantastic offshore rocks. Plenty of gulls, plenty of oystercatchers, plenty of terns, even a couple of pigeons and a wood duck, but not a puffin to be seen. Still, the scenery was great, and we spent an hour out there before plodding back to our hotel and collapsing into bed. Thirty-three hours awake is long enough.

Next time: The Volcano!

The Trip to Iceland, Day 1 (first part)

A few years ago the Crack Team and I went to Europe aboard Iceland Air, because they had good cheap fares and fly out of Logan Airport in Boston. Like all modern long-haul airliners, the plane had little video screens at each seat, and those little screens played promotional videos about how swell it would be to visit Iceland. They worked: we added Iceland to our big list of places to visit.

After the disruptions of the Coronavirus epidemic, we were in the mood to take a trip this year, masks and tests be damned. Iceland seemed like a good destination to re-accustom ourselves to international travel. It's a relatively short flight (only 5 hours), not too expensive, and it looked about right for a one-week vacation.

During our planning, I came across what became my Bible for this trip. Journal of a Tour in Iceland in the Summer of 1809, by the eminent botanist Sir William Jackson Hooker. Over the course of my life I've learned a valuable way to seem intelligent: if you want a good introduction to any subject, find a book by a 19th Century Briton. There will be one, if not several, because 19th Century Britons went everywhere, did everything, and wrote about it obsessively. Sir William was the third member of our party, and since I could save his book on my phone, he didn't need a plane ticket or meals.

So off we went. On Saturday afternoon, April 16, we drove out to scenic Framingham, Massachusetts, to catch the Logan Express bus to the airport (and thereby achieved a seven-fold reduction in the cost of parking). Checked in and boarded the plane, and then flew through the extra-short night to Keflavik airport at the western tip of Iceland. Got processed, picked up our rental car, and drove out into a new country.

When the British and Americans needed to put an air base in Iceland during World War II, they picked the tip of the long Reykjanes Peninsula, which sticks out of Iceland's southwestern corner. It was mostly flat, mostly uninhabited, and near the sea lanes they wanted to patrol.

It's also a very volcanically active region. The name means "smoking peninsula" because of all the steaming vents and fumaroles. That activity comes from the fact that this peninsula is actually part of the Mid-Atlantic Rift, where Europe and North America are pulling apart.

All of which means that when you leave the modern international airport which succeeded that old wartime base at Keflavik, you drive through an unearthly landscape of old lava flows, not-so-old lava flows, and recent lava flows. Here and there, seemingly at random, are little clumps of buildings like Moonbases, and in the distance the snow-covered mountains of Iceland's interior loom through the clouds of volcanic mist. It's all the result of geology and geopolitics, but the effect is a wonderful introduction to the country: you're definitely in a new and different place.

We drove east, through the gap in the mountains and down a scary escarpment into the broad low southern valley of Iceland. That region's a huge swampy alluvial fan of volcanic dirt washed down from the mountains of the interior by half a dozen meandering rivers. The ground is turf, cut by scores of little streams and ponds. Here and there one can see a few actual fields waiting to be planted. There are more towns (though still not many), and a great many horse farms. I had dark suspicions about whether those horses might show up on the menu later in our visit, but no, apparently Icelanders like their sturdy little horses a lot, and so do tourists, since every farm advertised riding tours of the area.

Sir William on horses in Iceland: "The horses of the Icelanders are small, but strong, and though, for want of a proper supply of food, generally in a miserable condition during the winters, when they for the most part are kept among the mountains to procure their subsistence as they can; yet, in the summer, when grass is plentiful, they are well furnished with flesh, and, if not worked too hard, will even grow fat. Every Icelander keeps his riding horse, and many of the peasants have, also, from fifty to sixty, or even a hundred, others for burden. These of course are useless in the winter, but, as soon as the fisheries commence, or the season for trade summons their masters to Reikevig and other ports, they are all called into employ . . . No wheel carriages of any kind can be made use of in the island: every thing is therefore transported upon horses, which renders a number of these animals of the greatest importance to those Icelanders who live at a distance from the coast."

Nowadays transport is by car, and I have to say the Icelanders I saw seem almost as car-loving as Americans, even though every drop of fuel has to be imported. There are two reasons: Iceland looks like a small country on the map, but it has vast empty expanses. It feels very big. And second, there are no trains. A landscape consisting basically of mountains, lava flows, glaciers, and swamps would be nightmarish for building a rail line, and nobody has attempted it. Building highways was probably difficult enough, and a lot of the roads in the interior of the island are unpaved and only passable in summer. The difficult terrain also means Iceland has a very busy domestic airline market, with flights from Reykjavik and Keflavik all over the island.

After driving for a couple of hours and a nap at a roadside parking lot, we stopped to visit the LAVA Centre in Hvollsvollur. This wasn't part of the plan; we mostly just wanted to find a restroom and some drinks, and it was open.

I'm very glad we stopped. The LAVA Centre is one of the best little educational museums I've seen. It's all about the geology of Iceland, and includes a viewing platform from which one can see the peak of Mount Hekla, twenty miles away. There's also a video about Iceland's volcanoes, and exhibits on different types of eruptions, different types of lava and igneous rock, and the giant magma plume underneath the island which drives all of this. We had a delightful chat with one of the geologists at the museum and went away impressed. Highly recommended if you're in that part of Iceland.

A good thing, too, because our traveling companion was little help. "I forbear to speak of the mineralogy of the island, because my ignorance of that important branch of natural history would prevent my being able to offer any remarks farther than I could collect from other authors. Few countries, perhaps, present so interesting a field for the geologist."

We couldn't stay at the LAVA Centre as long as we might have wished, as we had to push on from Hvollsvollur in order to make the noon ferry sailing from Landeyjahofn to Heimay. Landeyjahofn is literally nothing but an artificial harbor, parking lot, and a terminal for the ferry. There are no houses or businesses, except a small airport nearby. The only reason it's there is the ferry to Heimay.

I'll cover the voyage to Heimay and our stay in the Vestmannaeyjar next time.

Discover an Archipelago of Lost Worlds

I'm pleased to report that the long-awaited anthology Lost Worlds and Mythological Kingdoms is now available. It's edited by John Joseph Adams and features a pretty impressive lineup of contributors, including Theodora Goss, Cadwell Turnbull, and Becky Chambers. The seventeen stories in the book are all about visits to hidden or imaginary lands — a micro-genre which was once a mainstay of fantastic adventure fiction but which gradually faded away under the influence of decolonization and satellite mapping. My own contribution is called "Out of the Dark," and is another work in the ongoing Billion Worlds series. I'm pretty eager to get my hands on a copy myself. 

In other Billion Worlds news, I just handed in my draft of the next Billion Worlds novel, a prequel to The Godel Operation with the working title The Scarab Mission. More news as that progresses toward publication. Until then . . . 

. . . get Lost!

The Zydeco Operation

The Godel Operation comes to Acadiana! On Wednesday, September 22, I'll be doing a reading and signing at southwestern Louisiana's premier book shop, Beausoleil Books of Lafayette, from 6 to 8 p.m. The event is free and all are welcome.

Come on down and hear some of the adventures of Daslakh and Zee in the Billion Worlds of the Tenth Millennium! I'll answer any questions and sign whatever is put in front of me. 

Did I mention this bookstore has a wine bar? That's the hallmark of a truly advanced civilization.  

Steely-Eyed Missile Robot

Congratulations to the Perseverance rover on its successful landing on Mars. Pretty impressive job for a rookie pilot! Let's all wish it a long career of rolling around the Martian landscape.

ADDENDUM: Almost as impressive as the landing is the amazing improvement in data return. Forty-five years ago, when I watched the Viking landings on Mars, it took hours for the first still photos to reach Earth. Today Perseverance sent back pictures within a few minutes.

SECOND ADDENDUM: Here's a video, with control-room chatter synched to the images, of the final descent. If you've ever wanted to dive six kilometers down to the surface of Mars, this is what it looks like. (Remember that the "control" room people are watching ten-minute-old video with no way to interfere. The probe was entirely on its own.)

 

The Lost Manuscripts of Lemuel Gulliver, Part the First

Historians and students of literature were tremendously excited by the recent announcement by Oxford University that several volumes of unpublished notes by Lemuel Gulliver had been found in the Bodleian Library. 

Dr. Gulliver was a little-known 18th-century explorer, the first European to visit Lilliput, Brobdingnag, Laputa, and other lands of the Pacific. His accounts of those voyages were edited and published by the Irish satirist Jonathan Swift, and for many years were considered to be purely fictional, until those islands became important battlegrounds during the Second World War.

The notebooks discovered in the Bodelian Library contain much material which Swift elected to leave out of the popular edition of Gulliver's works. Evidently Swift, no scientist himself, thought the public would be bored by Dr. Gulliver's observations and theories on the biology of the peoples he encountered. These new discoveries restore Dr. Lemuel Gulliver to his proper place as a naturalist and early investigator of the field of biomechanics.

Here's the first deleted section, from his manuscript on Lilliput:

During my stay in Lilliput, I was continually astonished by a singular feature of the Architecture in that Kingdom, namely the utter Absence of stairs  or other means of climbing from one floor to another within a dwelling. Remarkably, this Absence did not discommode the Lilliputians in the slightest degree. To ascend, they simply leapt from one story to the next, without any sign of undue Exertion or loss of dignity. I even witnessed an elderly Lilliputian, his hair whitened and his back bent with age, vault up to his Chamber on the third floor of his house in a single bound!

In a like manner, the Lilliputians I observed did not trouble to climb downstairs — indeed, there were none to climb — but simply flung themselves out the nearest Window if they wished to alight upon the Ground.  Several times I witnessed Lilliputians in the Towns leaping across the Streets from one upper-storey window to another, showing no fear of falling, and if they did chance to miss their Aim and tumble to the ground, they showed no ill Effect of their misadventure.

Several Learned Gentlemen among the Lilliputians and Blefuscudians reported to me that none of their Race has any fear of a fall, as they can alight safely, no matter the height from which they have fallen. Indeed, they thought my natural Caution in going up and down to be unmanly, and I was occasionally the object of Ridicule for it.

Upon my return to England, I had the occasion to mention this remarkable Circumstance to my neighbor Dr. Erasmus Darwin.  He informed me that this Conduct of the Lilliputians is perfectly natural, and is a necessary Consequence of their extraordinary Diminution.

"Consider, Dr. Gulliver," (said Dr. Darwin to me) "that the weight of a man is in proportion to his volume,  if we assume that there be no material difference between the Lilliputians and ourselves but only one of scale. Therefore a Gentleman of Lilliput, proportioned like yourself but having a height of only six inches, would weigh but 1/1728 of what you do, or slightly less than two Ounces, that being the cubic power of 1/12."

I replied that this Weight was precisely that of such Gentlemen of Lilliput as I had occasion to place upon the Scales.

"But consider, Dr. Gulliver: the active Power of the Muscles is in proportion to their Area in cross-section. Our Lilliputian Gentleman's leg muscles would be 1/144th the size of yours in Area, and thus in Strength, as that is the square of 1/12." As he spoke he made some rapid calculations with a lead pencil upon a sheet of foolscap.

"Surely that cannot be right," I interjected.  "For that would mean he would be twelve times as strong as I, in proportion to his size."

"That is exactly right, Dr. Gulliver. He would indeed be stronger — in proportion. If you yourself are able to leap to a height of (let us say) three feet, that is, a height equal to one-half your own, then a Lilliputian would be capable of leaping twelve times as far in proportion, or six times his own height. In fact, the proportions cancel themselves out, so we are faced with the startling conclusion that a Lilliputian can leap as high as you yourself, Dr. Gulliver! The people of Lilliput have no need of stairs, for to jump up a Storey requires no greater effort for them than for you to ascend a single step."

PhilCon 2020 Goes Virtual

This year's PhilCon — the venerable Philadelphia-era science fiction con now in its 84th year — is going to be all-online. On the plus side that means no New Jersey traffic and mall food; on the minus side it means no spontaneous conversations in the hotel lobby, no room parties, and no basic human contact. But a virtual convention is better than none at all. 

Still, as in past years I will be participating, from my office in Massachusetts. Here's my schedule:

 

Friday November 20, 5:30 p.m.: Online Gaming: Not Just for Pandemics

Michael Ryan (moderator), Robert Hranek, James L. Cambias, Debby Lieven

The four of us will be discussing how the ongoing epidemic has affected how people play games -- will we go back to tabletops and rec rooms again, or is online gaming the future?

 

8:30 p.m.: From the Iron Bank to CHOAM: Business in Fiction

James L. Cambias (moderating), Anthony Dobranski, Elektra Hammond, Tom Doyle, Ian Randal Strock

A panel about the role of business and economics in fantastic fiction. How does a world's economy affect the stories one can tell? What does fiction get right and wrong?

 

Saturday November 20, 5:30 p.m.: The Oceans of Space

James L. Cambias, Tom Purdom, Kelli Fitzpatrick

I think I'm moderating this one. The three of us will discuss famous maritime science fiction, and how new discoveries in and beyond the Solar System may influence future ocean stories.

 

Sunday November 21, 1:00 p.m.: The Search for the Philosophers' Stone

Robert Hranek (moderator), Anastasia Klimchynskaya, James Prego, James L. Cambias, Elizabeth Crowens

We'll look at the history of alchemy, how discoveries in chemistry and physics changed our understanding of how matter works, and look at some other concepts which have shifted over time.

 

4:00 p.m.: Reading

I'll give con goers a glimpse into my forthcoming novel The Godel Operation, and the amazing far-future setting The Billion Worlds.

Twenty Years!

Today marks a significant anniversary. Twenty years ago, on October 31, 2000, the first crew launched to the International Space Station. Station crews are called "Expeditions," so Expedition 1 began on that date. We're currently on Expedition 64, with three in the pipeline and many more planned. The Expeditions overlap, so that the new crew arrives and can get acclimated before the old crew leaves. More recently, people have switched between Expeditions while aboard, to remain behind when the rest of their team goes home.

What all this means is that for twenty years now, there have been at least three humans living off Earth at all times. It's a small colony, and it's not self-sufficient, but one must crawl before learning to walk.

I called it a significant anniversary, but in time I hope "20 years in space" becomes an insignificant anniversary, as the human presence beyond Earth passes 50 years, a century, two centuries . . . 

There will come a time when it is a matter of historical curiosity that there was ever a time when humans did not live off Earth. The date may someday be as obscure as the anniversary of the first time a human walked out of Beringia into North America, or when the first humans crossed the Suez isthmus to discover a whole planet beyond Africa. So let's honor the occasion in the fond hope that it will someday be forgotten.

The First CYBER WorldCon!

This year's World Science Fiction Convention was to have taken place in New Zealand, but since that country is entirely sealed off from the outside world, the convention has gone entirely on-line. It's a CYBER WorldCon! See the link here.

Despite obstacles the show will go on! I'm participating in several events, without leaving my house in Massachusetts. Here's my schedule (all times are in US Eastern Daylight Time):

Wednesday, July 29, 5:00 p.m.: Kaffeeklatsch

An hour-long informal hangout with me and nine other fans. Grab a drink and join us! (I probably will be having something stronger than coffee.)

Wednesday, July 29, 7:00 p.m.: Staying Closer to Home: Science Fiction in the Solar System

A panel featuring Daniel Abraham, Jeffrey Carver, myself, G. David Nordley, and Ian McDonald; focusing on the future of science fiction set within the Solar System rather than among the stars, and how our rapidly changing understanding of the Sun's other planets is affecting that.

Thursday, July 30, 5:00 p.m.: COVID-19: A Great Filter?

A panel featuring Valentin Ivanov, Vylar Kaftan, Ion Newcombe, and myself. We'll discuss whether pandemics like the current Coronavirus outbreak might explain why we don't see any sign of technological civilizations elsewhere in the Galaxy.

Thursday, July 30, 6:00 p.m.: Reading

I'll be doing a 20-minute reading of "Calando," a new short story of mine from the original anthology Retellings of the Inland Seas.

Friday, July 31, 6:00 p.m.: The Ascent of Wonder: What Makes Hard SF

Panel starring Kenn Bates, myself, Mark English, Harun Siljak, and Deborah Munro. We'll focus on how important it is to get the science right, what rules can we break, and who does it well?

Friday, July 31, 11:00 p.m.: RPG Design (And What to Do Next)

Join Michael Sands, Morgan Davie, Brandon O'Brien, myself, and Stephen Dedman for a discussion of how to design role-playing games and how to get them published.