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My most recent foray abroad took me far and wide, but most memorable were my days in Iceland. I went on a whim, to establish for myself if the rumours are true: you know, that Iceland is actually quite green, where Greenland is quite icy. As an undeniably endothermic Australian, all I can say for certain is that both places are cold beyond imagining. Like, the kind of cold in which you might hear a polar bear muttering “sod this for a lark“. That cold. …Yet somehow perfect for the Arctic Fox, Viking Rabbits and the odd Kraken – (but more on that later).

Why was I in Iceland, I hear you implore me to hurry up and explain? Well, my reasons were deux. Firstly, to visit the lovely people of Eyjafjallajökull for no other reason than to establish, once and for all, how one is supposed to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull. I left none the wiser, as no-one knew. Secondly, I want a pet for my Yoon-Mi; and I’ve got my eyes on an Arctic Fox. Once upon a time, they were the only mammal in Iceland (prior to humans) so I thought I’d go see how they feel about that. However, they can’t talk – and all I managed to learn from them was that “eyjafjallajökull” is, in fact, the noise they make when they yawn. Problem solved! And wow are they gorgeous little things.

Lastly, whilst rolling about in the snow with the fox pups, I found a little scrap of parchment that referenced the very first settlers to arrive in Iceland (after the Arctic Fox and before the people, that is) – the Viking Bunnyfolk. It told of a fearsome, ruthless and relentlessly vegetarian existence; of hoppity little adventurers that encountered and went axe-to-tusk with many sea-beasts on their journeys. This priceless etching of the heroic battle between infamous Viking Bunny Magnús Briem and a Krakenbeast was a real find! I thought Mary C. might enjoy it, what with her love of all things that wear a horned hat;)

I hope you enjoyed this travel blog, and stay tuned for a Fin Whale recipé that is sure to be the household centerpiece for every happy family this Christmas.

Not that it's not busy at work today, but I'm doing a little light reading. It started with a news article on the HST (Hubble Space Telescope), diverted through articles on Black Holes, and resulted in an attempt to better understand the space-time continuum.

In short, a black hole is a region in space (RIS)* from which nothing, including light, can escape. Light cannot escape from it because it is no more immune to gravity than, say, a Ming vase or a piece of toast you've just buttered for breakfast. And because light cannot escape from it, we can't see what's in them. it could be anything. Some theories suggest they are intergalactic depositories for all the missing socks. More exciting theorems suggest Black Holes contain ultra-mega secret jazz clubs for the higher echelons of the Interstellar Travellers' Guild (ITG). This theory actually makes sense, because what better place for a really cool, loud jazz club than somewhere from which the noise can't escape? Or the audience? Once captivated, the punters can't leave to go elsewhere for a Jinnan Tonix. Really, it is quite a masterful business model.

When you read about Black Holes and how they behave (or more properly, how objects/matter/light/jazz musicians behave as they approach them) - well, this is really where things start to get trickysome, precious. You see, time behaves differently as you near the Event Horizon. (Side note: until today, I honestly though the Event Horizon was just a stupendously brilliant spaceship hopping about the outer rim, captained by an incredibly evil Sam Neill - but no.) The Event horizon is in fact the cleverest-ever wait-in-line-system for the galaxy's best jazz club. You see, people (read: bouncers, jazz club managers, groupies at the rear entrance etc etc) watching people approach the club will invariably fall victim to the strangest property of the Black Hole: the closer you get to 'the point of no return', the slower you appear to move. Light (read: how you are seen) tries to bend and curve and dodge and splice and do all kinds of mathematical equations to figure out how it can escape its impending and very permanent imprisonment in the Jazz Club. Gravity whacks it about with incredible force and unrelenting vigor. The bouncer waiting to check your ID will wait an eternity as you seem to slowly come to a complete halt. But to you, time does its normal everyday thing and you just slip into the club un-noticed. In a round about way, give or take an Einstein mustache and some quantum gravity, this is what separates us and a Black Hole. The Event Horizon is quite possibly the coolest thing ever discovered. If you could create one and wear it on a wrist band, you'd be able to do all kinds of neat tricks. A lot of them involve getting into places and sneaking about while people think you're standing outside imitating a statue. The bonus here would be the ability to slip out again with whatever it is you're sneaking in for - unlike a real Black Hole, from which, gravely, there is no escape.



*Now, this "RIS" needs to be more closely examined. The whole theory behind a Black Hole revolves around the premise that there is something, some mass, so vastly huge that it creates a catastrophically large gravitational pull. Everything pulled into it is seemingly obliterated. But how can we know? John Michell had some clever ideas way back in 1783, and Einstein later used a large amount of Plumbum and a 100W globe to prove it all. (Well, you tell me how he did it!) The problem with all this guessing and backing it up with very impressive displays of mathematical mind-buggery is that when we point the Hubble at a Black Hole to check it out we see: well, nothing. As in - more nothing than you can possibly imagine. You can stare at the blackest sky imaginable and still sleep with the comforting knowledge that, although your eyes aren't receiving enough light to discern a planet a long way away, it is up there. And I ask you: what is more disappointing than that? The coolest thing you can possibly imagine: possibly probably a giant jazz club in the sky, full of Interstellar Travellers' Guild Executives, and we can't even get a postcard.

Ripped. Off.