Foggy Notions, Crisis Camaraderie & The Cosmic Joker
Atlantis Refuses to Reveal its Secrets
Driving down to Heathrow, I am listening to podcasts, as is my wont. On this occasion a chap is waxing lyrical about the number 137. What’s so special about 137 I sense you ponder. I’m glad you asked.
It seems that 137 (or strictly speaking the inverse of 137) turns up all the time in physics. The value 1/137(ish) is a dimensionless quantity known as the fine structure constant. It relates to how strongly electrons interact with photons and hence pops up all over atomic physics and quantum field theory. No one knows why - it just seems to be some fundamental property of the universe.
This gets people very excited and sends them off down paths of searching for deeper meaning, such as looking at Gematria ( the ancient Greek and Hebrew concept of assigning numbers to letters and then adding these together to produce values for words,). It turns out that 137 is the value of Keter in the Hebrew system, which is the highest of the ten Sefirot, representing divine will or the bridge between the infinite and the finite world.
So much, so woo.
I am still pondering this as I check into the hotel for the night.
Obviously I am given room 137.
I see.
The universe is in one of those moods where it thinks its funny is it? I expect it will be playing silly buggers for a bit and may make the coming week interesting.
I had no idea.
Next morning everything seems to be going fine, except for the fact that there was barely time between the bag drop, security and boarding to snag a Wetherspoons breakfast. I am no rookie though and slip in under the wire, ordering online just as they start collecting up the breakfast menus.
I was particularly keen to stock up as I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take to get to Ponta Delgada, sort out hire car and accommodation etc. The next meal may be some distance away.
The flight to the Azores is about 3.5 hours, which isn’t bad. At least it isn’t bad if you are able to land. As we approach, the pilot informs us that there is thick fog and he will circle for a while and hope for a clearing. Some of the passengers are getting a bit twitchy, but he assures us that they carry extra fuel for just such an eventuality.
He must have had reports of a slight gap as he suddenly started to descend like a stuka, only (and you could almost hear the “Errr…nope!”) to pull up quite dramatically and start to circle again. This goes on for some time until he finally decides that it is not happening and informs us that he needs to find somewhere else to land.
This turns out to be a military base on the island of Terceira. I am quite pleased initially as I had sort of given up on the idea of getting to any islands other than Sao Miguel on this trip. Naively, I assumed that they would let us potter about a bit before flying us back to Ponta Delgada when the fog cleared.
Not so much. The cosmic joker is not done.
They quickly decide that the fog has settled in for the night and BA want the plane back at Heathrow. Sigh. They will allow people to get off here if they want, but they can’t unload any luggage as the base is not equipped for it. So the deal is essentially go back to Heathrow or get off, find you own way back to Sao Miguel to pick up your luggage the next day should the flight make it at that point.
A surprising number of people do get off - I assume people who were heading to Terceira anyway and/or only have hand luggage. The rest of us are doomed to a late flight back to London, and overnight (or at least a couple of hours) in a hotel and then (hopefully) a flight back the next day.
I’m pretty sure that the Azores is the furthest I have ever been on a day trip.
What adventure! I’m certainly getting good value out of the zero pounds I spent buying the trip with air miles.
The trip back is quite fun. People who have barely spoken to each other for the initial 4 or 5 hours have now become best friends. The air crew maintain calm against the odds and people realise that there is no point in railing against something that no one can control and relax into resigned good humour.
If only you could bottle that and spread it around the world. We were suddenly all friends and equal.
Although they did still draw the curtain across the cabin to save the club passengers from being too exposed to us proles. Standards is standards after all.
I felt for the people who had forward plans or complex itineraries, but was quietly smug about my inability to plan meaning that this was far less of an issue for me (other than a little hire care juggling).
And so here I am again at my home from home, Heathrow Terminal 5, waiting for attempt number 2.
It seems I am actually quite good at waiting. I go into a sort of anti-meditation mode where I let the monkey mind run riot and just see what thoughts pop into my head. I can’t attest to the quality of said thoughts.
Will see what today brings. I am only mildly disappointed that, having discovered that there is a major religious festival in Ponta Delgada today, I will miss it - or at least any parades etc. I will hopefully be there in time for any evening religious revelry! Of course it may also mean that everywhere is closed and I won’t be able to get anything to eat.
Right, off to snag some emergency grub before setting off…