up in the air

It's a brilliant day; the sun is out in full force. No clouds speckle the deep blue sky, and it is warm. Spring is here to stay. Memories of a long and harsh winter are fading, and the coming of summer seems a real possibility for the first time this year. I'm sitting in a streetside café in Turnham Green, a lovely neighborhood of airy streets lined with eclectic businesses. Among the inevitable blight of estate agents rise the Covent Garden Fishmonger; Theobroma Cacao, the chocolate lounge; an Italian gelateria; and, protected by a huge awning of badly faded indigo, the Andreas Veg company.

Squat buildings of one floor only house the businesses and let the sunshine pass to the street level without effort. The street itself is busy with traffic, but the cars glide by nearly silently and there are few buses and no trucks. It's a world away from the noise and dirt that characterize the victuals market outside the house where I live, and I soak up the peace. On the little round table in front of me is a perfectly drawn macchiato, its cloud of hot milk foam rimmed by the burned sienna of the coffee below. I'm reviving my spirits and stretch my legs until they protrude from the shade cast by the table. I should have worn sandals.

Earlier today, I went for a run, an eleven-kilometer tempo run along the Thames that capped a week of last-minute speedwork. The marathon that my training leads up to will take place next Sunday, and while my preparation has been much better than last year's and my legs are pumped with miles, I have somewhat neglected high-intensity workouts. So this week I went for two half-hour interval sessions in the park and today for a run at better-than-marathon speed. My legs feel the effort, but they're slowly being tickled back to life by the rays of a sun that, as mentioned earlier, is shining brilliantly from a cloudless sky.

The solar glory and the perfect sky are a bit ironic, if you think about it. On Wednesday, Eyjafjallajökull, a volcano on Iceland, started a process that the word erupt does not do justice. Lava broke through the central region of the volcano, only to get solidified almost immediately by the ice of the glacier lying above. Shards of lava were created, glass-like and needle-pointed, violently blasted into the air, and carried away in the atmosphere in a large plume that slowly spread towards the east and south.

To the east and south of Iceland lies the rest of Europe, and the enormous cloud of volcanic ash has grown to cover most of the continent. And while it is invisible from the ground (outside wildly colored sunsets), it wreaks havoc up in the air. The cloud of lava particles can be thought of as a three-dimensional blanket of powerful sandpaper that rasps mercilessly on every solid in its way. It not only strips the paint off airliners, but also shuts down their jet engines, kills most flight instruments and blinds the cockpit's windows. Safe flying becomes impossible.

Late on Thursday, the airspace over the United Kingdom and Skandinavia was thus completely shut down. Similar restrictions were soon imposed on Northern France and all of Germany. Returning from the Nuclear Security Summit in Washington, D.C., the German Chancellor got as far as Portugal where she is now stuck. Aviation has become impossible, airports are reduced to camps for stranded travelers, and the skies over London are eerily quiet. Not a single plane is visible all day.

The situation forecasts are updated every few hours but never extend by more than a day, which makes planning impossible. I am supposed to fly to Germany on Friday, but if I will is unclear. The volcanic activity shows no signs of abating, and no strong winds are forecast to disperse the disruptive cloud.

But I remain optimistic. It's five days to go; chances are the situation will normalize and air traffic resume. And even if things don't improve, I won't abandon my plans for the race. I have worked too hard over the last four months to throw it all away. There are at least two companies that shuttle buses between London and Dresden.

If worse comes to worse, I'll go on a twenty-hour-long comfort-free transcontinental journey that will recall memories of high school when our class did exactly the same trip in the opposite direction. We all survived, and so will I. For now, there's nothing I can do but enjoy the sun and the most beautiful of this year's days.