A-Z Challenge 18: Ramadan under the midnight sun

Ramadan is the Muslim month of fasting. Food and drinks can be consumed only before dawn and after sunset. Ramadan goes back to pre-Islamic times, just like Christmas (winter solstice) dates back to pre-Christian times.

The Islamic Ramadan is the month when Muhammad received  the Quran. This happened in the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, which doesn’t completely agree with the astronomical calendar.  Therefore Ramadan moves around the year.

I just came back from the Arctic, where the sun is up from mid-April till late August. There were no Muslims around. They all died out one year when Ramadan was in the middle of the summer.

I’m just joking. The Muslims have found practical ways to deal with this, like they have done when Soccer World Cup coincides with Ramadan. You can’t expect the Algerian or Iranian national teams to perform on top level without regular meals. In a similar way, they have found ways to survive the light summers of the north. During Ramadan, the Muslims living in the Land of the Midnight Sun are allowed to eat according to the sunrise and sunset in Mecca.

That’s fine with me. It remains to see if God agrees. He’s known to be a tough guy from time to time.

The land of the midnight sun

It seems like I’m back on my old informal blogging-schedule;  blogging while traveling. That’s when I get the time to do it, when I have the evenings  off, by myself. 

This year I have hardly been traveling at all. Yesterday, when I got to the airport security, I realized how much I appreciate being at home, with just a 10 minute commute to the office (thanks to the inventors of video-conferencing).

This week I’m up north, in the city known as The Paris of the North, and The Gateway to the Arctic.   

It’s quite some time since last time I was here for real. I’ve been here many times in transit. This is the town were I used to board the Antonov-24for Murmansk, when I travelled regularly to Russia. This is the transit stop if you want to experience the Arctic magic. This is where I have boarded vessels heading for the Arctic Seas, and where I slept over when I returned.

It’s great to be here in the summer, at 69 degrees North, well beyond the Arctic Circle. The mountains are still capped with snow, and the birches have just got a slight touch of leaves. It’s not very warm, but it’s light.  The sun shines around the clock. The last sunrise was 20^th May, and the next sunset is 25^th July. Two months of continuous daylight.

My hotel  (and all the other hotels in town) are down on the harbor, with a nice view to the bridge and the Arctic Cathedral on the other side. God present is here too, apparently. Religion is hard to get rid of no matter how far north you go.

The north is challenging for the Muslims. They all died out one summer when Ramadan was in the months of the midnight sun. I’m just joking.  The Muslims up here has a special permit (from God?) to follow the clock-times in Mecca. During Ramadan, they can eat when the sun sets in Mecca. Funny isn’t it?

Religion (all of them) is pure madness. That’s why I stick to science >)

(I took the picture above this morning. When I checked the last link above, I realized that I had basically the same picture 4 year ago. But if you compare, you will see that the weather is better today.)

Watching downhill

It was a beatuiful morning; clear blue sky, but cold and windy. We walked from the car to the lift, carrying our skis on the shoulder. Little Boy lagged behind. I turned around.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my skis on.”
“Not yet”, I said, “we take the gondola.”
“No, we go by the chair lift. The line for the gondola is too long”, said Little Boy.

We went by the double-quad chair lift, shivering in the cold wind, 10 meters above ground. We looked down on the race course below, where lots of people were working. The course crew mounted double and triple safety nets on both sides. The TV crew rigged camera towers along the course.
“What’s going on?” asked Little Boy
“There’s a World-Cup downhill race next weekend.”
“Can we watch it?”
“No, we’re going home on Thursday. We can watch it on TV.”

I’ve seen pro downhill live only once. It was the World Championship in Beaver Creek, in the famous Birds of Prey course, more than ten years ago, when we lived in Colorado. We were down on the race arena. The racers came down the last hang at 120 km (75miles) per hour before crossing the finish line. It took less than 3 seconds. Then we waited a minute or two for the next one.

“Can’t we just stay a few more days?” asked Little Boy.
“No. I’m teaching Friday morning. Maybe we can watch some of the practise tomorrow”
“I want to see the race.” Little Boy was disappointed.

“Watching downhill live is just boring”, I said, “It’s best on TV” >:)

(When we approached the top lift station, my face felt stiff in the cold wind. I took off my right glove, just for a few seconds. I snatched the camera from my pocket, and was barely able to take the picture above, before my hand froze to ice.)

Life on the ship

Life on the ship is an easy life. We work, rest, eat and sleep. We have satellite TV, internet, and plenty of DVDs. If anyone gets sick or injured, there's a medic and a full hospital on board.

The crew works in two 12-hour shifts, night and day. At this time of the year it's not a big difference; the sun is up all the time. There are two separate crews, actually; a maritime crew, which keeps the boat going, and a geophysical crew, which runs the data acquisition and processing. I’m here to make sure we get the on-board data processing up and running the way we want it. Then I will go back to the office.

There’s nowhere to go, and not much to worry about; no shopping at the mall, no lawn to mow, no dinner to cook, no kids to take to school and soccer practice. Sometimes I take a walk around the helicopter deck, to get some fresh air, or to enjoy the view of the midnight sun. There is nothing but ocean to see, but still the scenery is changing all the time; the waves and the clouds and the sun. It’s very nice, actually >:)

We’re ready to start

It’s a beautiful night outside. The sea is calm, no wind. The sky is clearing up, to reveal a glimpse of the midnight sun. I just took a walk outside on the helicopter deck and the bridge wing. The picture above was taken at 1 am, which means astronomical midnight, when corrected for daylight saving time.

This has been a good day. All the seismic cables and the air-guns are deployed. We have tested the guns, and checked that we record data as expected. In the instrument room the geophysical crew is ready: the navigators, the gun controllers, the quality controllers, and the on-board data processors.

Right now we are steaming towards north, before we make a ninety degree turn into the first line. Then we have an hour run-in to straighten the hydrophone cables. It’s not easy to make these turns. The seismic cable spread we are towing behind the ship is 800m (half a mile) wide, 6km (about 4 miles) long, and covers an area almost one and half times the size of Central Park.

The first shot will be fired two hours from now. When I wake up tomorrow morning, we will have some interesting data to look at. Life is good >:)