The Land of Fire and Ice, isolated, wild, rugged. Located just south of the Arctic Circle, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Iceland welcomes us with ice on the roads and drizzling rain as we pull into Reykjavik. The darkness is velvet, the air is crisply cold. It is well past midnight by the time we get into our accommodation - we are given an entire house to ourselves, three bedrooms, a lounge area and a kitchen. The decor is cute, kitsch. A pair of old roller skates sit underneath a wooden dresser, blue and white china plates adorn the kitchen walls. There are wooden sculptures and old dolls displayed on shelves.


The next morning we are awake well before sunrise - at this time of year, the sun rises at 11am, and we troop over to the main hotel for breakfast. The hulk of Hallgrimskirkja, literally "Hallgrim's Church" sit across from our hotel. Completed in the 1940s, the structure is supposed to represent the basalt volcanic rock that forms the foundation of Iceland. The choir is practising for Christmas and we sit for awhile inside the stark grey hall. The sound reflects beautifully off the tall gothic arches and the austerness of the church suits Iceland to a T.

Our first full day in Reyk is spent exploring the town. Rugged up against the cold in layers, we wander in and out of the grey rain for most of the day. There is a starkness in Reyk, the town has the spirit of a frontier town, especially in the older parts where there are still original, tin clad wooden houses standing. The buildings are painted in different colours - red, black, blue with bright white window frames. Everywhere we go we see Advent candles lit.


Our first stop is the viewpoint at Mount Esja, looming across the harbour. Later, as the sun sets and the clouds are blown away, the mountain is brushed in liquid gold and we revisit the view point in a different light. We eat in the very cool Cafe Paris, its walls decked with canvases of comic book heroes. We go shopping, but even with the kronur's devaluation, things in Reyk are still eye-wateringly expensive. It is raining again as we queue up at Baedaris Beztu for "pylsur" or hotdogs - delicious, hot mouthfuls of mystery meat encased in a soft white bun doused with remoulade, crunchy fried onions and tomato sauce. The boys have two, then three each. 


We spend awhile by the water, getting colder by the minute, then walk along the foreshore to "Sun Craft" a sculpture that evokes a Viking ship, or whale bones, both appropriate symbols of Reykjavik. The light is perfect, soft golds reflecting off the greyness of the water.

Contemplation in Reykjavik

There are tons of vintage shops in Reykjavik, beautifully appointed, lovingly decorated, more boutique than second-hand. There are also the less upmarket Salvation Army stores, filled with hip young 'uns and old mamas looking for bargains. Iceland goods are high quality, with matching price tags to match. Like the rest of Scandinavia, it is design that Iceland excels at, and we see examples of that famous, pared-down, sexy Scandinavian aesthetic everywhere, expressed and translated into clothes, jewellery, household items and furniture. I am on the hunt for a "lopi" or traditional Icelandic yoke knit top and I find one that has traditional design with modern colours - grey, red and white.

We eat well while in Reykjavik - lobster, perch, lamb. The produce is fresh and delicious, but the lamb was a stand out. Our first night we sit down at a table at the Lobster House and after, head on home. The bars open late in Reykjavik. Our crew is tired from the cold and a day of walking so we spend the night chilling out in our comfy little house instead.


We are off to the Golden Circle tour the next day, and our first stop is at a geothermal plant. Clouds of steam billow out between the buildings and in the pre-dawn light the futuristic buildings and industrial fixtures look like they come from another planet. All of Iceland uses clean energy - everything is powered by the geothermal energy lying underneath the surface of the country. The entire place is, for all intents and purposes, a giant volcano.


There are three major attractions on the Golden Circle - Gulfoss waterfalls, Geysir and Thingvellir National Park. The waterfalls are smaller in winter, the edges are locked in ice, but standing far above on the viewing ledge, the powerful falls still send clouds of spray in our direction. It is freezing out in the wind and wet, and we feel the cold. The landscape is wide open. As the sun rises a strip of gold light lies on the horizon, illuminating a white-blue glacier far off in the distance. Even in winter, yellow sedge grasses dot the black lava fields.


We stop by Geysir, the geyser that gave its name to all other geysers around the world - the first real hot spring, as it were. Geysir is old now, and less active, so we are entertained instead by Strokkur, which reliably spits up hot steam and water every ten to fifteen minutes or so. The water bubbles just before it shoots up, giving us ample time to ready cameras and poses.


As the sunsets, we explore Thingvellir, where the Icelandic parliament, the oldest continuing democracy in the world, used to meet in the early 11th century. The rivers cut across this broad plain, its paths locked in ice. Fir trees dot the ridges and a line of blue mountains mark the horizon. The light is purple and pink and soft blues as the sun goes down. The snow crowned moutains flare into gold for a brief moment and we watch as tiny human silhouettes are dwarfed by the age and scale of the landscape.


It's been a long day. Surprisingly it hasn't been as cold as we'd expected - the severe snow storms that occurred just a week before we got there had melted into grey snow or ice and there were glimpses of green vegetation around. We had come prepared and wore a thin, light thermal layer next to the skin, followed by two thin cotton tops, a cashmere and lastly a water proof down jacket. The others wore ski pants, which kept them both warm and dry - I layered two thermal leggings underneath regular jeans and wore thermal and wool socks with hiking boots, which seemed to work, though were not wind proof. Just getting dressed in the morning took a while.

Dinner was Laekjarbrekka, where the lobster soup was legendary. There was also Christmas buffet on offer, an Icelandic tradition. We sampled horse (yum), puffin (ew), and reindeer (yum) amongst other Icelandic delicacies. We didn't, however, try the hakarl, or rotted shark - culinary adventurers we were, but not culinary suicide bombers.


On our walk home to rest up before our Northern Lights tour, the streets of Reykjavik were lit up in festive colours. It was quiet, and the shop windows were locked down. Like many Scandinavian countries, Iceland goes into hibernation mode in winter, but come summer, when the country gets two hours of darkness at its maximum, the party never stops here.


Aurora borealis, named after the goddess of the dawn and the north wind, are a natural phenomenon that occurs as a result of solar magnetic particles brushing agains the Earth's electromagnetic fields. They occur year long, and are more common when there has been high solar activity, like sun spots. Many friends who have been to Iceland didn't manage to see them - we felt lucky but weren't expecting much. We had an almost-full moon, which didn't help matters - auroras are clearest on dark, dark nights. Far off to our right we could also see the Peace sculpture, an installation by Yoko Ono, a simple, bright white light shining straight into the skies.


It was cold out at the vantage point, and the field was filled with people and random flashes of light - photographing the lights are very very hard to do well. We waited for an hour and were just heading back into the warmth and comfort of the bus when we turned around and there, hanging just over our heads behind us - a ghostly trail of light. To the naked eye the aurora looked white, with a hint of green, but cameras see the Northern Lights much better than the human eye. It stayed and shimmered, then faded away before reappearing every now and again. Ours was a straight line in the sky - a plain, simple arc. Other shapes are clouds, or dancing lights, which move as the solar currents change direction. Green is the commonest colour, with red auroras found higher in the atmosphere.


The last day in Iceland dawned with clear skies as we were speeding down the roads to the Blue Lagoon, another highlight of our trip. Born from the by product of the steam powered energy plants that dot Iceland, the warm waters of the lagoon are filled with silica and are algae rich, perfect for soaking and relaxing. The white mud at the bottom of the lagoon gives the waters their milky blue colour, and are perfect to use as a facial mask. We spend a few wonderful hours here, running around in 2 degree Celsius air taking photographs then plunging back into the warm, 40 degree pools, steam rising from our skin.


The surreal beauty of Iceland is everything that I was expecting, the relatively young age of this country, and the facts of its sheer existence are relentlessly fascinating, even to the non geologist. Iceland is a completely different and unique place to any I've ever been to, a fascinating, lose-yourself-in kind of place, filled with rugged beauty and the kind of soul-testing wildness that separates the men from the boys. The sky is tall here, and the mountains snow covered, the sea filled with steel. Hot steam billow out of fissures in the lava fields, pennants of clouds issuing from an underground of heat, fire and volcano hearts. Ice, snow, sky, sea, and fire come together to form a land of extraordinary beauty and spirit.

I'm currently following the news of the British Airways cabin crew strike with fervid, fervant attention. I have a vested interest in whether or not Unite, the union representing the majority of BA's cabin staff will actually go ahead with their actions. Nine out of ten of the 80% of cabin crew who met on Monday voted to strike for twelve days over the Christmas period. Insincere apologies and statements of deep regret issued from Unite spokespeople sound falsely, hollowly hypocritical. Such critical timing is meant to be effective against BA, but it is also vastly cynical and immensely selfish. If Unite was hoping to canvass public sympathy, they've gone about it the entirely wrong way.

"“We do not care if it is lawful or not. It is not acceptable to us,” Steve Turner, Unite’s national officer for aviation, said. “The only way we have to address unacceptable behaviour from a bad employer is to strike.”

Unless the staff on Unite are somehow caught in a time warp from the 1970s, I believe Mr Turner is highly mistaken. There are other ways to address unacceptable behaviour from a bad employer - negotiation, compromise and at the last resort, resignation. The skills that BA staff believe sets them apart could surely be put to use at other airlines - except that nobody else in the industry pays as well as British Airways. BA cabin crew earn more than their counterparts at Virgin Atlantic and although BA has had a turbulent year, cutting costs, implementing redundancies and asking their staff to go on part time salaries, industry insiders say that BA staff will still have 5-7% payrises to look forward to within the next few years.

A Cabin Steward Director - the steward or stewardess in charge of a particular flight and of overseeing other stewards - earns £56,000 a year. The job involves stress, dealing with unruly, loud, complaining customers, training for emergencies 40,000 feet above sea level, handling a few levers, smiling a lot, generous travel allowances, 90% staff discounts off flights, employee share plans and a nice tidy pension at the end of the day, which staggering deficit their "bad employer" is struggling to cover.

British Airways is not a guaranteed government hand out project. It is a commercial business that is struggling massively in the current global recession, news which does not appear to have reached union members. Unemployment rates have soared both here and across the pond. The airline and travel industry are facing lockdown as discretionary spending and consumer confidence plummet. The survival of the airline itself has been called into question and management's cost cutting exercises includes a 2 year pay freeze (note not cut!) - one of the issues of contention amongst cabin crew. Having worked the last two years in the finance industry and survived two rounds of redundancies as well as two 10% paycuts that came within six months of each other, to speak nothing of pay increases, my sympathies lie entirely with BA and not with Unite unionists.

Industry analysts say that all signs point towards the strike going ahead, despite BA's pleas for customers to sit tight and wait for announcements. By all accounts, some long haul flights may still be salvaged but such uncertain risk is no comfort to the one million passengers who are looking forward to going home for Christmas. When faced with an unacceptable airline, I have done what most of my peers would do - I have booked extortionately expensive alternate flights with a rival airline, and will never fly British Airways again. It must surely be bad business sense to hold the goose that lays the golden egg ransom - especially at Christmas. British Airways stock price has fallen 5p just today in response to the strike - again a move that can only harm the company, its shareholders and indirectly, their employees.

Currently the latest press releases indicate that BA is seeking a court injunction to delay the strikes. The legal team at BA are scouring the ballot process for flaws and indiscrepancies - if any are found Unite may have to declare the ballot void and organise another, which will cost them money and buy Willie Walsh, BA's CEO, a little precious time.

As a commentator in the Evening Standard noted, "cabin staff do not, of course have to like the cost cutting plans that BA is trying to impose on them, but elsewhere in the private sector, other works have had to accept similar sacrifices to keep their jobs. Unite cabin crew demonstrate an extraordinary absence of intelligent self-interest in voting for the strike." Walsh does not look like he will back down and as a non-benefit-getting, high-income-bracket taxpayer who already owns shares in HBOS and RBS (whose boards recently paid upper management staggering bonuses), I have neither interest nor desire in bailing out an airline whose staff seems to believe they are something special.

Overheard on the radio this morning and noted in the comments section of an article on the Guardian:

"I heard a BA cabin crew memebr on 5live this morning - livid she was at the scurrilous rumour that they get 3 nights in a 5 star hotel when they travel to Saudi - it's only one night apparently.

Another poor sould named Robbie phoned up to say how bad management were. When asked by another caller why he just didn't leave if it was so bad, he replied that 'the package he got @ BA was the best in the industry'. That's alright then Robbie - it's probably best to stay and go on strike.

Turkeys voting for Xmas."

Perhaps after the strike goes ahead , after British Airways loses another £200m on the top of their already crippling £400m loss in this year, after loyal customers defect to rival competitors permanently, after British Airways collapses under the socialist weight of inefficiencies, after the entire institution files for bankruptcy and the pilots, janitors, engineers and other staff who rely on BA for a living has also lost their jobs and everyone at BA has no pension or retirement fund to speak of, the cabin crew of Unite can pump their fists jubilantly in the air to prove their triumphant point about power of the people. And after the dust has settled the unionists can then go back to utilising their special skills serving drinks at a dinky bar for a living.

The closest exits are to your right and left in the rear of the cabin, Unite.

Q&A - If you're a British Airways passenger here's what you can do

We spend a day in Cairo before we head into the Sinai Peninsula. We pass by the great Al Azhar mosque, one of the oldest centres of learning in the world, dropping in for a quick look. Women visitors must not be wearing trousers and must keep their head covered. No shoes are allowed inside the marble courtyard and dim prayer area. We then head to the Khan El Khalili, a sprawling souk or bazaar in the heart of Old Cairo. It is a Sunday when we go, so many of the shops, especially the jewellers in the famed Street of Jewellers, are closed. However there are still many shops open and the atmosphere is jovial. In Cairo, as in the rest of Egypt, touts and hasslers are the norm. The best way of dealing with it is with an Oriental kind of laissez faire. Let their wolf whistles, pleas and cajoling wash right over you, ignore them, smile always and be polite - it is what the locals would do. Liyana and I are there in the Khan for one purpose and one only - to purchase some kakaday, the ruby red hibiscus tea drunk in cafes everywhere in Egypt.

In the streets of the Khan El Khalili; Inside Al Azhar mosque

We find a spice shop manned by a calm, smiling older man. He speaks not a word of English, but his neighbour, a younger man selling statues next door, comes in to translate for us. We greet him with the traditional salaam mulaykum, the Arabic for "peace be upon you" and he responds graciously. The smell of spices stain the air, his shop is filled to bursting with all kinds of produce. Kakaday petals, heaps of cinnamon sticks, and bright orange paprika sit in hemp sacks, stacked by the walls. There are two scales on the serving table, and behind, in hole-in-the-wall cabinets that line the entire back wall, traditional medicines wait to be dispensed. We pay for half a kilo of the blood red kakaday tea, and leave, clutching our spoils triumphantly.

Chilling out at El Fishawi

Determined not to give in to the blandishments and entreaties to "step into my store, many beautiful things to see", Liyana and I side step the many shops in the narrow lanes of the Muski and find El Fishawi, the old cafe of fame. It is a creaky, graceful establishment. The insides are decked out in dark woodwork. Lamps and coloured light bulbs provide illumination. Waiters in flowery blue uniforms serve the clientele, most of whom are tourists. It is a cafe that harks back to colonial times - I can see, too easily, writers, explorers and society ladies sipping Turkish coffee here. We set up at a table outside, on the sidewalk and order coffee, then settle in to watch the bustling, hustling life of the Khan around us.

A Tourist Police sits in a corner, resplendent in his whites, chatting to a French family. Shoe shine men dressed in dark gray robes and white turbans follow leather shoed men, hoping for custom. Young girls sell colourful scarves edged with bells and metal discs; young men hawk watches, cds, cheap jewellery. All around us, Cairo is bursting with life, light and sound. Later, after we've had our fill of coffee, Liyana and I head to one of the many hotels that line the banks of the Nile. On the terrace, we order breads, dips, a mixed grill and later, after dinner is over, an apple flavoured shisha. We watch the feluccas, ferries and cruise boats ply the dark river as the neon lights of modern Cairo light up around us.

Smoking apple flavoured shisha pipes by the sea; dive centre in Dahab

The next morning we are off to Dahab, a laidback, charming town on the Gulf of Aqaba. The journey takes eight hours on a bus that hurtles along dark grey ribbons of straight tarmac, plowing through dust whirls and a desolate landscape of rock and sand. We pass the Suez Canal and numerous checkpoints along the way. The Sinai has long been an area of contention and in the wake of the Israeli settlement and subsequent desertion of the area, the Egyptian military has no presence here, although the local police man the regular checkpoints.

At the blue hole, Dahab

It is a relief to leave the early wake up calls behind. Liyana and I spend the next four days in Dahab alternating diving, snorkelling, eating fresh seafood, soaking up sunshine and reading on deckchairs, smoking shisha and watching the full moon rise over the water. The lights of Saudi Arabia glitter at us from across the gulf at night, and the mountains glow purplish-rose in the setting sun.

Dinner at Nemo Restaurant, Dahab; By the light of a full moon

The best dive was at the Blue Hole. I’d snorkeled at the site the day before, but being 20m underwater with the expanse of ocean surrounding me, with only the sheer face of the reef for orientation was a calming, humbling, fabulous experience. The big blue beckoned.

There is a richness of the tropical fish one expects from coral reefs, but the colours here are less bright compared to equatorial waters. We saw lionfish, stonefish and on one dive, a giant eel hiding in his hollow rock. I like the lifestyle here, I don’t ever want to leave. Dahab’s quiet charms snake around my soul and there is a peace here, underneath blue skies and by dark waters.

Excerpt from my travel diary:

November 5th, 2009, apx 4:30pm

"Riding back to Dahab from the Blue Hole in the back of a pick up truck, hair a mess, oxygen tanks clanking over every rut in the dusty path. We passed camels and teased poor Baka, who was shivering, feeling the cold. He's so cheeky, yelling out "Taxi?" at random people we drove past, an ironic take on the constant Egyptian hassle, of course - Baka has no intention of touting a ride to anyone and is merely teasing us all. I peeled off the top half of my wetsuit, gripped the edges of the truck - the road was bumpy and dusty. The sun was in my eyes and there was a blue blue sea, the sound of laughter ringing in the air. Perfect. Moment."

The Gulf of Aqaba and Saudi Arabia