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A plume of volcanic ash rises into the atmosphere from a crater under about 200 metres of ice at the Eyjafjallajokull glacier in southern Iceland.HO

The mid-April eruption of the volcano in Iceland went unnoticed by most - that is, until it affected people personally. For the past week, we have been inundated with the wailing and gnashing of teeth by northern Europeans, and their extended families in the U.S. and Canada. Somehow, the inconvenience of interrupted travel has bumped plagues, famines, wars and politics to the back pages. The tragedy of the stranded businessman dominates the media, and we are asked to "send in your volcano" stories to news agencies. Is this misplaced angst?

Getting stuck in Europe tops my list of existential bourgeois dilemmas. A quick survey of Facebook friends who are privileged enough to be in Europe reveals their various stranded stories. People are frantic, unable to move, sleeping on floors of airports and telling reporters they are desperate, or broke, or exhausted, or can't get back to work, or prevented from attending Uncle Gustav's funeral. We have heard more tragic stories on the news in the past several days than we have from Haitians in the past several months.

I admit it: I don't like most people, even in the best of times. It's easy for me to be turned off by the squeals and whines of the in-transit challenged. How can I like people who display such pathetic self-indulgent moans? I have heard few spotlighted stories about ingenuity, shrewdness, or just plain smarts in ways to occupy the time while stranded. And I am wondering why more people aren't going South, catching an alternative flight and getting their Louis Vuitton-esque suitcases back home.

Could there be a fear of southern Europe by those stuck in the North? Have they created a faux Mason-Dixon line? Do these blond, blue-eyed northern-types eschew schlepping down to Spain, Portugal, Turkey, Greece or Italy in order to cross the Atlantic?

And what about Iceland? Talk about stuck. After a year and a half of closed banks, lost homes, eviscerated savings, I am not seeing reporters interviewing Icelanders about the powdery ash covering their country, the fact that their economic collapse is largely due to the malfeasance of British banking, and the linguistic impossibility of pronouncing Eyjafjallajökull.

Iceland should be considered the authentic argument for angst. For no particular reason, one of my favourite mystery writers is Arnaldur Indridason, an Icelander who knows how to turn a provocative phrase. The coolest thing about Mr. Indridsason's plot line is that it always concerns a body discovered out there. It is not unheard of for Icelanders to decide, on any given day, to just start walking, walking, walking … and disappear into the island. Alternatively, the country is a geographical convenience of places to dump a dead guy. Inspector Erlendur Sveinsson, the protagonist, has to spend half the book figuring out if the death was one of the voluntary walk-outs, or a real murder. But I don't hear the Icelanders moaning.

What does it say about our state of being, our Lebenswelt, when we are so ill-prepared for natural occurrences? As advanced as we tout today's society to be, we have no preparation for the unexpected world event. While politicos and economists plot the next takeover, intervention, or chest-puffing press conference, there is little left in the way of back-up plans for life. So a natural happening, which affects a lifestyle dependent on the deepest of carbon footprints, becomes a disaster: CEOs are stranded, cell batteries are dead, and Belgian chocolate melts in grounded cargo crates. The mandate: the more privileged and entitled the "victim," the easier it is for them to be inconvenienced and expect press attention.

Just look at this op-ed.

Shirley R. Steinberg is a professor in the Department of Integrated Studies in Education, Faculty of Education, at McGill University.

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