superfluid vortex

In 1934 Jean Leray proved that the Navier–Stokes equations always have solutions "in a generalized sense". Whether a solution stays smooth or can break down into a singularity he could not tell, and nobody could for ninety years. In 2000 the Clay Institute made the question one of its seven Millennium Prize problems.

Water in a tank spins at nearly four revolutions per second, and, as if by magic, a column the size of a dinner table emerges. The vortex lives for dozens of rotations, even though everything around it churns and trembles. Where does such stability come from? The secret is that the vortex is not isolated.

Deep inside a neutron star, where matter is compressed to the density of an atomic nucleus, neutrons form a superfluid and protons form a superconductor. A neutron vortex is a quantized vortex in the superfluid, akin to a miniature whirlpool that cannot stop spinning.

A superconducting vortex resembles a whirlpool in a quantum fluid. When a magnetic field pierces a superconductor, it gathers into thin filaments, vortices, around which persistent currents circulate.

A stone falls into still water, and smooth rings spread across the surface. If the stone doesn't just fall but also spins, tiny whirlpools, vortices, appear on the surface. Light can do the same, only instead of water, it's space and time themselves.

After the Big Bang, according to inflationary cosmology, the Universe underwent rapid expansion and a series of phase transitions.

The interiors of neutron stars are a realm of degenerate matter. Here, protons condense into a superconducting condensate, threaded by quantum vortices. Imagine tiny magnetic tops: each carries a quantum of magnetic flux and glides through the electron fluid.

At the center of many galaxies lurks an invisible cloud — a halo of dark matter. If this matter is cold and light enough, it behaves like a superfluid: it flows without friction, and any rotation in it twists into tiny quantum vortices — threads the size of an atomic nucleus.

In the quantum world, there is its own dance. Two superconducting toroids, each comfortably holding its quantized magnetic flux, whirl in a synchronous waltz. Between them is a vacuum, not a single field line, yet they mirror each other’s moves without fail.

A superfluid flows without friction, like water that never stops. But when you spin it, it doesn't just rotate: each tiny vortex remembers exactly how it was spun. This 'trace' is not a metaphor but a real geometric imprint, which physicists call the Berry phase (the phase acquired by a wave as it travels along a closed path).

In accelerators like the Large Hadron Collider, heavy nuclei collide at enormous speeds. For an instant, quark-gluon plasma (QGP) is born — a state of matter where quarks and gluons float freely, just like in the first microseconds after the birth of the universe. This plasma is not just hot.

In the conventional Heisenberg picture, spins at low temperatures are supposed to line up in a strict pattern. But there are crystals — like pyrochlore — where geometry has its own way. Each ion sits at a vertex of a tetrahedron, and the main interaction enforces a rule: two spins point inward, two outward.

Two-dimensional worlds never cease to amaze: here even crystal melting is not a symmetry breaking but a vortex drama discovered by Kosterlitz and Thouless. At the heart of this theater are topological сингулярности, whose energy and энтропия bargain for order. This language is common to сверхтекучести и сверхпроводимости.

A supersolid is matter that is both crystalline and fluid. It is created from atoms cooled almost to absolute zero. In new work, physicists obtained such a substance as a triangular lattice of droplets. Each droplet oscillates in its own rhythm.

A stone falls into a pond, and ripples spread across the water. Long waves and short ones travel at the same speed: that's how ordinary sound behaves in almost any medium. But in quantum liquids, things can be different. Physicists considered a superfluid where particles move along a "flat" energy band.

Imagine a spinning top the size of a city, weighing more than the Sun and making hundreds of revolutions per second. That's a neutron star — the remnant of an exploded star. Occasionally, its rotation suddenly speeds up, as if something inside has switched. Astronomers call these jumps glitches and suspect that invisible vortices in the star's superfluid interior are to blame.

A clap of the hands compresses the air, and it flies outward — the simplest shock. In space, exploding stars play the role of hands: their shock waves sharply compress gas and trigger chaotic mixing — turbulence.

Sound travels through a medium at a certain speed. If the medium moves faster, the sound gets swept along by the flow — like a wood chip pulled into a whirlpool. In superfluid helium — a frictionless liquid — rapid rotation spawns vortex funnels. Inside them, an acoustic black hole forms: a region from which sound cannot return.

A driver turns the steering wheel to make the car turn. The quantum world also has its own "steering wheels"—external parameters that are slowly varied to shuttle particles from one place to another.

A spinning top that wobbles as it rotates: that's roughly how astronomers picture the neutron star in the binary system Hercules X-1. It completes one full turn on its axis every second, but its axis slowly traces a cone with a period of 35 days.

A magnetic field penetrates a superconductor not as a continuous flux but as thin filaments — vortices. Usually, they repel each other and arrange into a neat triangular lattice, like floats on water. But in CaSb₂, things went differently: vortices bunched into tight clusters, with almost empty space between them.

A superfluid gas behaves like a frictionless liquid. Two clouds of such gas are connected by a narrow bridge, and a stream of particles flows through it. This resembles the Josephson effect in superconductors, but here the particles are neutral atoms instead of electrons.

Water going down the drain swirls into a vortex. An everyday sight in the kitchen. But this very vortex turned out to be able to reproduce two effects that physicists usually associate with black holes and the rotation of planets. The first effect is the shift of a wave as it goes around an obstacle.

Water churns behind a rock in a river, air swirls behind an airplane wing: it seems like completely random motion. But the authors of the study found a rigid kitchen recipe in this chaos. They decomposed the fluid's rotation (angular momentum) into two independent parts.

A neutron star is a spinning top with the mass of the Sun, crushed to the size of a city. It's born in the fire of a supernova and usually only slows its spin. But sometimes, for no apparent reason, it suddenly speeds up — such a jerk is called a glitch.

In a pot of boiling water, steam bubbles rise and pop. In the quantum world of a superfluid, bubbles behave differently: they can collide and give birth to vortices — tiny swirling flows, like whirlpools in a river. Scientists modeled such a liquid using a holographic approach.

In superfluid helium, a vortex is like a tornado in a bottle, but instead of water, it's a quantum liquid that flows without friction. Such a vortex doesn't dissipate on its own, so the question of where its energy goes has long remained open.

In the cold heart of a pure crystal, electrons flow like a viscous fluid — an idea predicted by Lev Landau. But the vortices of this fluid remained invisible, like a painting inferred from the noise of a crowd. Now scientists have created a nanostring: a semiconductor tuning fork with a circular cavity.

A plastic heart rests on the water and doesn't tip over, no matter how you turn it. It freezes in any position, as if the water were holding it by invisible strings. This trick is possible thanks to the Zindler curve — a shape in which all lines that divide the area in half have the same length. The Zindler curve is a closed curve where any chord that bisects the area has the same length.

A powder avalanche isn't just a pile of snow sliding down a mountain. It's a cloud racing downhill at car speed. Inside, snow doesn't lie still: it flies: thousands of tiny particles are caught up in air vortices. Until now, no one had seen what actually happens to each snowflake in this chaos. Now scientists have the first footage.

A laser beam twisted into a spiral looks like a drain vortex in a sink: light moves not only forward but also in circles. Such vortex beams already help move tiny particles and transmit more data. But once they pass through an inhomogeneous medium, the vortex falls apart, like water from a leaky bucket.

Cilia are tiny hairs on cell surfaces. They beat like oars, moving fluid. In the lungs, they push dust and microbes out. But their lengths vary: in humans, they are thousandths of a millimeter; in comb jellies, several millimeters. How do such different cilia work together? Scientists built a machine that jerks fluid sharply, as if a cilium had struck. They filmed it with a high-speed camera.

Liquid helium at ultra-low temperatures enters a state of superfluidity: it flows without friction, like a perfect lubricant.

Ordinary computer memory constantly uses energy to store ones and zeros. Superconductors, on the other hand, carry current with zero loss — if you could build memory from them, it would barely draw any power. The catch is that superconductors can't remember: their state changes too easily. Uranium ditelluride crystals turned out to be the exception.

A sudden gust hits a wing, and a huge vortex swirls above it. Such a vortex can abruptly change lift, making the plane's nose dip. Engineers have long sought ways to predict these vortices, but complexity gets in the way: fast airflow is full of small chaotic eddies.

A superfluid flows without friction, like water in a perfectly smooth pipe, but the moment it hits an obstacle, the picture changes. In a new study, researchers looked at how a superfluid stream flows around rectangular walls and pits with sharp corners.

In the macroscopic world we know, any motion inevitably decays: friction, a dissipative process that scatters energy, intervenes. But quantum reality has surprises in store.

In a container the size of a coin, light behaves like water: it gathers into a single quantum fluid. When energy is added, whirlpools, quantum vortices, spin up on their own. Each vortex is like a tiny whirlpool that cannot simply disappear. Physicists illuminated this fluid with a laser and took snapshots.

A superconductor is a material where electric current flows without loss, like water through a perfectly smooth pipe. But if vortices appear, the current starts to 'stumble' over these tiny whirlpools. In graphene twisted at a special angle, such vortices can be created and studied one by one.

The diffusion equation, a mathematical tool describing how particles spread out in space, has long painted a paradoxical picture: a disturbance, like ripples on Water, instantly engulfs the entire universe. This challenged the theory of relativity, which holds that nothing can move faster than light.