Questions of Travel by Lavinia Greenlaw

Author:Lavinia Greenlaw [Lavinia Greenlaw]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910749340
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2016-04-11T04:00:00+00:00

‘What is he saying?’ said Eyvindr to Gisli.

‘Why, I am not going to camp here,’ said I.

‘You must,’ said Eyvindr. ‘All Englishmen do.’

‘Blast all Englishmen!’ said I in the Icelandic tongue.

My spirits rose considerably with the warmth and dryness of the tent, and the opening of the beef tin, and brewing of chocolate; but we had scarcely taken three mouthfuls before there came a noise like muffled thunder, and a feeling as though someone had struck the hollow earth underneath us half-a-dozen times; we run out, and hear the boiling water running over the sides of the great Kettle, and see the steam rising up from the hot stream, but that was all: and these attempts at eruptions go on hourly or oftener, all day, but the big Geysir does not fairly spout out oftener in general than about once in five or six days: I confess I went back to my dinner with my heart beating rather; for indeed my imagination must have been sluggish if it couldn’t suggest a new Geysir bursting out just under our tent in honour of my arrival: however nothing but a sufficiency of beef, which was very good, by the way, spoiled my appetite that night.

Dinner over Gisli brings us a pail of cold water from the stream above the flow from Geysir, and takes me a little way up the scalded slope to a small pool, still and deep, with a sort of bridge across it, and a little stream of overflow from it; the water of it is boiling an inch or two below the surface, and so clear that in the twilight I couldn’t see that there was any water there, as it was pretty much flush with the lip of it; as dim as the light is, I can see, looking through the stream, its horrible blue and green depths and the white sulphur sides of it sticking out: it is called Blesi or the Sigher. Gisli follows Eyvindr herewith down to the stead at Haukadalur where they are to sleep, and I heat a pot of water for our grog in Blesi, its own water being extremely foul of taste, and go back to the tent rather glad I am not quite alone in that strange place. So to bed at last and sound asleep enough, bating an occasional waking from the thump, rumble and steam of the big Gusher.

— An occasional waking

Warm, dry, rested and fed, you can afford to be interested.

You wake up.

The tension of unpredictable, inevitable interruption.

A moment of illumination. Water so clear, it’s not there.

This is not routine.

You have a routine?

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