Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - II. The White City
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
II
THE WHITE CITY
Again we have left terra firma. Having left
Malaga about midnight, with as little noise as
had heralded our coming, we passed Gibraltar at dawn
and made for the west. The coast of Africa lay to
the southward; behind us the rocky fortress sank into
the waves foot by foot; a heavy sea and a cold wind
indicated that we were moving into the Atlantic. Only
two hours ago we were over the submarine threshold
that connects the ranges of Andalusia with those of
North Africa, erecting an invisible but effective line
between two seas: the blue and smiling Mediterranean,
whose temperature (fifteen to seventeen degrees
Réaumur) made it possible for us to bathe every day
even in November; and this corner of the Atlantic
Ocean, a fretful porcupine that was lashing us with its
current, its waves, its cold winds, and making us put
on heavy clothes and freeze nevertheless.
The heaven was bright, almost pale blue, without
the limitless depth usually seen in southern skies. And
instead of the steep violet coastlines of the
Mediterranean, with mountain tops rising one behind the other
as far as the eye could reach, Spain, to the north,
presented its bare undulating fields and a coastline,
now flat and sandy, now towering in yellow cakes of
chalk, chewed off by the sea.
Toward noon the sea became better-natured. The
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
