The gates of hell

I visited The Gates of Hell today, whose sulphur I could smell in the air for quite a while before I got there. I'm in Rotorua where the earth's magma is unusually near the surface. I discovered later that there are sites nearby to see the earth bubbling away for free, which is possibly why I had the place to myself, but it was extraordinary to spend an hour in this elemental grey and yellow place listening to the oblivious grunts, belches and throat-clearings of our planet accompanied only by birds.

I stuck my feet into the soft grey mud of the pool that was cool enough (which made no difference to them whatsoever) but the chemical composition of some of the eruptions meant that their pools were over 100°C. I was astonished to be only centimetres from such volcanic activity yet be standing on ground that was normal temperature.

South Londoners (of whom I am one by birth and affinity) might be amused to know that I spotted a restaurant this evening called Lewishams. Tagline: 'A taste of Europe on your doorstep'.