When the need to escape unites with the desire to discover, the word leave is imposed. To go, to move away, to travel. Iceland combines its solitary nature as an island with the echoes of an almost virgin landscape, uninhabited, submissive to phenomena that make it exceptional. The landscape, infinite, is not interrupted by anything or anyone, just a car on the only road. Beneath that cold land beats a warm heart that pumps boiling water. White ice and snow, mixes with black sand and lava. Cloud is confused with steam, the waterfall with the geyser. One feels alive again, in a silent eruption. You hear your own footsteps. This is what leaving is all about.