Journey to the Center of the Earth | Audio-book | English A2 level

Journey to the Center of the Earth My name is Axel, and I live with my uncle,

Professor Otto Lidenbrock, in Hamburg, Germany. My uncle is a famous scientist who studies rocks

and minerals. He is tall, thin, and full of energy. When he speaks, his eyes shine like

fire. I help him in his work, and sometimes he forgets that I am his nephew, not his assistant.

One afternoon, my uncle came home holding an old book. He looked very excited. “Axel!” he shouted.

“This is a rare book, written in Icelandic by a famous explorer named Snorri Sturluson.”

He opened the book carefully, and suddenly a piece of old paper fell out. It was yellow

and dry. Strange letters were written on it in an ancient language. My uncle looked at it and became

even more excited. “This is runic writing!” he said. “It is from the twelfth century!”

He tried to read it, but the letters made no sense. He worked for hours,

turning the paper in every direction, but he could not understand it. Finally, tired and angry,

he threw it on the table and left the room. I picked up the paper and looked at it.

The writing was indeed strange. Then I noticed something — some letters repeated in a pattern. I

thought it might be a secret code. After a while, I realized the message might be written backward.

I turned the paper around and read: "Descend into the crater of Sneffels Yokul,

which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the calends of July, and you will reach the

center of the Earth. Arne Saknussemm." I could hardly believe what I had found.

Arne Saknussemm was a famous Icelandic scientist from the sixteenth century! The

message said that he had gone to the center of the Earth through a volcano in Iceland.

At that moment, my uncle came back. When I showed him the message, he jumped with joy. “Axel! This

is wonderful! Arne Saknussemm found the way to the center of the Earth — and we will follow him!”

I was shocked. “Uncle, you can’t be serious! It’s impossible! Nobody can

go inside the Earth — the heat, the pressure—” “Nonsense!” he cried. “Science must be brave.

We will go to Iceland, find the volcano Sneffels, and make the journey ourselves!”

I tried to argue, but he would not listen. When Professor Lidenbrock decided something,

nothing could stop him. Within two days, he packed his scientific instruments, maps, ropes,

and food. I had no choice but to go with him. Our trip began the next morning. We traveled by

train to Copenhagen, then by ship to Iceland. The sea was rough, and I felt sick most of the time.

My uncle, however, stood on the deck, watching the horizon and taking notes.

Finally, after many days, we arrived in Reykjavík, the capital of Iceland. It was

a small town surrounded by dark mountains and strange clouds of steam rising from the ground.

My uncle was delighted. “This country is full of volcanoes,” he said. “Exactly what we need!”

There we met Hans Bjelke, a tall, calm Icelander who worked as a

guide. He spoke little but was strong and reliable. My uncle hired him immediately.

After a few days of preparation, we began our journey toward the volcano Sneffels. It was a

long walk across wild landscapes of black lava, green moss, and icy rivers. Sometimes we saw

steam rising from the ground and smelled sulfur in the air. The nights were cold,

but the northern sky was full of stars, and I often forgot my fear as I watched their beauty.

After ten days, we reached Sneffels Yokul — a giant, silent mountain covered with snow. Its top