Moon Landing

Indonesia, oh fabulous ring of fire, ever present instability. Where every minor ground shake is a tsunami waiting to happen and every pretty mountain is a violently explosive volcano laying in wait. Yes, Indonesia, well done on taking “live for the moment” quite literally, well done indeed.

One fine December weekend without too much going on, I decided it was time to see a volcano. Vikki, one of the new teachers at the school, wanted in on the exploration so a 5am Saturday bus departure from Surabaya and we were off (when the mosques start wailing at anywhere from 3:30am – 4:30am, 5am is not considered an insanely early start). Local bus travel in Indonesia varies from place to place, destination to starting point so aware that even at the bus station there would be various battles to fight, I armed myself with oh so valuable information before setting out. We were assaulted with what is unfortunately the normal tout routine of saying that this is the ONLY bus, this is the ONLY price, that it doesn’t leave until this time but with a bit extra they could leave now, blah, blah, blah. A quick scout around and a few questions asked, the best of the worst vehicles chosen, and lucked out with a more or less comfortable and clean mode of transportation for the same price that the locals were paying for next couple of hours. We were going to see a volcano!

Arrived in the first town, again knowing a bit of what was in store for us. Can’t help but get frustrated by the deliberate lies when trying to navigate through these tourist trap touts. Swarmed by various men insisting that there are absolutely no buses to the next town where we were heading, nothing, no bus, no. But of course they softened the devastating news with generous offers to help us get to where we were going for just the right price. Oh piss off! Walked outside the bus station and found the EXACT mini buses we were looking for that were meant to take us to exactly where we were going for the price I knew it should be. *sigh* Yes, yes, I know, I know. They are just trying to make a living too but sorry, I stand by past rants and rages… I will never ever find a soft spot in my heart for touts who prey on bedraggled travelers stepping into a new place for the first time. Never.

This little mini bus driver was out to make some cash as well but he went about the right way, convincing the 6 of us waiting for the next part of the journey to pay a little more instead of waiting however much longer for 4 more people to randomly show up so that he had a full bus. This meant he could drop us off and be back to pick up more people faster. Clever and not infuriating. That’s fine.

So up, up, up we went. Leaving concrete life behind as we wound ourselves up vertical, leafy, forested and palm-treed green cliffs carved and etched by tiered rice paddies, vegetable crops, and the occasional bamboo and scrap bits of tin roof houses. I still can’t understand how people are able to build and live on the edges of these steep and cut off parts of the landscape but obviously they hold the secrets that make it all come together. Skyscrapers of glass and metal have nothing on these scenes… pure genius, absolute beauty.

We arrived in this end of the road tourist niche entrance to a national park where “lean” is the word of the weekend. The hills and roads are so steep that standing straight up could have you toppling right back over. Everyone was on constant lean. Mini bus driver went out of his way to drive us around the few options of places to stay and we eventually settled on what appeared to be a quaint little “homestay”; essentially a family’s house, with all their decorations of family photos and personal belongings, but the bedrooms are cleared out for rent. We saw a grandma and a small girl when we dropped off our bags and then that’s it, no other family interaction. Felt a bit weird but whatever, we’ve got a volcano to find!

Not really sure where we were or what we were meant to be doing but from what I had read, there was supposed to be a great view of Bromo, our volcano of choice, from a lookout point somewhere. The town was pretty quiet, a few offers of motorbikes and tours, but pretty laid back even though there weren’t many tourists around. No complaints here, lovely place, lovely quiet. Let’s do some walking around.

We were pointed in the direction of a dirt road that turned into a dirt path that again went up, up, up. A gorgeous walk through farming fields of friendly folks and views that took our breath away (both because of how beautiful it was and the strain of climbing up, up, up). We got to where the trail ended but nowhere near the top top. Found benches and shelters and obvious signs of large gatherings of people (massive amounts of trash and graffiti everywhere. Nice.) but there wasn’t a soul around. Then we looked off in the distance and saw the crater. Bromo off in the distance across a desolate sea of sand (see facebook photos) and decided, yeah, let’s hang out here. That first glimpse of another planet... what the moon just might look like, we had no words. Eerie, amazing, and we felt like the only people in the world. It was mid afternoon by now and a lay-down was high on the priority list so we snoozed and gazed and sighed with the tranquility of no noise, no people, and a clear blue sky. Oh Mother Nature I have missed you.

We meandered our way back down to the little town and fuddled about with what to do next as we wanted to go to the crater, weren’t sure where to be for sunset / sunrise, and yeah, were generally lost and confused. So best thing to do in these kinds of situations? Chat up others who seem to have an idea of what they are doing! We saw a couple who had been on the bus ride up with us and they were chatting with another white face so we saddled up to the conversation and within a few short, chatty minutes, I had us an invitation to join a sunrise trip the next day. The other white face turned out to be a soil scientist (never met one of those before!) who was on contract in Indo but taking a bit of time out to do some exploring. Fantastically friendly Aussie who said we could hop in their hired car to see the sights the next day, sharing the cost all around. Well done fellow travelers, well done!

We hung out with new Aussie friend, his German counterpart, and the couple from the bus, wandering the quaint little town and listening to some great stories. As the sun set and layers of warm clothing were donned, woolly hats were a big seller all around. It’s cold in the mountains at night so I was very pleased with my Canadian-esque new toque. Fleece is my friend.

Another early rise meant an early night so Vikki and I started to make our way back to our cute little homestay. Everything’s different in the dark but we were fairly sure of where we were going. I commented on a house party going on hoping that it wasn’t too close to our house so that we would be able to get a bit of sleep. Vikki stopped, Janice, that’s our place. No it’s not, we haven’t gone far enough. Uh yeah, Janice, I remember this, this is our house. Oh. My. Gosh. As we picked our way over about 20 pairs of scattered shoes on the front porch, we entered a very small front room, the entrance to our rooms, littered with bodies, mattresses, bags, food containers, and just … stuff. True movie style, all fell quiet as we stood open-mouthed in the middle of chaos and all eyes looked our way. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Our homestay was now “home” to about 20 Indo travelers in need of a place to stay for the night. Most of them were piled on top of each other, laying on the floor or each other, squeezed onto small chairs and ledges, all of them simultaneously playing music or games or shows on their phones, laptops, or the one communal TV. Noise was everywhere. Vikki and I didn’t quite know what to say or do. What could we do? I mumbled a few select curse words under my breath then waited in line to brush my teeth in the one bathroom available for all of us. This was a new one. As I locked myself into my now very spacious bedroom, the noise outside the door began to diminish and the earplugs blocked out the rest. We were all going to see the sunrise tomorrow, it’s going to be fine. No more cursing Janice, go to sleep.

My alarm went off around the same time that the stirrings (by stirrings I mean TV on, music on, midday volume voices) started so time to get a move on. Brief wait for the precious bathroom but poor Vik wasn’t so lucky. We were the last ones out of the house as she was last in line for the facilities. As we huffed and puffed our way up the street in the dark to meet our Jeep mates, everyone was awake and moving. Days start far too early here!

We still weren’t entirely sure of where we were going but as our Jeep slowly snaked its way up behind an endless trail of head and taillights, we soon realized that we were heading up to the same lookout point we had visited the day before. Crap! Jeeps stopped half way up… must walk from here. A brief look of I hate you! from Vikki and we joined the throngs of mostly Indonesian sightseers and a random spattering of horses working their way up, up, up. Elbowing and weaving our way up a rocky dirt trail in the pre-dawn dusk, hmmm… I’ve done this before, haven’t I? Not talking about walking the exact same trail the day before, I have been in this moving mass of people in the dark before… Yes, Mount Sinai! A mini Mt. Sinai!

The rest of our crew stopped at a lower viewpoint but I continued on to the place we had made it up to the day before. Not a huge difference in views but if you can keep going up, why stop? Entrepreneurial spirits had set up their little squat kiosks of hot drinks and pot noodles to greet the chilly sunrise seekers and crafty superstition exploiters tried hawking their exquisite floral arrangements as good luck gifts to the volcano gods. A few bewildered white faces flashed through the mostly local crowds, this was kinda fun but Vikki and I were quite happy that we were able to have seen it all, in utter peace & quiet, completely on our own, the day before. The sunrise view was spectacular but pretending that you really are the only people on another planet is pretty damn cool.

The clouds had lifted in the morning so in addition to a brilliant sunrise, a few more mountain (AKA deadly sleeping volcano) peaks were visible in the distance. Chilly, crowded, but worth it, very, very worth it.

Dawn now dawned, far too many photos of the same shot taken, I shoved my way back down to rejoin the group. We made our way back to the Jeep so we could head across that sea of sand to get to the crater and climb up to peer inside exploded Mt. Bromo. Having a soil scientist available was just too perfect as the history / geology lessons were the BEST freebie bonus we could have ever hoped for. YES!

Bromo is still active and it last erupted several months back. Not the flowing lava and hellfire kind of eruption but it WAS spewing boulders the size of cars, shaking the ground with its rumblings and covering its nearby world in layers and layers of thick ash. Some of the teachers here had the chance to see it and said they could actually SEE the sound waves through the ash in the air! JEALOUS! Okay, anyway… steep, sketchy set of stairs had been built up the side of the crater a long time ago so that viewers could take a peek inside. After the beatings of an eruption, the stairs have now crumbled to bits and pieces of steep concrete trampled by thousands and thousands of shaky footsteps. After walking up a fully challenging hill of sand, step – slide, step – slide, this set of stairs was not a welcome sight. Hmmm… death be damned, I’m having a look!

Safety precautions in Indonesia are… ummm… yeah, non-existent pretty much sums it up. You tramp up these scrabbly bits of rubbish cement and then, you’re teetering on the edge, as wide as my two feet, and that’s it. Falling back down the way you came up on one side or tumbling to your death straight into the mouth of the volcano on the other. No rails, no flat patches, and an endless flow of more people coming up. Picking my way, one foot directly in front of the other, I scrambled as far away from the stairs and wobbly gathering of climbers trying to find a place to stand as I could, attempting to avoid being accidently jostled to my demise. People MUST fall in, they MUST! I just can’t explain how teeny tiny treacherous this lip of the volcano is. That being said, and you knowing me, it made me that much more excited. Death, here, almost… love it!

I was desperate for a rumble, a grumble, a something to show me that this underground demon was still alive and kicking… something! I had to settle for a tiny little *poof* of smoke but yes, it was something! Thank you volcano gods, I’ll take it.

As you gaze over the crowds and around the landscape, either looking towards Bromo or out from it, you can’t help but feel a little bit like an extra in a sci-fi movie. Very other worldly, very alien, very moon landing. Dry, cracked, ash-covered landscape, a crumbling crater bubbling with that rotten egg smell, shadows of cragged peaks in the distant haze. Roger Houston, we have landed and there is life here. I like it.

The rest of the morning was spent driving around looking at the drastically different landscape just surrounding the crater and then the long journey home. Aussie soil scientist continued his generosity and we hitched a free ride most of the way in their cushy vehicle, shortening our local bus travel by hours and hours. La-la-la life is good. Home by late afternoon, just another weekend in Indonesia. Not so shabby.