Rainy Dieng plateau

Rainy Dieng plateau

26. March 2018 0 By

Now we have 3 hours to dri­ve to Dieng Pla­teau, an acti­ve vol­ca­no with a sulp­hur lake. After the effort in the mor­ning it’s time to plun­der the break­fast box and I can’t get out of the ama­ze­ment. The­re are milk rolls and real Kiri cream cheese. I could cry with joy! Cheese! If I had known that, I would have pre­fer­red to go to the break­fast buf­fet ins­tead of the sun­ri­se. Tomor­row mor­ning, I’m going to throw mys­elf right on the cheese plat­ter and defend it with my life. May­be I can ste­al a cheese sup­p­ly from the buf­fet. In any case, I know one thing: When I get home again, I will bake ever­y­thing with cheese for a week and sho­ve a lar­ge pie­ce of Gau­da straight down my throat. I’ll pro­ba­b­ly dream about cheese every night for the rest of my vacation.

Unfort­u­na­te­ly the wea­ther is get­ting worse by the minu­te and it is pou­ring rain. Even after 3 hours of dri­ving it has­n’t got any bet­ter. When we arri­ve at Dieng we have to pay an ent­rance fee and in addi­ti­on a new gui­de sneaks around our car, who can sell us tickets for a spe­cial pri­ce today. Who would have thought it?

If we buy from him, the ent­rance is actual­ly che­a­per than indi­ca­ted in the gui­de, but we do not get tickets phy­si­cal­ly han­ded out. Uh-huh, so that’s how it is. He thinks he can hand­le it for us, after all he works for the govern­ment. Okay, which means we’­re on a bri­be to a coun­try whe­re the death penal­ty still exists. Unfort­u­na­te­ly, I don’t have an Indo­ne­si­an law book at hand to check what punish­ment is wai­ting for us right now. In Ger­ma­ny, at least, the­re are alre­a­dy 5 years in pri­son for that. To be honest, I don’t real­ly want to know, becau­se with the amount of ent­rance fees we have alre­a­dy paid, we will soon be hap­py about every cent we can save. So we invi­te our new gui­de into the car and dri­ve ano­ther 40 minu­tes up the moun­tain to over 2,000 meters.

It’s real­ly fun­ny, becau­se our gui­de is so small and so nar­row that he looks like a dwarf on the seat next to him. Every now and then I even have to check if he’s still the­re. For­t­u­na­te­ly the Asi­ans are very adap­ta­ble, becau­se as a tra­vel group Suns­hi­ne takes a nap a short time later, our gui­de is part of the par­ty. Well, I’d like to have his job, too.

When we reach the top, the first inven­ti­ve busi­ness­men are wai­ting to lend us umbrel­las. For­t­u­na­te­ly, the best invest­ment of the day was the cheap pla­s­tic rain cape in the mor­ning, pure pla­s­tic is the only thing that can keep you half­way dry here. To get to the cra­ter we first have to fight our way past a kilo­me­ter-long row of sou­ve­nir stands. For­t­u­na­te­ly, the­se trad­ers were not in the same boot camp as the guys at Boro­bo­dur. Sin­ce it rains and becau­se of the alti­tu­de it is a bit col­der, ever­yo­ne is busy to with­draw into the dry and take out the wool­len caps. Point for us, I’d say.

The sulp­hur lake lies in the mist, but we can still catch a glim­pse of it. Despi­te the cool tem­pe­ra­tures it boils and bubbles and the stench is real­ly unbe­ara­ble in some places. The good thing is that we are almost the only tou­rists today. Except for a few locals we are almost alo­ne. We are eyed a bit stran­ge­ly, but nobo­dy wants a sel­fie with us. What a dis­ap­point­ment! But the land­scape around the lake looks sim­ply breath­ta­king. Due to the fog it looks almost sur­re­al and smooth and the sce­ne could come from a block­bus­ter. Becau­se the sur­roun­ding trees absorb the sulp­hu­rous ground­wa­ter, ever­y­thing is very light and colour­less. I’m actual­ly sur­pri­sed something’s gro­wing here. A real­ly gre­at place to shoot the next moon landing.

After we have made our way back to the car through the rain, we stop a few hundred meters fur­ther on at a loo­kout point for a lake that can chan­ge its colour from yel­low to green to red through vol­ca­nic gases in the cour­se of the seasons.

Our gui­de, who clai­med half an hour ago that he does­n’t mind rain becau­se he is a real Indo­ne­si­an, has obvious­ly chan­ged his mind in the mean­ti­me. With a small umbrel­la, which at its size covers almost the who­le body, he walks ahead and sets the cour­se. On the top the­re is for­t­u­na­te­ly a bam­boo roof under which we find pro­tec­tion from the wea­ther. Seems to be rai­ning more often here. The view from here is sim­ply magni­fi­cent and I can’t belie­ve that we are actual­ly stan­ding on a moun­tain at the end of the world.

Oppo­si­te our view­point the­re is a rock with car­ved steps and a skull and cross­bo­nes sign. Pro­ba­b­ly a pret­ty sure sign that even the Asi­ans con­sider it dan­ge­rous. Who would have thought that even they once have secu­ri­ty con­cerns. Time to draw a red cross on the map. A litt­le fur­ther down, a lonely owl squats in a litt­le woo­den house who­se facial expres­si­on exact­ly reflects how I feel after 4 hours of rain. Owl, I feel you.

Con­ti­nue: Sight see­ing in Yogyakarta