Volcano Bromo
At 2:30 a.m. the wake-up service comes in the form of Adi and a Jeep driver hammering at our door. Actually we had an appointment for 3:00 o’clock, but maybe something got lost between the Indonesian – English translation. Maybe they just enjoy waking us up early.
As if stung by a tarantula, I shoot out of bed and gather my clothes together. But I can’t even find a fresh T‑shirt and just leave my sleeping shirt on. Then, with complete mental derangement, I hit my little toe at the edge of the bed, so that I almost break down crying. Really? Before the volcano hike, do I have to ram my toe against the bedpost? What’s the point of that? As fast as possible I force myself under tears into my shoes, just put them on before the toe swells up, otherwise I‘ ll walk barefoot to the volcano today.
At 2:45 a.m. all hell breaks loose in front of our hostel. Hundreds of jeeps rush past us and probably all want to go to the same viewpoint for the sunrise. Our Jeep driver is also waiting impatiently, he wants to leave, because it seems to get full. Crammed into the back seat and with less lockable hatchback it starts.
It is pitch-black, there is no street lighting and actually no street. At least we can’t see any street, because through the fog the visibility is only 3 tiny meters. However our driver finds his way is completely mysterious to me. There’s no such thing as rear fog lights here either. The good thing is that I don’t see the abyss next to us either. After about 20 minutes the ground changes and we drive on a sandy track. Apparently we have arrived on the volcanic plateau, which is also called „sea of sand“ and consists of nothing else but volcanic rock and sand. That’s fine with me, because there’s at least no cliff here to overlook.
Apparently our driver is now looking for the way to the lookout. After another 20 minutes, several bends and some prayers later we stop with 300 other jeeps at the roadside. Now we’re being chased up the mountain, we’re supposed to keep to the right. Always according to the crowd is the simpler description, because today is unfortunately a holiday and besides us about 2,000 Indonesians have arrived, in gloves and woolly hat of course. It is also 18 degrees, almost Russian winter for Indonesians.
The viewpoint is a total disaster. Upstairs there is a small paved plateau where inventive businessmen rent chairs and bamboo mats. To have a look at the volcano with the crowd at all seems impossible, which of course may also be due to the fact that it is still pitch-black and I do not even have the whiff of an idea in which direction I have to look at all.
Mirko and I climb down the mountain with the complete camera equipment and look for a place in the front row where we can take at least a few photos. Unfortunately this isn’t easy either, because first of all it’s very steep here, secondly it’s moist and slippery and thirdly someone is always holding the torch into your picture, scurrying past it or almost tearing the tripod including camera into the depth.
As the sun slowly rises we also have to realize that it is left of us and it is almost impossible to get through to the left side, with the mob of people. Now plan B is called for. I try to at least get the photo equipment to safety on the steep slope and Mirko and his tripod make their way through the crowd to get a picture of the sunrise. For a selfie I can just squeeze out a smile, otherwise my mood has just reached zero. Actually we had paid to be taken to lookout point number 3 and not to number 1, unfortunately we couldn’t get through because of the traffic jam. We have categorically excluded the alternative of hiring a kamikaze moped driver due to safety concerns.
The unfortunate fact of a national holiday can’t keep Mirko from sending Alfan a nasty Whats app even at 4am. Somehow I feel sorry for him. What is the poor guy supposed to do, about 300 kilometres, the equivalent of 6 hours drive away in Surabaya. It’s the middle of the night. But Mirko doesn’t let up, like a lunatic he types his hate message into the chat on his mobile phone.
Luckily the steep embankment is slowly becoming a bit emptier and we now have a great view of Bromo, which lies in the mist. It almost looks as if the mountain is on cotton candy, a wonderful natural spectacle. For a moment I can even forget the crowds. Unfortunately this is only of short time, because we also want to slowly make our way back and that is unfortunately not as easy as we thought.
For the way back to the car we need one hour. The stairs are full of people and all those who have not yet seen the sunrise stop and take pictures, which of course hinders the traffic on the stairs. I’m surprised no mass panic breaks out. In Europe, at least one special broadcast on RTL would have been worth this precarious safety-related circumstance.
Arrived downstairs we start looking for our jeep. Luckily, Pierre very wisely took a picture of the license plate. Otherwise we would probably have walked back to the hostel. I am somewhat surprised that all 300 jeeps managed to turn around on the narrow mountain road in just one hour and are now back in line. So one thing the Indonesians can do – drive a car!
The return journey is no less dangerous than the outward journey, we meander down the serpentines in a column and soon see the first losses of the morning. On the right side there is an overturned safari car, fortunately it is overturned towards the mountain side and not towards the slope. Meanwhile, the three inmates are sitting unharmed on the guard rail opposite and have probably missed the sunrise.
Finally we stop at the foot of Bromo and want to walk up to the crater rim. Before we can even stop the car, the first Indonesians gallop after us with their ponies and want to sell us a ride up the mountain for 50,000 rupees through the window. No thanks, the small, petite animal will collapse right away when I sit on it. So we now meander up the mountain on foot between 200 ponies, which is really no fun. In the middle of nowhere, of course, the T‑shirt salesmen are not far away and there are stalls where you can eat noodle soup. Of course, the mopeds must not be missing between all the ponies. The operation reminds me somehow of a Sunday open for business in Dortmund.
Since my toe is really aching by now, my mood isn’t getting any better and I’m exhausted just before the crater. For all I care, the others can go the 1000 steps to hell alone, I will pout now. A short time later I sit on a stone and try to film a fog timelapse, which is unfortunately interrupted again and again by passing mopeds or various selfie wishes.
I can’t understand that, though. Nobody should get closer than 100 meters as angry as I curl my face. Apparently either my facial expression is not yet frightening enough or the selfie hunger of the Indonesian is simply greater than the fear of being attacked by a European tiger. If Mirko hadn’t already done so, I would now send a hate message to Alfan. Just like that.
After about an hour the others return and we start our way back. It’s not like the day is already over, because we drive 7 hours to Banyuwangy today to see the Ijen in the next days.
Adi doesn’t look good at all, completely tired and tired to be precise and I would love to stay here for another day so that he can sleep properly. But it doesn’t help, so let’s get in the car and head to Ijen. Luckily, our driver can’t fall asleep because he gets a Whats App message every 3 minutes. That’s why we can’t think about sleep either.
Maybe it’s not text messages but an alarm clock, who knows. In terms of frequency, he must be the most popular man in Indonesia, if not the president. Fortunately, with Adis smiling all the time, my bad mood quickly vanished again. To be honest, I could imagine him very well every day in a chair next to my desk. Whenever I have to get angry again, with a smirking Adi next to me, I would forget everything again. Maybe I should ask for adoption papers as a precaution.
Arriving at our homestay, we are greeted friendly by the family and I am glad that tomorrow we only have one day with Sight Seeing Light. Meanwhile, Alfan has also responded to our hate messages and announced that he is remitting us 300,000 rupees of the price. So it was worth it after all, I actually believe that it is the first time ever in Indonesia where Europeans get something cheaper.
With the newly gained wealth we first take care of our driver Adi and get him a room. While we move into our cosy bamboo huts, Adi makes himself comfortable on our terrace and we continue practicing sign language.
I don’t quite understand why he is still here, he also seems to like us and briefly I assume that he would like to move in with us. In the visitor’s crack. After a few Google translate attempts we find out that we are now waiting for our guide for the next days. He wants to come by and introduce himself. That’s fine, because we have no other plans in the middle of nowhere anyway.
Haquim, who is sometimes called Aquim because the French can’t speak an „h“, is 21 years old and quite fired up. He immediately likes Mirko and is at least in love with him during the course of the evening. In between he receives a call from Alfan and asks if Mirko is really mean as he thinks. Uh, no, not exactly.
Then we get to know Adi‘ s wife and son via Skype, a meeting with the hungry Europeans is a must in the family history. Even though Adi‘ s wife doesn’t speak English, this doesn’t stop us from making a funny compilation of waving, holding food in the camera and yelling a „hello“ every now and then. She obviously has a lot of fun with us, too.
Continue: Sight seeing in Banyuwangy