Climbing Volcanoes

Gunung Bromo

Things we learnt about Gunung Bromo and Gunung Ijen:

•             Gunung means volcano.  OK, we already knew that but it serves well to mention it again here.  
•      It can be cold on top of volcanoes, even in Indonesia.  
•             The sulphur miners of Ijen are bloody hard bastards.
•      When an Indonesian driver is trying to persuade you to go with him, DOUBLE how long he tells you the journey will take.

In Yogyakarta we decided pretty quickly that we would want to travel to Java’s east coast by land before getting the ferry to Bali, not least because there are some stunning volcanoes to see on the way.  It’s a long old journey, a couple of days driving, but we thought we could break it up by staying near and climbing a couple of volcanoes on the way.  That was the easy bit.  The tough bit was working out how we would get there.  Mount Bromo would be our first stop and we were in the process of working out a route via train and bus when a piece of luck came our way. Or so we thought. 

We were in a becak when at a crossroads our panting and apparently asthmatic driver strangely decided to engage us in conversation.  You can feel pretty guilty when trying to have a conversation with a man while he is grunting away trying to cycle you up a hill, but he was quite persistent.  He established that we wanted to go to Bromo and offered to drive us there.  No, not in his becak – that would have amounted to manslaughter – but in his lovely air conditioned car.  It was dramatically more expensive than the public transport method but we weren’t yet fully into backpacker mode so after some deliberation we decided to go with convenience and speed.  Great decision.  Except that it took 12 hours – 2 hours longer than public transport and 6 hours longer than he told us it would take.

As a result we arrived at the mountain village of Cemaro Lewang in the dead of night.  Owing to the altitude, it was frigging freezing and we were unsuitably attired in regulation shorts and t-shirt.  The village was a ghost town but luckily we had pre-booked a hostel.  Our friendly driver helped us with our bags and we headed off to our quarters.  To make sunrise we would have to set off for the view point at 4am so while Jess settled into the very chilly room, I went to the reception to try and charter a 4x4 and driver. 

Now, what happened at the reception many of you would call stupid.  You might say I was naïve, you might say I was over-trusting.  I prefer to think of it as friendly.  While I was mulling over the options to get to the viewpoint, a Dutch couple were conversing in their mother tongue near the reception desk.  I took little notice until they apologised and interrupted my deliberations. (I should mention at this point that they spoke to me in fluent English, I don’t have a secret ability to speak Dutch), “We’re so sorry to ask you this but we only just arrived in the village.  We are staying near here and have just realised that we have almost no money left.  We don’t even have enough to get transport to the viewpoint and to Bromo tomorrow morning. I don’t suppose there’s any way you could lend us any?  It’s just that this is a volcano and the closest ATM is 45 minutes away and there are no taxis at this time.”

I’d like to say that I eyed them carefully and paused for serious thought before saying “Sure, how much do you need?” But I didn’t.  I said it without a moment’s hesitation.  To this day I’m still not sure why.

After thanking me profusely they calculated that they needed 300,000 Rupiah (£25 – a fair amount in this part of the world). I handed them the cash. They looked a little surprised and asked me if I maybe wanted to arrange how they could pay it back, find out where they were staying or even what their names were.  “Oh yeah, good idea” I said, offering what must have seemed a rather gormless smile.

Luc and Nina introduced themselves and told me they were from Eindhoven and that they were staying in a hotel with no name. Strangely this wasn’t a problem for me and I still laugh when I look at the note they wrote me confirming their names, the amount they owed me and their current address – “Homestay up the road”.  Quite the ‘I O U’.

It turned out they were going the same way us which gave me a brainwave. If the 4 of us chartered a car, we could get from Bromo to Bali via a stopover at Gunung Ijen for just 1.6 million Rupiah.  Of course I would have to lend them all the money for it.  This, again, I did with no hesitation.  Having now lent these strangers from Eindhoven over £80 we said our goodbyes. I had actually now given away almost all of our money. That’s when I saw our driver from Yogyakarta sitting behind me.  “Excuse me sir, can you pay me now? I have long way to drive back.”  

“Ah.” I said.

After some very awkward begging of the receptionist to give me some money back to pay our driver, and, in turn, let me pay their driver the next day, I returned to our room. Jess was looking confused and, dare I say, a little annoyed as we had an early start, “What on earth took you so long!?”

“Don’t worry”, I replied, “I just gave all our money to some Dutch people.”

“No you didn’t you liar”.

“Yes I did actually” I showed her my almost empty wallet, smiling (again gormlessly).  Jess wasn’t smiling.

“What?! Why?!”

“They wanted to borrow it. It’s fine, they’re Dutch.  Dutch people are very trustworthy.”

Needless to say Jess was a little less optimistic than I.  But fortunately Luc and Nina turned out to be wonderful people and excellent hiking and travel companions.

We made our way to the viewpoint at 4am the next day.  To say that the sight of Gunung Bromo is spectacular at dawn is an understatement.  With the clouds sitting below us and reflecting the sun as it rose, it was the kind of beautiful that just makes you sit back and shut up.  I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Bromo's crater - our next stop to have a look inside

There was something surreal about all the clouds beneath us

Bromo began erupting earlier in the year and had been erupting for 6 months until July. As a result the entire local area was covered in a layer of volcanic ash which, by the way, we were finding in ALL KINDS of places for several days.   Over thousands of years the numerous eruptions have created a volcanic ash desert on the plains around the volcano which is known as the ‘Sea of Sands’.  We trundled over the Sea of Sands in a 4x4 and then climbed up to rim of Bromo’s steaming crater to have a peer inside.

First time I'd looked into an active volcano

Jess stares out over the 'Sea of Sands'

We then set off for our next destination Gunung Ijen.  We spent a night in a coffee plantation (think Java coffee…) and had another very early start to hike up Ijen.  It was a steep 3km climb to the crater lake and sulphur mines, which when carrying nothing more than a camera bag was tough enough.  But we were astonished to see dozens of local men climbing up the crater and trundling down the steep  slope carrying two baskets of sulphur across their shoulders. Those of you familiar with my strength will know this is no great measure, but I was unable to even lift these baskets an inch off the ground.  Each basket weighs around 45kg, 90kg in total.  They get paid about 4.5p per kg.  So one 3 hour back breaking trip nets them the princely sum of £4.05   We climbed down into the crater and back out again and it was completely shattering – we could only imagine what it’s like doing it with a 90kg load on your shoulders. 

It was a long hike.

But it was a damned sight longer for him

The miners make their way back up for round 2

On reaching the summit, we peered down into the sulphur mines in the crater

It was a beautiful setting up above the clouds peering into the crater lake and sulphur mines, except for the truly horrific sulphurous stench being pumped out of the volcano’s gut.  It was not only a nasty smell, it actually burnt the back of your throat and lungs when the wind blew the wrong way.  And yes, you guessed it, the local miners were standing right in the middle of the fumes working away. You don’t need to be a doctor to work out that isn’t good for you.

These guys seriously earn their (very little) money

It didn't just smell a bit - it made your eyes water and lungs burn - and we weren't that close.

"We just climbed down that!" - Yes, but now we've got to climb back up...

But it was a bit easier for us than it was for these guys.

So on making our way back down to the waiting car, the 4 of us set off to catch our ferry to Bali.  We said farewell to Luc and Nina when we arrived and commemorated it with possibly the best meal we’d had in days – the Indonesian version of a Pot Noodle – a Pop Mie.  It was a moment we’ll cherish and set us up well for our time in Bali.

Pop Mie with Luc and Nina

A Warm Welcome to Indonesia

Traditional Javanese dance in the Sultan of Yogyakarta's Palace

Things we learnt about Yogyakarta, Indonesia:

• It's pronounced 'Jogjakarta', or Jogja for short.
• It's not to be confused with Jakarta, Indonesia's traffic ridden capital city.
• The people are incredibly polite and friendly.
• The city has an exceptionally passionate and sizeable Arsenal supporters club
• The locals really like birds (of the winged variety, I'm not describing a city of womanisers) 
• Oh, it's hot.  But I think that's proving to be a running theme.

If we thought that KL was another planet to Singapore, arriving in Indonesia and Jogja was the equivalent of landing in another galaxy.  The skyscrapers were gone, replaced by hundreds of street sellers, mosques, batik markets and becak (tricycle or horse drawn rikshaws). For the first time the billboards were no longer in English and we saw our first motorcyclist (of many) carrying a load that by all rights should only ever be transported in a van.  And the prices, thankfully, plummeted after the more expensive cities we'd visited so far.


The principle method of transport is the becak where you basically sit in a cramped seat pinned to the front of some bloke's tricycle.  It's a fun, if uncomfortable journey.  The problem is, us Westerners are a bit bigger than your average Indonesian.  It was at the end of a 5km, mostly uphill journey than I suddenly realised we were in danger of killing one of these becak drivers.  The poor fellow disembarked his bike, and when we turned to him, he was sweating more than I've ever seen anyone sweat and looked like he was actually going to keel over.  Woops.

Making the becak driver work hard

I should move on to the most striking thing about our 4 days in Jogja - the people.  As a backpacker arriving in Indonesia, armed with the Lonely Planet and dozens of different tips on avoiding scams and rip off merchants, we could be forgiven for being on our guard somewhat.  On our first day we ventured to the city's main market, Pesar Beringharo.  To say it's huge is a serious understatement.  It's very huge.  Maybe I need to work on my adjectives but you take my point.  We were the only tourists and only white faces in the place which served only to add to our guardedness.  It came as no surprise when  as soon as we started strolling an old man decided to start walking with us telling us all the amazing things we could buy at the market.  "Come see, many many spices, very good" he said.  "Happen to own a spice stall mate?" I thought. 

As it happened we fancied eyeing up a few spices so we cautiously followed him, primed for the inevitable hard sell. To my surprise he took us to an impressive spice stall that he did not appear to own and proceeded, with the owner of the stall, to show us the myriad spices explaining their uses and lets us touch and smell them, never once making any attempt to sell them to us. "Mmm", I thought, "He didn't seem to even TRY to con or rob us. Weird."  

We continued, with our old Indonesian man in tow, still jabbering away about every stall we passed. 

"He's just lulling us into a false sense of security", I thought.  Any moment now he would lead us to his stall and force us to buy something. He suddenly turned to us in revelation and shouted, 

"Come see many many fruits upstairs!"

"No." we said, "We don't want to see fruits."  

We did really, we just thought he was trying to stitch us up in some way.  So we wandered around for a while pretending we didn't want to see the fruits and then went to see the fruits.  To be fair, the fruits were pretty amazing, although anyone who has ever smelt a durian will have no trouble understanding what I mean when I say it was a bit stinky.  Our old man, took us around describing each fruit, telling us the Indonesian name for it.  I didn't know what kind of scam this was but it was so subtle and elaborate that I was certain I would at some stage find myself completely naked holding nothing but an inadequately sized sarong.   But I was wrong. It was at the stage when our old man told us of his love of Tom Jones and then started singing us some songs that I realised that he was walking and showing us around purely for the pleasure of practising his English and helping out some (overly paranoid) tourists. So we left happy and with a new found trust in the human race, scoffing at the silly Lonely Planet.

Look at all the lovely fruit and veg

And the stinky dried fish

We decided to go and see the Water Kasteel, which was once the bathing pools of Yogyakarta's Sultans and their playboy habits.   Let me explain what I mean by that last comment.  The Sultan, in days gone by, would have 12, or so, wives.  Each day he would have them frolic together in one of the pools as he watched from his viewing tower.  After a while they would line up in the courtyard, with him looking on from above.  He would select 3 of them to go through to his private pools for a personal frolicking session, for which he would join them.  Then each day of the week he would choose another 3 wives for that day's frolicking, so as to keep it fair and all.  Fair dos mate, I say.  Being a Sultan's not as bad as it's cracked up to be I suppose.

The "Frolicking Pools". Being a Sultan ain't so bad.

We also discovered the Javanese obsession with birds (again, of the winged variety).  They all seem to keep birds as pets so we decided to see the local bird market where, once again, a local adopted us and showed us all around for nothing more than his own pleasure.  Turns out he's studying English and loves English football.  I nearly fell off my chair when he told me he supports.... wait for it... Norwich City.  Wonders will never cease.

The bird market

The locals really like birds

Our Norwich City supporting new friend.

We went to see Borobodur, a massive (should have used this world earlier) 1200 year old Buddhist monument.  Its stunning architecture and colossal size makes it a work of engineering genius when you take in to account it's age.  Here we met another amazing person, our guide.  He did a cracking Jackie Chan impersonation which he named "Friend of Jackie Chan".  He would alternately pretend he was trapped on the other side of an invisible pane of glass or, when finished explaining something, use an invisible length of rope to pull himself along to the next point of interest.  Legend.

Borobudur. 1200 year old Buddhist temple. It's big.

Prambanan. The Hindu answer to Borobudur.

On a slightly darker note we also went to see Gunung Merapi, an extremely active and destructive volcano.  It has erupted twice in the last 5 years, most recently in October when it killed 700 people.   The lava flowed suddenly at 4am when most people were sleeping.  Whole communties had been destroyed, but already they are rebuilding on the same land.  It's a scary thought for them to come straight back to such a dangerous place, but that land is all these families have.  The valley through which the lava flowed is astonishingly large, and the dried up rivers of lava carving up the land were frightening and  awe inspiring in equal measure.

Merapi's valley of lava. This valley was filled with lava. You can see the scorched trees near the camera.

This used to be farmers' fields and trees. Now it is a desolate, dried river of lava.

Let me move on to a happier story.  As I mentioned in the first blog, I have decided to try and meet Arsenal fans throughout our travels in Asia.  Where they exist I'll try and meet the official supporters' clubs, and where they don't and I'll try and meet smaller groups or individuals through the national supporters clubs.  The first group was the Jogja Gooners, with whom Jess and I watched the Arsenal v Swansea match.  The game was not on Indonesian TV, so through Twitter a the local Gooners let me know details of a cafe where they would be gathering to watch a stream of the match.  We were even picked up from our hotel by a lovely guy called Agung and his girlfriend Anggi.  The Jogja Gooners were incredible.  There were around 50 of them, singing all the songs in full voice, everyone of them in an Arsenal shirt.  Some of them were in extremely impressive vintage shirts.  Their voice, passion and devotion to the Arsenal cause was really something to behold and when they refused to let us pay for our drinks or food I knew we had made some amazing new friends.  I commit here and now, that if any of the Jogja Gooners ever find themselves in London, I will get them tickets for an Arsenal game.  

The Jogja Gooners!

Arsenal score against Swansea City

Good signage.  And yes, a canon up my arse.

So, with Yogyakarta taken care of, we headed east to do some dawn hiking up some volcanoes.  More on that next time.