“It doesn’t look that hard, climbing Bromo” I pointed out to DH, as I squinted on the straight, white staircase that connects the Tengger caldera bed to Bromo smoky rim. The jeep drove off across the sea of sand, spinning dust as we passed. Little I know back then how wrong I was.

Cruising across the Sea of Sand, in the direction of Mount Bromo. The Sandsea itself is a part of the larger Tengger Caldera, formed around 25,000 years ago of what must have been a massive eruption.

Rider of Bromo

By the time we reached the parking area near the Pura Luhur Poten, the Tenggeran temple and the start of the Bromo walking trail, there were only few jeeps left. We had spent our morning at the savanna, and arrived a bit late. It turned out to be both good and bad. Good; as the crowd was gone hence less people cropping in the background of our photo; but bad as the sun was already high, heating the volcanic soils of the caldera bed that it was almost unbearable to walk.

Horse for hire if you don’t fancy walking on the dusty, hot plain.

Trudging the sandy path under the hot sun to the base of Bromo.

Like at Penanjakan, we were swarmed by the horsemen as soon as the jeep pulled over. They insistently offered the horse riding service and followed us as we walked. They were quite bothersome really, but you can’t really blaming them because that was how they earn their living. In an attempt to ignore these pesky pushers I focused my gaze on Bromo and its long, straight stairway instead. It was a strange view, the white stair; popping out from the grey, hazy background. It somehow reminded me one of the scene in H. Rider Haggard’s novels (which include a staircase to the smoldering volcano set in an African safari, leading lady being chained and dragged to be thrown into smoldering pit as sacrifice, and tribesmen in colorful loincloth and head gears ululating and high on ritual dances at the back). But the insufferable heat and the lack of stamina brought me back to reality, and walking on hot sand was no way easy. I trudged alongside DH who never failed to motivate me; more of dragging my feet instead of walking. As we get closer to the crater the ashes thicken and started accumulating in my socks and shoes, adding burdens to every steps.

Looking back. I was with throng of tourist, mostly locals who came to pray at the sacred volcano. The tiny dots behind the Pura Luhur Poten are the parked jeeps and the drop-off point. As to where we were standing was only half way of the journey.

The steep climb to the crater and our final hurdle.

Before long we arrived at the staircase and this time it was all up to me. The walk was already exasperating, and now we were challenged with another 250 concrete steps that leads to the edge of the crater. The staircase were almost covered with inches thick of hot volcanic sands and ashes that our feet sunk upon stepping on them. We forged ahead carrying dirt that conveniently found their places inside our shoes, and the climb was made difficult by the easily shifting sands that sometimes I can’t get enough resistance to push forward. Panting and gasping for air we finally made it to the top.  We were actually standing on the verge of a very much active crater, and breathe its poisonous, white gas. Not that it matter. At least not today.

 Half way to the top.

Smoking Bromo and the broken railing that divide us.

Between us and the precipitous slope of the volcano mouth was just a broken railing, and the reeking smell of the sulfuruous steam fumed out of it was nauseating. The fact that we were standing on a meter-wide ledge didn’t help either; and the thought that any slight unbalance movement would see one slipping and stumbling right into the deep, smoky cavity – a definite one-way journey.

This was the closest I’d been to any volcano so far, and an active one at that, with the latest seismic tremor recorded was just a few days before that had prompted the Indonesian Volcanological Survey to raise the alert level from 1 (normal) to 2 (unrest) on a scale of 1-4. Anyway all was well that day, and we counted our blessings for being able to conquer yet another volcanic mountain.

Somebody was celebrating birthday that day.

Pura Luhur Poten temple viewed from on top of Bromo.

I gingerly walked to the broken railing for a photo or two, and that was all about it. Standing precariously on a narrow crater rim without anything to hold on to made me anxious and dizzy, and to made thing worst it was kinda breezy up there. I couldn’t express how glad I was when DH finally said about descending.

On the way down.

The journey down supposed to be fast, but there I was lingering and taking photos of the unearthly view of the Tenggeren temple that sat alone in the middle of the Sea of Sand. By this time there were not so many people around, saved a few locals dressed in orange cloth, paying respect to the volcano.

Bromo has been part of the Tengerese (who mostly devoted Hindus and animist) since the time of their ancestors; and considered sacred. Eruptions are taken as signals that the gods are angry, and offerings or sacrifices were made from time to time to appease the  unsettling volcano. I can’t help admiring these people; notwithstanding the danger of the land they are living in, the Tenggerese brave the odds and live side-by-side with nature. And despite its wrath Bromo indeed continues to provide the blessing to the Tenggerese – of fertile soils and tourism.

Goodbye Bromo, for now. Till we meet again.

The fresh scent of grass and morning dews hit my nose as the dark green jeep we rode bumped all the way across the misty plains. We had our eyes transfixed at the view in front of us as the fog faintly unfolded a beautiful valley surrounded by towering cliffs – like walls separating us from the hot and barren plateau we had just passed. The sun was beaming down on us, radiating the rich, deep blue sky while cool mist marched slowly, coating the green mountains far ahead. Withering shrubberies of gold carpeted the earth floor, and the ferns and weeds were dancing gracefully to the occasional breeze. Unfortunately our arrival was in tandem with the approaching cold season; and the wild flowers, were not there where they should be. But the lack of blooms and verdure were in no way impaired the scenery.

Still it is not easy to describe the loveliness of the Whispering Savanna – a picturesque meadow and a contrast sight to the arid and sulfur belching Bromo. Located not far from the volcanoes, the savanna can be accessed via the sea of sands or from Malang. Peeking into this little valley is like entering a different world, of beauty and peace. The exhaustion of climbing the Penanjakan earlier seemed to fade away. In silence I scaled every inch of nature in front of me, but my soul were like little kid running around amidst dried edelweiss and bushes. According to our driver, the savanna sometimes caught fire especially during the hot season, explaining patches of burnt mark we spotted on the grasses. But I guess it is part of the law of nature; as it will accelerate the spring of new vegetation that will envelop the hill with greenery comes raining season.

On the way back to Bromo we spent the time listening to our driver about the exciting locations beyond the green hills that surround the savanna – the serene Ranu Pane lake, the refreshing Coban Pelangi (Rainbow Waterfall)  and the thrill of trekking the majestic Mount Semeru, the highest mountain on the island of Java.

I wish I could reach these places one day.

To the savanna, via Sea of Sand

When we asked our driver to take us to a nice photographic spot of the savanna, he brought us here. It was a beautiful spot indeed, and we were lucky that no one was around.

Dried Edelweiss

I was so absorbed with nature that when I turned back I realized how far I had wandered.

Green foliage of a new life, sprung in the middle of dry and yellowish land.

Our driver and his jeep waiting for us patiently, while we frivolously taking photos of almost everything.

Note: Click on the photo for larger image.

I was already awaken to the cold morning in Cemoro Lawang when I heard a knock on the door. It was Pak Ecok, Cafe Lava front person, calling us to get ready for the pre-dawn hike to Mount Penanjakan – the favourite spot for catching up with the sunrise at Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park. DH was still groggy when I woke him up, and continued with his pseudo-sleep  as I headed to the washroom for my daily morning rituals. He was still sleeping when I returned 10 minutes later. I threw a glance at my watch; it was 3.00am  and we were already late. I woke up DH again, this time more firmly. We quickly slipped into our jeans and layers of clothing, and walked to the Cafe Lava’s front door.

The sleepy Cemoro Lawang we discovered the day earlier was already alive and on its full swing. The deserted streets were now cluttered with colorful jeeps, and boisterous guests in their beanies, gloves and scarves – proudly bearing Bromo knitted logo. Prolly they came very early morning either from Surabaya or Malang. We also spotted our driver, leaning back on his green 4-wheeler. He quickly tossed his cigarette away as we approached him, opened the door and asked us to hop into the back of the jeep. The jeep picked up a few passengers from other guesthouses, then sped off into the darkness to the base of the hiking trail, passing through beds of onions and some faithful farmers. As I turned my head around I saw a line of jeeps trailing behind us which headlamps flashing at me; it almost hurt as my eyes adjusted from the pitch black surrounding to the blinding brightness.

The short bumpy ride took us to the start of the trek, of Penanjakan 2. Another viewpoint is at Penanjakan 1, which is much easy on foot and provide better view of the three peaks, but unfortunately closed for renovation. From the drop-off point we hiked up the ash-covered slope; the air was thin, and endless demoralizing taunts by hordes of horsemen offering horse ride half-way to the top making it a challenging climb despite an easy trek.

“Ayuh bu, pake kuda aja, olahraganya nanti di tangga.”

(Come on, use the horse. Save your energy for the stairs)

“Jauh lagi bu, pake kuda aja.  Jalannya nanti mendaki terus. “

(The trek is far, it is better to ride a horse. It’s a steep climb all the way)

We continued climbing despite the discouraging words and our thinning morale, and arrived at the viewpoint just when the sun was about to rise. Arriving a bit late most of the strategic spots had been taken, so we climbed up a bit higher for the uninterrupted view of the volcanoes. We experienced the sunset from behind Bromo a day before, hence it was only logical that the sunrise would come from opposite direction. We turned our gaze towards Mentigen, and voila! A fine streak of red and orange started to appear on the horizon, just above the caldera.

Sunrise at Penanjakan 2.  The tiny white dots were the distant lights coming from Cemoro Lawang, of which we came from.

A few minutes later the sun shyly appears with its majestic glow breaking through the  clouds. I’d seen a lot of sunset and sunrise that it is difficult to say which one is the nicest, but the sunrise in Bromo is one that will not be easily forgotten.

As the sun rose higher in the sky it dawns the land beneath with its golden rays, slowly illuminating the far distant Semeru. We stood in awe as the orange hue touched the smoldering rim of Bromo and crawled down the eroded gullies of Batok, until it finally dissipated through the vast expanse of the Sea of Sand.

A surreal view of the Tengger Volcanoes.

The crowd at Penanjakan 2. Amidst the early morning spectators, hawkers set up their make shift stalls selling hot drinks and bowls of instant noodles which aroma enough to stimulate one’s appetite.

It was all bright and sunny when we decided to head back to the hiking base. Going down was easy, only that the path was so covered with thick ashes that a single step causing the dust to stir up, squirting into our eyes and nose. I stopped along the way to clear my eyes and my neck warmer now doubled up as face mask, and when I turned around I was blessed with this beautiful sight. The sun shone brightly, radiating the green land beneath through the morning mist, giving it a soft glowing effect.

Riders of Bromo, at the foot of Penanjakan 2.

As we reached our jeep we looked back at Bromo, now bathed in blue.

Going down from Penanjakan 2 towards the Sea of Sand.

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky used to say that. A great novelist, and a wise man. And that quite exactly describes how we found Loo.

We first met Loo onboard the early morning flight to Surabaya. As we approached our seats we saw a guy already settled himself over the window, fast asleep with his face covered with the hood of a blue wind breaker. A travel notes written in crooked Chinese characters and a bulky DSLR camera were sprawling on his lap.

We didn’t spoke throughout our flight, as he continued sleeping and we were trying to find ours too. More or less it was me, cause DH was already dozing off as soon as the plane left the tarmac. I always have this difficulty falling asleep, especially after waking up, so I past the time browsing through the inflight magazine and observing the sleeping guy. He was barely moving except stretching his back from time to time or adjusting the hood over his face. I wasn’t sure what drew my attention to him; it was not my first time meeting a Chinese man and another traveler. Perhaps it was his camera and understated manner, apart from that striking blue wind breaker. Or perhaps it was my intuition – somehow  my sub-concious mind was telling me that our path will cross again later.

The blue minivan to Cemoro Lawang

Arriving at Surabaya and without the check-in luggage, we passed through immigration and custom at Juanda Airport with a breeze. We took the airport shuttle to Terminal Purabaya, and in no time were already on the public bus to Probolinggo, the small town that serves as gateway to Mount Bromo. That Chinese guy in wind breaker was still sleeping when the plane landed, and was among the last to leave.

Two hours later we touched base with Probolinggo and were waiting to be transported to Cemoro Lawang, a village in the Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park where we would stay for the night.  The driver of the blue minivan that supposed to take us to the village sat nonchalantly on a makeshift platform under a frangipani tree, playing a game of checkers with his friends while waiting for more passengers. We were eventually the first to arrive and his first customers of the day. I put my backpack down and slouched on the plastic chair of the nearby warung (Indonesian for food stall) while DH finishing his cigarette. From time to time we peeked outside to see if anybody turned in but unfortunately there was no one in sight. The folks were mostly at the mosque performing the qurban (cow sacrifice) as the day itself was actually Eidul Adha (the second largest muslim celebration and public holiday in Indonesia) and with the recent increase in Bromo hazard level, apparently there were not many people keen on going in our direction.

 Kopi Soda in Probolinggo

It was a hot day, and we had been waiting for almost an hour. If nobody turns up that means we have to charter the whole van all to ourselves, instead the normal tariff of Rp12,000 per person on sharing basis. DH was pacing up and down the warung as if somebody would turn up from somewhere. It was a boring wait, but there’s no other way to get to the village and to charter the whole van was totally out of our budget bracket. To while the time I helped myself with some Kopi Soda from the warung refrigerator, a drink I picked up simply because of its odd name. Carbonated coffee is not your everyday thing, isn’t it? Weird at first, but after the third sips I had totally forgotten that it was not our typical cola.

While I was idly chatting with DH over our new discovery (the kopi soda that is), a white guy walked in. He introduced himself as Chris; he was looking for the transport to Cemoro Lawang and urgent need to buy the local SIM card. A blank stare was all he got from asking the warung lady. Obviously she didn’t understand English.

“Pulsa” I told him the Indonesian equivalent for the said phone subscriber card. The goodnatured lady laughed when she finally understood his words, and directed him (with my help) to the nearest selling booth. Ten minutes later Chris returned to the warung with a smile on his face. But that was not the end for him.

Installing a new SIM requires subscriber to fill up his identity and contact information, and too bad it was all Indonesian. Soon I was seating beside him, translating every words in his phone to English as he was typing it.  Making new friends while travelling seems so easy; all it needs just an ask for direction, sharing public transportation or a petty SIM card to start the ball rolling. A few minutes later another guy turned up. The blue wind breaker looked very familiar. He was the guy in the plane!

Apparently he noticed us too and was somehow glad to see us. Loo; as he introduced himself, is an engineer from China currently based in Kuala Lumpur. There were already four of us, but we decided to wait some more and have some Soto Medan for lunch. Before we even finished our food another two backpackers arrived; the cute and bubbly Jeremy from Canada and his quiet friend Nick, from France. With the six of us we agreed to share the cost of the minivan to Cemoro Lawang, as the day was getting late and we were already gave up hope that anybody will come after that.

 The road to Cemoro Lawang

 The village in the mountain

The journey was uneventful and most of us fell asleep inside that stuffy van. Me on the other hand, the only female in the group was given the privilege by the driver to sit in front and was kept awake by the stunning view of the villages in front of me. The temperature dropped as we climbed higher and higher up the mountain, leaving the putrid hot air of Probolinggo behind. Smokes came out from a far distant chimney, and crops cultivated on the mountainside of what seemed to be a barren land (October, and a coming of a cold and dry season).

 Cafe Lava Hostel

It was already 4.00pm when we finally reached Cemoro Lawang, and was dropped at Café Lava Hostel. Arriving on Indonesia second biggest hari liburan (public holiday) we had arranged our stay and all the tour to Bromo earlier (thanks to the help of fellow bloggers Zilla & Fatt), something which I rarely done during travel. I had no idea whether this was necessary (which turn out not – as Cemoro seemed to be extremely quiet), but it was better safe than sorry. The guys decided to stay at the much cheaper guesthouse opposite to us, while Loo opted the Cemara Indah Guesthouse as he wanted to wake up to the view of Bromo. Pak Ecok, Café Lava front person was giving us a good offer and overall it turned out we were charged much cheaper than their published rate. A happy sign to our trip.

 Cafe Lava backyard, where we spent our afternoon

 The rooftop. Don’t ask why I took this photo. I really don’t have the answer.

Our room at Café Lava was small and decent, but it was more than enough. My only concerned was how we were going to survive the cold night, as the thin Bamboo woven walls that make our room are not thick enough to insulate the heat. But I was all too excited that before long I had it totally slipped off from my mind.

 Mount Batok from the Look Out Point

We went out again later in the evening, taking a stroll around the quiet village and walked to the look out point nearby our hostel. That was our first sight of Bromo. I remember Fatt said something in her blog about how painting-like they look, and it was true! Unfortunately it was hazy and night was fast approaching (the sun sets around 6.00pm), and the photos I took described nothing of its beauty. As I was busy setting up the camera a local Tenggeran came to us and offered a ride to Mount Bromo, across the Sea of Sand. I brushed him off uniterestedly, as we had already booked the tour. But he was quite persistence, and was not accepting no for an answer. Me on the other hand was down with frustration with the bleak weather and our lousy photos, that I startled when I heard him saying about photographing the sunset at Mentigen. I’d never came across Mentigen in our quick study of Bromo (it was too quick perhaps LOL!) and his word made me curious. But I was a bit hesistant parting with another Rp50,000 for some unbudgeted event (with the previous back-to-back trips to Manila and Medan we kinda broke on this one) but when DH said he’s willing to pay for the ride I jumped at the moment’s notice and heard myself cried ”Let’s go!”

 The view at Mentigen

 Mount Batok and the sulphur belching Bromo from Mentigen Pass

It was an awful ride so to speak, and I who at first felt a bit awkward about riding a bike with a stranger (as DH was riding with another driver) was inching closer and closer and grabbed  the ojek driver’s shoulder with fear being thrown out from the bike. Controlling the bike against the sandy path was somehow difficult; he had to floor it to avoid getting stuck.  Nevertheles Mentigen is not that far away, and within minutes we arrived at the very much desolated viewing point. The view was much better from the look out point in Cemoro Lawang, and apart from taking photos, me and DH spent our time there talking about life and our dream, overlooking the stunning scene  until the sun finally set behind Mount Batok.

 The ojek drivers

DH watching over the sunset at Mentigen

 Stunning ray of lights over Penanjakan

Sunset at Mentigen

When the sun finally disappered we headed back to our hostel, and found Chris and the gang already there having dinner and we were called to join them. We had a pretty nice chat, sharing some travel stories and get to know each other better. Loo showed me the photo of KLCC he took recently and it was superb; in fact he’s really good at photography that I was so glad we met and able to pick up his brain on the matter. Chris was on his 2 weeks touring across Indonesia, and planned to end it by scalling the Rinjani or so before going back to South Africa, while Nick and Jeremy was on their way across the globe (oh, I really envy them!). We were so into eating and talking that it had totally slipped my mind about taking our photos together.

We ended our quiet day at Cemoro over dinner and some jokes. It could be our first and last meeting with some of them, but it does not really matter. The temperature was dropping fast outside, but we were all warm with our new found friendship. I guessed that’s the wonders of being in the Travel Land. William Butler Yeats once said, “There are no strangers here; only friends you haven’t yet met”.