We were rudely awoken at 6am to the annoying sounds of my phone’s alarm, bleary eyed, only to found out that it was almost bright outside. We rushed out minutes later to an empty street; failed to spot any monks in their orange robes anywhere in sight. Confused, we quickly hailed a tuktuk which happened to be passing by, but to our dismay the driver couldn’t understand any English. I was at my wits end as streaks of morning lights appeared on the gloomy sky, and a glimpsed at my watch I feared that it was over. In my hopeless attempts to explain to the driver my intended destination, I cupped my left hand whilst all fingers of my right joined together like the Italian’s ma che cazzo; only that it moved towards my other palm – my lame tries at the act of benefaction. Luckily the driver understood it somehow, and in no time we sped off through the quiet streets towards Sakkarine Road.

Tak Bat, as the locals called it, was the reason of this untimely outing. It is one of the most vivid images of Laos, an almsgiving ritual which happens every early morning in Luang Prabang. Although similar events takes place in other Buddhist countries, Luang Prabang is the place where it is done in larger scale over the scenic setting – where hundreds of monks swathed in their saffron robes making their way from the town’s many wats past those faithful devotees, collecting alms for their own daily sustenance, and in return helping those believers earned their religious merits and spiritual redemptions.

When we arrived, the street was already flooded with tourists with camera in hand, ready to pounce at the sight of the monks. Apparently we just arrived in time. I quickly jumped off the tuktuk; almost running – leaving DH to settle with the fare and joined the crowd. Locals already lined the street; kneeled on a mat with their shoes removed, while both hands clasped together at their chest in a submissive form. A bamboo basket of staple Lao sticky rice, banana, biscuits and sweets were laid neatly in front of them. At the end of the street a parade of orange drew closer, barefooted and chanting in silence.

As the procession filed past, the almsgivers bowed their heads, reached their baskets and scooped a handful of sticky rice before dropping it into the monks’ alms bowl, and the monks slid back the lid in a very quick, rhythmic fashion. All was done in a splash seconds, one devotee after another, and yet not a single word was uttered. Excited tourists clamoured over each other, snapping photos and firing flashes, totally ignorant of the religious ethics.  I on the other hand never thought that watching those recurring acts of opening and closing of the lids could be so entertaining, as it was flawlessly executed and almost in-sync, while the anticipation for a single drop built up.

But, no. Well, they’ve been practicing almost every day, haven’t they?  (- _ ^)

Feeling Good

To be frank, my first insight guide to Laos was from a movie.

A Laotian romantic movie. About a young Thai photographer travelling to Laos for an article ended up finding his root and falling for his sweet Laotian tour guide. How rare is that? Honestly I’m not so much into love movies, but somehow I was hooked for two hours merely for the beautiful background sceneries of the film locations. It was as much as a tourist commercial as it is about love story, when love blossomed between the two as they travelled from Southern Laos to Luang Prabang.

Perhaps Luang Prabang is no match to the world’s most romantic city of Paris, and unable to surpass the exotic Bali. But nonetheless I found Luang Prabang has its own romantic charms that I immediately fell in love with, although I was just arrived from the picture-perfect Vang Vieng with severe diarrhoea and all. Anyway that’s just my personal opinion. I didn’t say it was perfect. But it was easy to say that I like it (well, I like many things). Perhaps it was the peacefulness that mesmerized me. Perhaps it was that languorous spell that made time seemed non-existence and the pleasant feeling that you are actually living in the moment. Perhaps it was the baguettes and those French vibes that add to the allure. Or perhaps, it was the tiresome journey from Vang Vieng that I found comfort at the thought that I finally arrived at my destination, the highlight of my short trip to Laos.

For the first time I saw Phousi Hill and the gilded stupa of Wat Chom Si glimmering under the setting sun as the tuk tuk approached our guesthouse in Phommattat Road. We quickly dumped our bags and went out again. It was time to look for dinner. Walking past Wat Visoun we encountered a few eateries but I had no appetite for another Indian vegetarian cuisine. Spicy foods would definitely add troubles to my already-upset stomach. But DH was hungry for rice. Typical Malays.  So I just watched him eat. I hadn’t had anything for a day and was hungry like hell but unable to swallow a thing. Even the smell of curry that I usually craved back at home was suddenly intolerable.

Luang Prabang has nothing much to offer at night. On our part we had enough sleeping out of our long drive from Vang Vieng that we decided to check out the night market which I heard the only happening place in town. Soon when DH settled with his dinner we continued our walk to Sisavangvong Road in search for the night market.

We strolled casually along the empty streets trying to get a sense of the place. Once in a while the silence was broken by the revving sounds of motorbikes that zoomed past us, until it fades away in the dark. All shops were already closed for the day, saved for a local eatery one or two.  And that was all. It was so quiet that I started to doubt whether they even have night market that night. We continued walking nonetheless and were finally there. But it was nothing like what I imagined it to be. There was no sound of vendors calling for customers. No noise from the people selling and haggling. The vendors will smile and say hello, and you are free to do the looking. No pressure of buying. The only thing we could hear was the buzzing sounds of the lamp generators and our own footsteps.

The night market was made up by just two rows of make shift tents. Colourful trinkets and crafts were neatly sprawled on canvases that lined the street. Most of them were handmade. I was immediately attracted to the adorable cloth book on animals, lovely purses and pins, nicely hand sewn blankets depicting Laotian daily life and all other girlish things.  The dim lights emanating from the hanging bulb were diffused by the colour of the red tent, giving a warm, dreamy kind of effect – luring the customers; mostly tourists – like a photophore of the deep sea anglerfish. And I one of them:   just happy to see it.

 The night Market at Sisavangvong Road

All the colorful and cute things!

Tucked away in an alley, we arrived at a totally different world. Here is where you would find the locals and all the commotions that was previously lacking. This is the real night market. Almost everything for sale was food and daily consumptions. No cute souvenirs. Vegetables, fruits and spices were arranged side-by-side along the cramped walkway. Fussy customers were sniffing and picking their goods for bargain. At one corner a long table festooned with dizzying arrays of local cuisines served our eyes, colourful and glistening under the incandescent lights. Foreigners and locals alike thronged the makeshift tables which brimmed with food as cheap as a dollar. For the first time since yesterday I was hungry. But none that I could eat. Too bad. I ended up with a fruit smoothie instead, and got totally overwhelmed by it.  I’m proud to say that I survived Luang Prabang with only fruit juice (and ‘Lao style’ tuna sandwich).

The ‘hidden’ night market

The next day we climbed all the way up the Phousi Hill on a well-paved staircase, and enjoy the view of the town from the summit. A little exercise and breathe of fresh air was all that I need. We could clearly see the Nam Khan river snaking its way into the far behind mountains while brick red roofs of houses down below popped out in between lush greeneries. On the other side Mekong River flows calmly as it has been since the beginning of time. All was peace and calm.

The rest of the morning we made way around the old town, exploring every nook and cranny. The cozy weather of mid-November was kinda perfect for our jaunt, not too hot and not to cold. Occasionally we bumped into monks in their distinctive saffron robes and paper parasols, locals with their casual glance and the unspoken Sabaidee, pretty Laotian girls in their chic Sinh skirts, or tourists on bicycles; while other time saw us marvelling over the old French colonial architectures – some of them have been restyled into upscale hotels and charming restaurants, or otherwise inspecting the intricate reliefs that adorn the roofs and the walls of the many wats. At times when we were out of ideas we simply enjoyed a cup of fine brewed Lao coffee from the side walk café and filled up our time observing the passers-by.

Luang Prabang from Phousi Hill and the  Nam Khan River

The calm River of Mekong

 Haw Phang Ba and the Royal Palace

Caged birds to be released at the summit of Phousi Hill.  Laotians believe that by setting a bird free you will have better luck and happiness in future.

A young monk with his book

The French Colonial Architecture. The fusion of western and traditional Laotian architectures in a well-preserved townscape environment entitled this little, sleepy town a rank in the UNESCO World Heritage Site list.

A monk walking out from a monastery in the compound of Wat Visoun

Hanging in wind

Cleaning time

 Quiet street of a neat town

A lady with her daily chores

 Multi-tiered roof

 Reliefs from the Wats

 Star shaped paper lantern

 Hanging out for a cup of coffee while waiting for the rain

Old carvings

Later in the afternoon we joined the day trippers to the Kuang Si; a dip in its cascading emerald pools was the exact remedy I needed to cure my lethargy. The river flows into the nearby village, which I became to envy – I mean waking up to pristine, turquoise-blue water running endlessly behind your house every day! We returned contented to the friendly Luang Prabang in the evening – as the sun and its sexy crimson rays spilling upon those elegant, multi-tiered pointed roofs, and the soft glow of the colourful star-shape paper lanterns added the appeal to the amicably romantic town.

 The Emerald pool of Tat Kuang Si

Simply refreshing 

The last thing I know I was smiling and laughing on our short excursion to the Blue Lagoon, and the next thing was, I was a sick, sick dog cat (well, I rather called myself a cat than a dog).

We were about to depart from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang when I sensed something was amiss. As I was packing my stuff I felt a slight light-headedness, followed by a strong urge to vomit. I ran for toilet and emptied the content of my stomach straight into the white porcelain (apologize readers, I know it’s gross). But it didn’t get better. Sudden pangs of abdominal pain crept in and I rushed to the toilet again for another spillage before limping back to bed, exhausted. This went on for several times, that by the time we boarded the minivan to Luang Prabang I almost drained every fluid in me and I was flaccid like some wilted, dry veggie.

With the sickness plaguing me, I dreaded the long journey to Luang Prabang. Will I survive the 6-hour drive of a bumpy, hairpin road when I couldn’t even stand straight and not puke? What if I need to use the toilet, which I’d been frequented like every 5 minutes now and it was totally beyond my control? With trepidation of humiliating myself, I gulped in the last anti-diarrhoea tablet (which fortunately I always take with me during travel) with some Gatorade before jumping into the minivan. The seat by the window was unoccupied and it was a blessing. At least I got a spot to lean and sleep throughout the journey, and the window was accessible for fresh air should I feel dizzy or whenever there’s need to throw up.

The journey to Luang Prabang was not so much of a fun ride; the road bumps, twists and turns as the bus steered the mountain slopes – churning the stomach and reeling of head. It was such a boring ride that our driver amused himself by running into every pothole he could spot on like some kiddo’s whack-a-mole game. Five points if you could hit it right into a cavity; ten if you do it while speeding! Luckily I didn’t embarrass myself (like vomiting in front of others or crapping in my pants) despite the numerous jerking, braking and cornering – partly because I was asleep most of the time (the side effects of the medication, thank god) which was a shame since the landscape of northern Laos is astonishingly beautiful, and partly because we stopped for toilet breaks about a dozen times. And it had become my routine to make a run for it every time we stopped.

The serene landscape of northern Laos.

The road where we came from.

The long, winding road from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, cutting through Laos’ mountain range – what a lonely journey!

I felt like I’d slept for hours since our last stop when DH woke me up for another break, and this time it was by a beautiful valley of greens. The vista was superb; rugged mountains stretched as far as the eyes could see, teeming with cute and colourful little flowers wriggling in the breeze. The view cheered me up and it worth all the troubles. It was so beautiful and serene that I felt better by just breathing its fresh air, but the nasty growl in my stomach reminded me for another toilet trip. And what a surprise it had for me. Who could expect a toilet with a view!

Having been brought up in an environment that emphasizes modesty and good manners I was a bit reserved in an open toilet concept, although I was pretty sure no one could see me doing my business in such a remote place. But the twisting pain in my stomach was getting worse by the minute that I was left without a choice. And the pretty view was undeniably stimulating.

So there I was – on my throne, smiling.

Well, all the breath-taking views of the valley as per the photos above were taken from here – while I was doing my business.

NOT!!!  (^_^)

Long before I made my trip to Laos I had heard or read so many unpleasant things about Vang Vieng – from hedonistic river raves and backpackers behaving badly to the depressing tragedies surrounding it. Floating in an over commercialized, decrepit tractor-tyre inner tube down the Nam Song (Song River) wasn’t so appealing to me either, and apart from being a sleepy, small town on the long way to Luang Prabang I immediately concluded that Vang Vieng must be pretty dull. Visiting Phonsavan and its mysterious Plain of Jars was more on our thoughts back then. However we later learned that accommodating both Luang Prabang and Phonsavan in our tight schedule was rather difficult if not impossible, and since skipping Luang Prabang when you are in Laos sounds totally pointless, we had to pick up the ball and run with it. That’s how Vang Vieng ended up   in our itinerary, simply another place to fit into our short trip. Or so we thought.

 The countryside on our way to Vang Vieng

There was nothing much to say about the 5 hours bus ride from Vientiane to Vang Vieng, apart that we were cruising along a lonely road bypassing some green mountains and nondescript villages (but anyway lovely). By the time we arrived in Vang Vieng, things were a little sedate and we were a bit confused. There was no one around at the terminal except our bus troop, the bus operator and a lone songthaew (local pick-up taxi), which we quickly boarded, dreading to be left out alone in ghost town. I was biting hard my lips and was beginning to regret our decision of ever coming to Vang Vieng. We should have headed straight to Luang Prabang instead, I thought. Two minutes later we arrived at a cosy little town with guesthouses, restaurants and bars lining up the street (we could have walked!). It turned out that the increase in tourist fatalities had forced the government to shut down many of the river bars; and the once debauchery party town, Vang Vieng has returned to its unobtrusive self again.

The small town of Vang Vieng.

It was a short walk from where we were dropped off to the guesthouse of our choice – The Popular View Guesthouse, which we had decided prior to our trip to Laos. At 100,000 Kips per night it was not the cheapest lodging in Vang Vieng, but the name live up to the expectation. The room was clean and spacious, with two super-single beds combined as one, a flat screen tv, air-condition and an en-suite bathroom with hot water we could say it was a bargain. But what enticing me the most was the stunning view of the Nam Song and the svelte green landscapes that could be seen from the room!

Our spacious room in Vang Vieng, facing the beautiful Nam Song and the karst mountains. Contrary to what we read or heard, Vang Vieng was actually so beautiful and serene that we immediately fell in love with, and almost ditched the plan of ever going to Luang Prabang if not for our better sense of judgment.

The serene Nam Song and the green landscape viewed from our room’s veranda.

Since we were only for a very short time in Vang Vieng, we quickly settled our personal matters and went out again. We rented a scooter from the operator next door at 40,000 Kips and had our lunch at the nearby halal eatery. We should have known well about Laos from our inaugural introductions to their tardiness, and yet we wondered why our plain fried rice arrived only an hour later, with only us as its patrons. Nevertheless we groped our late lunch quickly as soon as they arrived, and in no time found ourselves cruising along the town’s empty streets.

Our first lunch in Laos; a plain fried rice at 20,000Kips per plate – what a bomb!

Equipped only with a rough hand-drawn map we got from the hotel and the directions given by the guy that manned the scooter rental shop, we headed out for our late jaunt around town. We decided to make our way to the Blue Lagoon which we read is interesting to explore (and no, they are not the one featured in the thought-provoking movie of a same name stars by Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins).

From the main street we detoured into a small road, and were asked to pay some small fee upon crossing a ramshackle wooden bridge that led us across the Nam Song to a dirt road leading nowhere. We rode off bluntly from thereon, relying solely on our hunches and from asking locals around. The map we got was useless past the bridge and there was no sign what so ever indicating the way to the lagoon. 

Bridge with toll in Vang Vieng

The view of Vang Vieng from the bridge. If you are thick in the pocket you could try the hot air balloon.

Ironically, Laos is the most heavily bombarded country during the Vietnam War; a conflict which they had no part into, and suffered considerable amount of collateral damage.  As a result, a sizeable part of Laos is still under the monitoring of the country’s Unexploded Ordinance, known as UXO or landmines. Some old disarmed bombs now become villages landmark.

Unpaved road to the Blue Lagoon

As the day was getting late we were becoming more and more desperate (first, we only have a day to explore as we will be going to Luang Prabang the next day; second, because we were somehow in a middle of nowhere, no lamp post to where we heading and it’s going to be dark soon). We were cursing ourselves for having lunch (which unfortunately taken most of our precious time) but had to shamefully admit that we were somewhat starving back then. Further and further we went in with no conviction of where we were going, but somehow relieved upon seeing some bare-chested tourists in swim shorts coming from opposite direction.

All-in-all we could say that we enjoyed our long lost journey to the lagoon, amused by the typical rural life we seen along the way – dominated by green paddy fields that stretch across the land and the jagged karst hills. Silhouetted under the sinking sun we saw farmers tended to their fields, and occasionally we bumped into smiling villagers in their humble wooden houses, giggling kids with dirt on their faces, dogs barking at our sight and chasing us  while the chickens clucking and scraping the earth. Not to mention there were times we had to steer away from those slow moving herds of cattle. Intermittently I had to ask DH to stop the bike and allowing me taking photos of the happy scenery.

Cheerful Laotian kids greeting ‘Sabaidee’ to every passing travelers.

We met a lot of kids on the way to the lagoon, which smiles eagerly at the sight of foreigners and scream “Sabaidee!” (Hello) in which we replied the same. They were so cute and bubbly, and their innocent grins and naïve hello made it straight into our hearts. “Sabaidee” could be the only Lao word we knew, but the exchange of smiles and friendly gestures were more than what we needed.

 Paddy fields and green landscapes accompanying us all the way to the lagoon.

 A typical rural life in Vang Vieng.

We finally made it to the lagoon an hour later, of what mentioned as a 20 minutes journey from the town centre (thank god we didn’t take the bicycle!). Well who of us haven’t been led on a merry chase by the locals or fallacious maps, when it actually took three times as long to arrive to somewhere?

Blue Lagoon, at last!

As we rode closer to the lagoon, we saw the water was indeed blue from the minerals, with overhanging tree branches and a rope swings. It was a gorgeous sight. We parked our motorbike beside the lagoon and crossed the wooden bridge to the other side, and immediately dipped our sore feet into the water. It was cold and refreshing, but I didn’t dare to go further as it looks very deep that we couldn’t see the bottom, but spotted a few fish nonetheless. The water seemed to flow down from the nearby mountain where the Phu Kham cave is, but unfortunately we have no time to look for it. 

The water from the lagoon flows into a small stream, with small gazebo-style huts lining the banks.

There was no one in sight when we arrived as it was almost nightfall, and realizing that we had to return back to town before it gets too dark, we made it quick before jumping back onto the motorbike (too bad!).

We tried to ride as fast as we could, sensing that the sun was going down faster than we expected. But the pockmarked road and ruts made it impossible to run more than the old scooter could pull off. It was already pitch black and quiet half-way of our journey back to the town, and the weak beam of our motorbike’s headlamp not very much of a help either. But the worst was yet to come. Suddenly the motor seemed to lose power and slowing down, and after a few meter it abruptly came to a total halt. Dead. And what a perfect place it chose to fail us!

We were somehow in a stretch where there was no home or people in sight, and the last village we had passed was about a few kilometers away. And what good can it do to us, knowing that little these villagers could do to help us anyway. With that apprehension we accepted the harrowing fact – that we were now stranded in the dark and in the middle of nowhere.

DH managed to resuscitate the motorbike after several tries, but after running life for a few seconds it was dead again. We suspected it must be something to do with the headlamp’s wiring, as the problem begun only when we started using it. So we decided to turn off the lights and kick-started the motorbike again, and to our reliefs it came to life. We rode back in the dark to the town with flashlight apps from my mobile phone and with watchful eyes, in case we might miss a turn. Not later we were joined by a local on his bike, that upon seeing our trouble he was so kind to ride slowly behind us and lit up the way. We finally made it to town safe and sound, and could not thank our Good Samaritan enough. The beauty of Vang Vieng and the kindness of its people had definitely won our hearts.

It was already 9.00pm when we reached  Vang Vieng  town

Restaurants with futons and endless Friends or How I Met Your Mother reruns 

I was still shaking from our ‘little misadventure’ and although DH managed to keep his cool, I knew that deep inside he was anxious too, and both of us seemed to lose our appetite for dinner. The first thing we did when we reached town was calling our kids back at home and that somewhat cheered us a bit. There was nothing much to do in Vang Vieng at night;  most of the tourists spend their time lay on futons watching reruns of “Friends” and “How I Met Your Mother” over some booze. Us on the other hand, tried the cheap Lao traditional massage at a parlor nearby our guesthouse and it was great!

Morning in Vang Vieng

I woke up to a chilly morning the next day, with intention of capturing the sunrise but too bad the sun was nowhere in sight *sigh…*. It was not a perfect morning, but it was beautiful nonetheless that I was compelled for a morning walk, but alas too lazy to don proper attire. DH was still asleep and I didn’t want to trouble him searching for me when he wakes up, so I just sat quietly at the veranda enjoying the  dawn of our new day in Laos.  Cute little houses perched on the banks of the Nam Song that flows softly into the quiet valley, while jagged limestone mountains shrouded in mist  jutting out to the overcast sky made the view almost ethereal. I breathed its fresh air and waited until the sky lighted up to the ca-hooting cries of roosters, and smiled at yesterday’s hilarious incident. Although it was too short, we definitely had such a fantastic time in Vang Vieng. And we could gladly say it has nothing to do with tubing. 

Saw a fisherman casting his net 

Beautiful isn’t it?

We were introduced to Laos laidback atmosphere almost instantenously as we stepped into the remarkably quiet Wattay International Airport.  And it became equally strange as nobody approach us when we walked out to the lobby looking for transport to the city.

Yes, we were being totally ignored. But not in a bad way. Laos general approach to life and its calm ambience was so intoxicating that  we yielded to its amazing charm and had ourselves loosen up. And this was how we first experienced Laotian’s time indifference.

Upon exiting the airport we walked to the main street in hope of finding a tuktuk to the town centre, and at the same time contemplating whether or not we should hire a taxi since the street was extremely quiet and no tuktuk could be spotted anywhere. Just about the right timing, we saw one heading in our direction. The tuktuk was with passengers, and eventually making its way to the airport.  Seeing us with backpacks and all the driver gestured us to wait for him. It was a long wait – both of us with our heavy load standing at what seemingly empty roadside and started to feel like idiots. Is he (the driver) coming back to pick us up? We were not sure. After seemed like forever we decided to look for another tuktuk, and as we were about to make our moves, the tuk tuk driver appeared with a big smile on his face that reads – “there’s no need to worry. We have all the time in the world”.

“The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it”  -  Sydney J. Harris

Again the same thing happened when were about to board the bus to Vang Vieng. We were supposed to be picked up from the bus agency (where we bought our tickets) to the bus station, and based on the time stamp the bus will be leaving anytime soon. But the pickup driver was nowhere to be seen, and when he finally arrived, he walked casually towards us, sat on one of the bench at the agency and lighted up his cigarette. Our bus supposed to be leaving in 5 minutes time and there he was, puffing his cig and not giving a monkey’s about us. He smiled when we raised our concerns to him, took all his own sweet time to finish his smoking before finally saying to us, “Let’s go!”. And guess what, the bus was still there even though we were like 10 minutes late. It only departed half an hour later although all the passengers were already on board. Then and there we learned that tardiness is really the ‘in’ thing in Laos.

Even the cats know how to relax in Vientiane.

I gave myself a stretch up, a morning yawning.. La di da di da…

Admiring the sunset and the lazy beauty of Mekong river.

Laos could also be the most forgotten country in Southeast Asia, next to Myanmar. Though the latter is due more to its repressive military junta and civil unrest. But Laos is forgotten for simply being itself  – a country where everything is so relaxed and easy going that not much could be heard about it. Simply ask yourself how many times that you ever read about Laos in the news.

So now you know what to do if you are in Laos.

Just sit back and relax cause Laos, or officially Lao P.D.R (Lao People’s Democratic Republic) is actually Lao, Please Don’t Rush.

P/S: We made the trip almost a year ago and were only able to finish the first part of the story. Apparently our embracing of the slow-pace life of the Lao has become a little bit too much.

Having suffered claustrophobia and thalassophobia (fear of the ocean) I couldn’t imagine myself living inside an encapsulated vessel plunging the deep, dark seas for days where gigantic and eerie sea monsters roam free. Perhaps I had too much of Jules Verne and his Nautilus during my younger days; perhaps it is a fallout of my childhood obsession of the sci-fi movies and Greek mythology. And the tragedy of the Kursk gives me the willies.  The only happy thought I have about submarines is the Beatles’ version. A yellow one.

So when I found out there’s one submarine for sampling near where we stay in Surabaya, I knew I had to see it. If I can’t handle it on sea, at least I can experience it on land.  We were just a few hours from boarding our flight back to Kuala Lumpur and had nothing else to do anyway. The submarine monument  (i.e. Monumen Kapal Selam, shorted as Monkasel by the locals) is just a short walk from our hostel in Jalan Embong Kenongo that within a few minutes we arrived at its front gate.

Located at No. 39, Jalan Pemuda, the relic of Indonesia naval history is just next to Surabaya Plaza and has been there since 1995. The fleet – Pasopati 410, is one of the first Indonesia’s submarine of the Russian Whiskey class, a type engineered by the Soviet Union during the Cold War period. Built in Vladivostok in 1952, the sub was purchased by the Navy of the Republic of Indonesia a decade later and saw service in the Battle of Trikora to liberate the West Papua from the Dutch occupation and was in used ever since. The submarine was only decommissioned in 1990, and five years later saw it reassembled at its current location as museum.

The submarine is divided into several chambers, and each chamber is separated by watertight doors. It could get really hot inside especially when all doors are secured and it is hundred metres below sea level – the condition the navies had to endure as no air-conditioners available inside the fleet at that time. In fact, now with all the doors open and fans at every corners it was still suffocatingly hot, that every now and then I had to wipe the trickling sweats on my face.

Bow Torpedo Chamber with four torpedo launchers, which also serves as torpedoes storage room. There is another Torpedo room at the stern of the sub with another two torpedo launchers.

One of the torpedo in the Bow Torpedo Room. Even though heavily used in battle it is said that the sub had never fired any of its torpedoes.

From time to time we had to bend down and watched our head when passing through the sub’s small chamber doors and narrow space. Imagine living inside the small and cramped submarine with another 63 passengers including the commander for days.

The Sonar Room.

Photos of the sub’s commander lined up the wall in the Crew’s Chamber, above the narrow bunk beds. It was so small, the bed  - that you hardly able to sleep comfortably. Not even a roll-over. Well, the vessel is not for leisure anyway. The room also served as dining area and crew’s lounge, while a small kitchen with metal basin could be found nearby.  The Commander’s Compartment is located next to the Crew’s chamber and it it just a small space with a bunk bed, a small side table and cabinet.

The Commander’s Room.

The Control Chamber is fully loaded with confusing valves and gauges of all shapes and sizes, inundated by labyrinthine pipes and wires. I wonder how the navies distinguish which one to look for, especially in time of crisis. Sure one hell of a pressure.

The highlight of the submarine is off course the Command Room, where the periscope is equipped. Although corroded and blurred by age it is still viewable, and seeing the Kalimas River flowing into the city from the glass finder is something that should not be missed.

Diesel Engine Room. When the sub afloat it used diesal to move, and battery when operating under the sea.

The museum opens from 8:00am to 9:00pm every day. Admission is Rp5000 per person. Visitors can also enjoy the audio visual serving history of Indonesia maritime which located in the compound of the museum.

We set off to Bondowoso for another leg of our excursion just after we completed the morning tour to the Whispering Savannah and Bromo. We met Nick and Jeremy in front of Café Lava waiting for their transport to Surabaya; while Loo was nowhere in sight. I remembered he told us the day before that he opted to stay behind photographing the stair trails. After saying our goodbyes we hopped into the minivan that will take us back to Probolinggo. I was chatting with DH when I heard a sound from the back of our ride, and was surprised to see Chris. Eventually he decided to follow us to Ijen, and was actually resting at the back of the minivan all the while.

We reached Arabica Homestay in Sempol when the sun was about to set – after a long, tiring drive from Probolinggo. Dinner that night was simply set meal we ordered from the kitchen – basically fried rice, a small portion of chicken and vegetable soup. At Rp50k per person we found it a bit expansive to our standard.  Knowing that we were somehow in a remote coffee plantation with limited means; apart that we are simple people with simple wants so there was no complaint there. After the meal and small talks it was time for some sleep before leaving for the crater. After all our fellow trip mates decided to see the very much talk-about blue fire of Ijen which requires early climbing; thus only allowing us a few hours of sleep.

We left Arabica for Ijen at around 2.00am, where our driver sped off through the dark via a very bad road. It took about an hour to reach the mountain base, and met our guide – a skinny elderly that was going to take us down into the crater. A retired miner of 20 years, he now runs a small cafe at the base of the trek apart from his part-time guide job.

We started hiking almost immediately as we only had an hour left to witness the blue light. Falling behind, I tried to walk as fast as I could, but barely able to catch up with the others – who am I to compare with those experienced hikers and westerners in our group? They were quite fast too; not to mention they were all tall and have longer strides. What has been an average 2 hours climb to the peak we attempted doing in an hour. It was a race against the time, as the sun was going to rise soon and so our chance of seeing the blue light. To make it worst, I started to feel my right calf twitched with burning pain; a sign of muscle cramps – induced by the cold temperature and my lack of training. And to my shame the track is not that difficult after all; except for the fact that it constantly inclined at 40 to 50 degree all the way up.

After discussing with DH we decided not to pursue the blue fire and climbed at our own pace. It was not in our initial agenda anyway. Chris was so kind and insisted on walking with us, but I urged him joining the rest as I don’t want him miss seeing the fire. With Chris gone we hiked in the dark to the peak, equipped only with a small headlamp to light up the way. But it turned out not a bad decision after all, as we have more time to enjoy the walk and the scenery – which turned out perfect came morning light!

Merapi was behind us all the time, bathed in blue in the early morning mist.

About an hour later we arrived at the workers’ canteen and weighing post of Pondok Bunder. It was just another 1km hike to the crater from here.

We bumped into several miners as we went further up; their sulfur-laden whisker baskets swung as they tramped on the steep terrain. From their swift yet organized steps, balancing those massive chunks of yellowish blocks on a bamboo pole seemed so effortless but in reality a single load could weigh up to tens of kilos. From time to time they eased their heavy burden by shifting it from one shoulder to another, and I couldn’t help to notice skin lesion and muscle disfigurement. Such is the working life of these miners, which making a living simply means constant battle against heavy loads, backbreaking 6km journey up and down the mountain, lethal gas, low pay and permanent damage to one’s health and vital organs.  Everyday they have to choose an unsympathetic and ironic options : To risk their life or to risk not having anything for a day in their life. And we think our job sucks.

On the way we met this Bapak (it is how they call an elderly man or mister in Indonesia), on his morning routine. Despite the burden on his back he managed a smile for us and made our day.

Approaching the crater. 5am and it was already daylight - too many photo stops I guess!

A choking smells of rotten eggs hit us as we nearing the crater. Beyond the barren ridge lies a beautiful milky blue lake, which color changes to emerald green by the intermittent sunlight. Deceptive as it looks, giving no inkling what-so-ever to its corrosive states.

Man at work. These miners’ laborious tasks begin as early as 3.00am, with a 3km climb to the crater rim and down into the vent where sulfur forms and extracted. Fire is set at the fumarole to melt the sulfur, which combustion produces beautiful bluish flames only visible at night. Noxious fumes fill up the air, and their protection against it is simply a piece of rag used for covering their noses and mouths. The molten sulfur is then filtered, and once it solidifies it is broken into manageable pieces. These chunks of sulfur are then hauled down the mountain for weighing and sold at the nearby sugar refinery (the sulfur is used to whiten sugar, among other things). Typically they make three round trips a day, and that’s for a very small reward.

DH and Chris

Strong man of Ijen. Imagine carrying up to 80kg of rocks up and down a mountain for a mere USD12 a day! And that’s living to them. Suddenly I felt ashamed of myself and of any complaints I ever made about my life.

We felt sorry for the miners and the condition they work in, but they have our utmost respect nonetheless. Our sorrow where somehow soothed by the admirable scenary as we went down. Ijen is beautiful indeed, and the beauty is made more meaningful by these courageous men.

Another scenic path

Merapi in daylight

Instant noodles and fried egg prepared by Pak Im, our guide at his warung after the climb down. The best breakfast ever!

As I was having my breakfast at the cafe, I observed the miners walked past us with their loads and disappeared from view at the end of the trail, which somehow hidden by thick bushes. I glanced around -  everybody was so engulfed with eating and chatting, and didn’t seemed to notice. I quickly ate my breakfast, and when the next miner passed by I simply tailed him with curiosity. The man I was following smiled when he saw me, and was intrigued when I told him that I want to know where the trail ends. The path lead us to the miners’ quarters – which eventually empty, as most of the miners were on leave for the long holiday (we were on the second day of Eid al-Adha, a second major muslim’s festival in Indonesia).

Here the chunks of sulfur were further broken down into much smaller fragments, using nothing but a primitive tool such as a rock. A lorry will come a few times a day to pickup the sulfur and transported it to the collection base 3km away, where these miners get their pay of the day.

Ijen miners. I cannot say how much they inspire me – not only they were physically strong to carry the sulfur, but life’s burden with a smiling face! A strong man indeed is he who could smile and laugh at the face of hardship.

Ijen’s blue fire – as captured by our guide using our compact camera.

So, what happened to our quest for the blue fire of Ijen?

No, we didn’t get to see any blue lights. But it didn’t matter; after all as what Chris jokingly said when I asked him about the fire – “it was blue!”

Not for once we regretted our decision for ditching the opportunity to witness the sulfur burning. Nor will I be able again to see  a grain of white sugar without thinking of all the pain and tears that made them. Our trip to Ijen was not totally vain as so to speak, and we managed to find what we came to seek for and what travel has to offer – an invaluable lesson of life that we will never forget!

“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.