Volcanic beauty - October 15-16, 2007

In recent years, Indonesia has had its share of natural disasters -- volcanic eruptions, floods, tsunamis, earthquakes. Splayed out along a major fault line, Indonesians have had to learn to live with their land's constant bubblings and grumblings, and far too often, the tragic aftermath of its violent explosions. In fact, just as I traveled through east Java, scientists put a nearby mountain on the highest possible alert for an imminent eruption and local authorities issued evacuation notices for residents on its slopes. Yet it's this very sub-terranean volatility that has produced some of the most haunting and breathtaking landscapes I've seen so far in my travels. And I was heading east to catch a glimpse of Java's beautiful fury.

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My guidebook calls Mt. Bromo "nature's Borobudar." It certainly evoked a similar reaction as I walked up to the lip of the vast 10km Tenggera caldera and peered across the sand to the three volcanoes poised majestically in the centre. Two of the volcanoes looked relatively calm and benign, but an angry stream of white sulphur billowed out of Mt. Bromo's crater. This is an especially significant mountain for Hindus; every year, hundreds of locals come to the mountain to throw flowers, vegetables, chickens and even cows or buffalo into the crater to appease the mountain's spirits.



The next morning, I woke at 3 a.m. and trundled into the 4-wheel drive jeep, which then drove across the sandy desert and up Mt. Penanjakan -- the highest peak on the edge of the caldera to see the sunrise. As we snaked our way up the 2,770 metre mountain, I could see a long trail of lights following us as other tourists began making their way up to the lookout point. By the time I made my way to the viewing platform, there was already a crush of people but I somehow found myself in the front of the railing with a perfect view of the three volcanoes poking their way through clouds covering the caldera floor.

The wind was bitingly cold and the sand swirled into my eyes, but all the discomfort was forgotten as the sun slowly made its way up from the horizon to bathe the landscape in a purplish light. And as if to remind us weaklings of its dominance and power, the distant Mt. Semeru sent out several puffs of ash. It was an utterly magical and bewitching sight!





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Shortly after descending Mt. Bromo, I decided to head about three hours east to visit the Ijen Plateau, the sight of yet another active volcano and the turquoise sulphuric lake of Kawan Ijen. I awoke at 5 a.m. and in the pink light of the sunrise, I sped along terraced paddy fields and coffee plantations on the back of a motorcycle (the best way to travel in my opinion).

Upon arriving at at the base of Mt. Ijen, it was a 1.5 hour grueling climb up the steep incline; I was passed several times by local men carrying on their shoulders two bamboo baskets filled with sulphur. When I finally reached the crater, I peaked over the edge -- the lake was more of an aquamarine colour but it was nonetheless spectacular and a little bit strangee. Out of the corner of the lake, furious plumes of sulphur jutted up through the air; the fumes were at times overwhelming.



And what I liked best was that unlike Mt. Bromo with its crowds of tourists, this was a relatively quiet spot. There were pockets of other people scattered around, but as I climbed around the ridge of the crater to see the expansive lake against the backdrop of the distant moutains, I was alone.