Java - Mount Bromo

We travel by bike because we love it and it also allows a certain autonomy in travel choices - where to go and when to stop.
Amanda and I wanted this trip to also be about different experiences and making memories, so once or twice, we agreed we’d go on an old fashioned ‘excursion’.
An incursion into organised travel often fills me with dread. An introvert at heart, a minor control freak and someone that likes small groups, this type of affair often raises other worries for me. Who else will be on the trip? What if I have to talk to someone for hours? How will I deal with not having any control and so forth.
The jaunt to Mount Bromo was such a trip.
We chose a shared tour to Bromo with a company based in Malang, where we were staying. A 10 hour round trip to see mountain vista, a panorama with active and dormant cones set in a large volcanic crater. The vision of a double page spread in National Geographic. It involves a ‘Jeep’ ride up to the mountain, then down into the crater, across a sea of sand, followed by a sunrise viewpoint and a final ascent on foot up to the rim of the active Bromo cone.
We opted for a shared trip as it was significantly cheaper. It meant we would be sharing the Jeep with up to 4 others, not including the driver.
We were collected at midnight in order to reach the crater viewpoint for sunrise.
Our driver rolled up at ten to twelve and the ‘7 seater’ looked more diminutive than expected. My mates and I all had an Action Man when we were kids. My friend David had a jeep for his Action Man and our car was like that but with a roof.
As Amanda and I clambered into the back (why we didn’t chose to sit in the front seat I don’t know). I prayed that the tour was not fully subscribed so we would have a bit more room. We were the first to be picked up.
My brain went into overdrive. No seatbelts, no air con and the possibility of 4 other passengers for the 90 minute or so drive to the mountain. Would the jeep stay together for the duration? It creaked and rattled as we trundled along the city steets on relatively flat roads and with only two passengers.

My prayer went unanswered as we arrived at the second passenger pick up….and then the third. Our fellow travellers - firstly two French girls, who chose to ride up front.
Next, two lanky Dutch boys, who folded themselves into the rear cab along side us. Seated opposite each other on bench style seats, our combined four pairs of legs made a cat’s cradle, each limb trying to find its own place in the rear foot well.
While a group of pygmies would be comfortably accommodated in our jeep, a group of 6 leggy Europeans much less so. Squeezed in we set off to Bromo, bodies and backpacks all contained within our military inspired clown car.
I write this as we bump along dark roads and I try not to feel sick. My bum is getting ever so slightly numb and I have no idea where we are, or what the surroundings look like.
It’s pitch black. However, we are driving increasingly uphill, through what looks like thick forest. I have glimpses of trees when they get lit by the cars yellow headlights.
Even though the engine grunts and groans and my ears pop, I can still hear the incessant chatter between the two Dutch boys who have not stopped talking since we picked them up (one hour now and counting). I wish I could understand Dutch.

A brief stop for a rest - more for the car than for us as the climb had made the jeeps engine very hot. We all got out to stretch our legs and experience the first chill of being at a higher altitude in the early hours of morning.
Jumping back in we drove for a while more before descending down a tarmac road built on the steep slope of the crater rim, to the base of the caldera.

Mount Bromo (height of 2329m) is an active volcano. It is part of the Tengger Semeru National Park and the group it is part of contains several peaks. Amongst them is Mount Semeru (highest peak in Java) is also active. It went off recently and the area was still on alert at the end of November according to local reports.
The panoramic vista promised much and we hoped we would witness its majesty at dawn.

The jeep tilted, swerved and bumped its way across the rutted sand, our driver taking care to steer the jeep along the best line and not cause us to be thrown about. All this in darkness. It took about 20-25 minutes to reach the far side. Occasionally, a motorbike would appear, overtake us and disappear. The jeep then huffed and puffed its way up a very precarious feeling incline.
Reaching the drop off point, our driver parked on the narrow steep road. It was about 2:30am and he said to meet back at the jeep at 5:30am. Sunrise was going to be 4:30-5am, so we had some time to kill.
Amanda and I sat for a while in a makeshift cafe, nursing a packet coffee and trying to keep warm. This covered shack was amongst a sea of shacks, like a sort of shanty village, perched along the track. They offered snacks, meals, drinks, warm clothing hire and various other services. It was quiet and sleepy and there were few of us tourists about at this early hour to fulfil custom for this small industry.

We decided to wander along the track to the viewpoint and climbed up the hill above and tried to work out where ‘the view’ was and grab a good spot to position ourselves. We could see lights below. Tiny pin pricks of white appeared far down at the base of the crater. The lights of vehicles, many in lines, making their away across the sea of sand, as we had done earlier.
We sat and stared into the caldera. As time passed and our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, shapes started to form.
The promise of dawn from far away light crept closer and silhouettes of mountains and volcanoes formed, slowly emerging from the dark.
The triangular shapes of two cones rising from the floor of the caldera, one with billowing smoke. A large dark mountain in the distance. That was Mount Semeru, a towering presence despite being far away. I could make out the ridge of the caldera rim from where we started our journey down to the sea of sand, which was now evident and defined by the light of dawn.
The panorama was one to behold. It was like an image from a magazine, one with the stratovolcano appearing as the monthly nature centrefold.
The sun came up and lit the cones, highlighting the rough terrain of ridges and troughs created by powerful eruptions and pyroclastic flow, over millennia.
We stood and stared.
Our group met back at our jeep which we just managed to find, amongst the now lines of jeeps identical to ours and parked on either side of the narrow mountain road.

We made our way back to the crater floor stopping about half way across at a makeshift parking area.
Parking up, the place was like a bazaar- market day at the volcano. Shops and stalls, motorbikes and jeeps, horses and people, all milling about.
We made our way on foot across the gritty grey volcanic sand, past the large gathering of horses and their owners, heading toward the smouldering cone of Bromo.
We could make out a staircase up the steep side of the cone. Aiming for a gap between the rocks, the path was busy with people going to, or coming back from, the crater rim.
Some of these people had decided to take a horse. A small industry exists to cater for visitors not wishing to walk. They can hire a horse from a rider. He (all the horsemen seems to be men) walks along side, acting as chaperone on the journey. Many of the horses are adorned with accessories and have multicoloured manes, or tails, and look like they have been inspired by My Little Pony.
Watching visitors riding along on these horses, customised and inspired by Disney, often in long ‘caravans’ was a strange sight. A counterpoint to the grey landscape of the mountain crater.
Moreover, when a horse was ridden by its owner, it was a sight to see. Man and horse in perfect harmony as they bounded over the sand with ease. Many rode at a cadence that wasn’t a trot and wasn’t a gallop but somewhere in between. The horses seemed to come alive more so than when they trudged along carrying tourists.

Reaching the stairway, we passed small stalls with coloured offerings that you could buy, to then throw into the crater. Maybe this was to appease the gods or to grant a wish?
Ascending the steep steps I paused to gather breath, before reaching the crater rim, welcomed by the eggy smell of sulphurous gases escaping from the pit below.
Looking down into the tumult of gas and boiling liquid in the base of this volcanic cauldron was mesmerising. A fissure that bubbled and hissed, it sent clouds of gas and mineral deposits up and away, freeing them from their origin deep down in the earth. The sound was loud and guttural. It felt primal and an astonishing demonstration of power of the earth and of what cannot be controlled by humankind.
We lingered for a while, not wanting to leave. The volcano did possess a certain pull.

Walking back to the jeep for the journey home, our driver stopped one more time for a group photo. He had us climb on his jeep, like cheap tourist models, posing for a second hand jeep dealership.
The drive back was more enjoyable. It was daylight and we could now see more. We descended from the mountain, navigating the tiny precipitous mountain roads. It made me appreciate how good our driver was. Although he must have done the trip lots of times, his skill and expertise at negotiating the narrow road, built on top of a narrow ridge and with a steep drop off on both sides was most appreciated.
From the window, I could see that the mountain slopes were cultivated with various crops, set out on some extreme terracing, due to the very steep gradients. A patchwork of fields in various shades of greens and formed of many textures, they stretched across the hillsides. Farming this land must be incredibly hard and require some backbreaking work.

We arrived at the outskirts of Malang in a much quieter jeep. The Dutch lads had nodded off and I enjoyed watching one of the French girls fight her tiredness in the front seat. Her head dropped periodically like a rag doll, falling against the drivers shoulder. Waking momentarily, she then nodded off again, repeating the pattern for several miles.
Our driver chivalrous in response, he was probably used to the return journey slumber of tourists! Now glad that we chose the backseat and avoid the socially awkward moment of leaving my sleep drool on the drivers shoulder.
It felt like a long day already (it was only midday) and Amanda and I were both looking forward to catching up on some sleep too.Read more