Mount Ijen ­— The Steps of Mordor

The sleep deprivation was taking a toll. My memories of the day are hazy and full of gaps. We spent most of the time in transit, crossing jungle and rice fields on poorly maintained roads. Once again Vasco amazed me with his ability to be deep asleep while looking like a ragdoll with each bump in the road. Having my shoulder for a pillow probably helped. I couldn't sleep as easily but ultimately the tiredness took over.

The stopping of the car woke me up. We were surrounded by the deep greens of the jungle, and further ahead was our accommodation. Independent small cabins, interspersed by the lush plants and trees, each framed by a front porch. At the centre, a wooden roofed platform served as a common open dining space where we all gathered to have a humble dinner of nasi goreng and fruit. The other travellers were mostly Spanish couples with a few Dutch and Polish in the mix. After some mingling we retreated to our cabin to recover as some of the precious missing sleep.

At 1 a.m. we were leaving our rooms to start the journey to Mount Ijen. But before starting the hike, our car dropped us at the entrance to the reservation. We paid our entrance fee, collected our gas masks and met our guide. He unenthusiastically explained the rules of the park, and started walking our way up to the crest of the volcano.

The beginning of the so-called hike turned out to be more of a steep walk on a wide gravel road shared with hundreds of people. Locals would observe the tourists on the sidelines with pushcarts in hand, hoping to get a good fee for carrying tourists uphill.

Within our group there was some pressure to keep a good pace in order to get a good view of the mysterious blue fire of Ijen before sunrise. Midway up, one of the girls in the group fell ill. We all stopped to give her some time to recover but a few metres further she felt bad once again, and clearly wasn't going to recover so soon. Her boyfriend just told the group to go ahead and that they would catch up as soon as possible. The guide stayed with them. I was expecting him to intervene, but he didn't say anything, letting us go alone even though it was against the rules he had explained less than an hour earlier. We stayed together and kept an eye on the recommendations given by the guides of the other groups. From time to time people would pass by being carried up in carts by the locals.

Soon we reached the top of the crater. The view below was of the most alien place I've ever been to. Far in the distance, down at the centre of the crater, a lake saturated with sulfuric acid showed its wavy reflections amidst columns of volcanic gas that curled up to the sky wrapping everything in a grey smog. The pungent sulfuric smell could be felt scratching the back of the throat. From there, the way down followed a narrow rocky path, close to pitch black except for the people's dancing flashlights. It looked like the steps of Mordor on Christmas. Me and Vasco had to rely on our phones for a few hours until dawn. Our group followed other groups’ guide’s recommendations to wear our masks from this point forward, even though it was uncomfortable and made breathing difficult.

It was equal parts impressive and sad to see the locals mining sulphur along the path. The tough small wiry Indonesians would carry the bright yellow-ish ore up the rocky path, on bamboo baskets hanging on their shoulders, with weights often rivalling their own. Most without masks, and a few sporting a cigarette in their mouths, as if the air didn't contain enough smoke. I wasn't surprised to find out later that they don't live long lives.

The darkness and shadows slowed down the more cautious tourists who would often step aside to let us pass. Being without a guide and not having to stick to a big group had its advantages. Sometimes the narrow path made it too dangerous to overpass and we had no remedy other than going with everybody. When this happened I would always try to eavesdrop whatever the other guides were saying, just in case there was some death trap laying somewhere ahead.

After a long time descending we finally arrived at the lake. It was famous for being deadly, with its high concentration of sulfuric acid and other substances from being atop a volcanic chimney. To my left I saw a good number of people surrounding something — the blue fire of ijen. Tube looking structures coming from the ground below, following the inclination up the crater for 3 or 4 metres. Along them, a blue fire burned with irregular intensity. Ijen looked like Mother Nature's stove.

We arrived with a small fraction of the people we had left with, but at least we had managed to arrive before the masses. We took our time enjoying this strange phenomenon, it was a pity that despite our best efforts it didn't translate well to the camera.

The way back up was a lot less pleasant. Dawn eventually helped, presenting us at the top with one of the most beautiful sun rises I have ever seen. Here and there we reunited with the lost group members and eventually our guide. Who took us on a walk along the crest where we got to enjoy a very different perspective of the lake and the crater.

The walk back was a lot more relaxed. I could actually enjoy the company of the group, including a long talk about sustainability with a young Dutch couple, for example. Most of them joined us later in the ferry crossing from Java to Bali.Read more