Letting more than just Bromo touch your soul
Letting more than just Bromo touch your soul
Corinne arrived yesterday. We had a nice chat but this morning at
4:30 a.m. she sped away in a jeep to experience the Bromo
sunrise. By the time I got back to the hotel in the early
afternoon, she had already checked-out.
Like Corinne, the four polite Dutch people and the friendly
English couple stay resolved in a 12-hour event: arriving late in
the evening, going straight to bed, getting up at 4 a.m. to rush
to the rim of the crater and it's baaaang -- been there, done
that!
For too many visitors, a trip to Mt. Bromo is a "must do" but
a "must-do-in-a-hurry" affair, which is a shame because the area
offers more than just a sunrise.
I wonder what have they experienced, and what have they
captured of this intriguing part of the world. Memories are made
of more than a roll of pictures taken in a frenzy of clicking in
the cold morning air, and the Tengger massif has a lot more to
leave visitors with a sense of wonderment.
Mt. Semeru (3,676-meter) -- Java's highest peak -- lies south
of the Tengger caldera. I am told it offers beautiful hiking, but
a trip up there requires a full three days, and it is a luxury I
cannot afford; but Mt. Batok (2,440 m) and Mt. Penanjakan (2,770
m) are within my reach.
Batok is perfect in its cone shape and fluted edges and its
proximity to Bromo allows me to combine the visit. With the sun
high up, the temperature rises fast and I peel off the couple of
layers of clothing I needed to enjoy the daybreak on the rim of
Bromo. Against the tide of people, I head west toward it.
From Batok summit, I enjoy a different perspective of Bromo
but I am keen on the solitude. A long chain of tourists walking
back is visible, and from my point of observation they look like
laborious ants. Their slow-paced and orderly trail is now and
then broken by galloping horses and dashing cars.
I make my way back to Cemara when only a few people are
around. At daytime, the sea of sand loses some of its mystique
and becomes simply a desert. It is hot and I am glad to have
taken some water with me.
Just at the feet of Batok, there is a small unimpressive
temple that I am not allowed to visit. I walk on and eventually I
reach a concrete platform where I meet Makhfudz, a smiling guide
who explains more about it to me.
"This is the poten -- an altar -- where one night a year
thousands of Hindu come to offer flowers, vegetable, money and
chicken to the God Siva. The 28 local priests burn incense and
eventually make their way up to Bromo where they throw the
offerings into the crater, ensuring our happiness for another
year."
By the time I get to the hotel, I am tired and after a shower
and some food I enjoy the view and read about the local religion,
that it is Hinduism intertwined with local beliefs. As history
went in the 16th century -- when Islam swept the Javanese Hindu-
Buddhist kingdom of Majapahit -- aristocrats fled to Bali while
common people escaped to these highlands.
They have maintained their religion until now. In 1980 the
central government officially recognized the Tengger Hindu
heritage and since then a reflourishing of traditions and customs
has taken place.
As evening sets in, the temperature drops and the next busload
of rushing tourists arrives with the same battle plan as their
predecessors.
In the morning, I head toward Penanjakan situated north of the
main Tengger crater. Apparently, this is where all the postcard-
like pictures of Bromo are taken.
The map provided by the hotel is useful even if the trail is
simple to follow. I take the only road out of the village which
turns into a dusty path first and then a steep stony trail.
I stop continuously to admire the splendid panorama. Locals are
friendly and curious; I am offered water and a root to chew
called tapu.
The lavishness of the green takes me back to the Alps, and
reminds me of Toraja in Sulawesi. The mountain's fertile slopes
allow corn, cabbage and potatoes to be planted. This
diversification grants locals a good income but it causes fast
ground erosion.
After almost one hour I reach what seems the top. But tucked
away in the right-hand corner there is a staircase -- and that is
where the ascent becomes tough. It is not long to the viewpoint
anyway, and once there I am glad to see two concrete shelters.
I am tired and sweaty. It is very peaceful in here with only
the branches' rustling keeping me company. The scenery is
breathtaking and the immenseness of the full Tengger crater in
front of me makes me feel very small. The air gets cool fast and
I put back on my wind-jacket.
After the first viewpoint, a clear demarcation line is drawn
between men and mice. Behind the shelter another tiny path leads
me even higher but it is hard and crumbly; I guess I would have
avoided it in the rainy season. Once at the top the full girth of
Semeru is visible like Bromo, Batok and Kursi.
The ancient Javanese used to think that Semeru-Bromo-
Penanjakan was the center of the world. I experience a sensation
of elation -- like I am on top of the world -- and from here I
can easily relate to their ancient belief.
From this altitude and distance the sea-sand is exactly that:
a waste mass of gray sand. Its bareness seems to whispers
warnings of hidden dangers. In comparison the green bountiful
surroundings are quite staggering.
Making my way back I think that if I had rented a car I could
have seen the sunrise at Bromo and then rushed to Penanjakan
viewpoint, all in a day and be gone by lunchtime.
But would I have smelled the wood's odor? Would I have talked
with Ibu Mudi? Would I have chewed tapu with Gede? I smile,
thinking that there is much more than simply seeing a place.
Places have to be lived and experienced with all five senses.
As someone cleverer than me once said, "You don't have to
touch a place, you have to let a place touch you" ... And that is
a wise lesson.
-- Placido