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