Mount Bromo: Getting to take a walk in the clouds

Placido, Contributor, Bromo, East Java

As a child I used to say to my mother, "I want to walk over the clouds." She smiled at my infant naivete. Many years later, coincidences and curiosity have taken me to Mount Bromo and ... yes Mom, I have walked above the clouds!

It is cold, very cold at 4 a.m. in Cemara Lewang, a little village in East Java, built right on the rim of the 10-km wide Tengger crater.

My budget accommodation offers only cold water; it stings my face and I smile thinking that I am -- after all -- in tropical Indonesia. It doesn't seem normal but, then again, there is very little that is normal in getting up at this ungodly hour and even more so in the area surrounding Mt. Bromo. A feeling of weirdness is pervasive.

I had arrived the afternoon before with a bus from Probolinggo that took me up to the village via Ngadas at an altitude of well over 2,000 meters.

The village is really unattractive and -- at that time -- was disarmingly quite; no noise could be heard. A light mist slightly engulfed it, giving it a grave appearance and causing the temperature to drop even further.

I searched for a restaurant and when I found it, I was pleased to order soup and hot tea.

The local people are, in many respects, different from their compatriots. They have maintained their Hindu faith, and are now the last such "pocket" left in Muslim Java. But it is not only about the religion, they also look different -- their demeanor and features set them apart from the lowlanders. Maybe it is the weather, or maybe the colorful blankets they constantly wear on their shoulders or the hats that cover most of their faces.

Somehow they remind me of the Andes inhabitants, Bolivian and Peruvian, more than Javanese. They are friendly but very much business oriented -- the isolation puts them in a strong bargaining position. Prices are inflated everywhere and -- contrary to most other Indonesian places -- bargaining doesn't reap much benefit.

After dinner I checked out the short route from the hotel to the edge of the main crater and spent quite a while admiring the moon-like landscape.

Bromo (2,392 m) is an active volcano but it is only one of the three peaks that have emerged within the caldera of the ancient Tengger. Standing in the middle of it, Bromo is flanked by Batok (2,440 m) and Kursi (2,581 m). The three peaks are surrounded by three kilometers of dark lava-sand, best known as "the sea of sand". The scenery is eerily imposing and barren.

I was back in my hotel room by early evening and with the anxiety of missing my wake-up time, I struggled to get to sleep.

But here I am at twenty past four, after having washed my face and ready to go. Several layers of clothes, comfortable walking shoes, a bottle of water, a map and a torch are all I deem to be indispensable.

Stepping outside it is dark, pitch-black dark. It is a moonless night, so the road and the entire landscape fade into blackness. My flashlights earn me no more than a meter of visibility. What is meant to be a short walk becomes much longer and difficult. Stumbling is the rule and the rocky unevenness of the surface makes me feel like a child attempting his first steps.

The town is slightly more alive than the previous afternoon. Locals with jeeps or with ponies approach tourists offering their services and expertise -- most take-up the offer, while other carry-on independently. Yet the business contractions are carried in an unnatural quietness, almost a "church-like" whispering.

The slight edginess of "going-solo" disappears fast once I get to the sea-of-sand. Apart from few racing jeeps and some lonely horsemen, the walk is quite solitary with the sand and the stars as the only companions. The other travelers keep to themselves and I am pleased to be able to enjoy the stillness of the setting. Anyway, footprint and hoof prints to and from the crater remind me that I am not alone.

Orienting oneself doesn't prove difficult with well-positioned white stone markers on the ground leading me by hand. Also the perfect shape of Batok -- visible even in almost complete darkness -- is reassuring, as I know that Bromo is just on its left.

Slightly after 5 a.m., a thin light begins to emerge as a new day breaks through the darkness. Harmoniously, the mysterious and strangely magnificent outline of Bromo's crater begins to come into focus just in time to start the 246 steps from the bottom of its crater that will take me to the summit. Looking back, a steady flow of walking people is visible, and the hurrying of jeeps pollutes the silence.

Overtaking wheezing flabby tourists, I swiftly make my way up to the top where, suddenly, I am among many others. Sulfuric fumes smelling like rotten eggs hit my nostrils and for a second I am almost fearful to look inside the crater. It is wide, deep, barren and with a steady and nauseating stream of smoke bellowing out.

Then the sun starts appearing and my sentimental side takes over: I am in awe. From the rim of the volcano, the first light is more a lived experience than a mere observation. The horizon's colors change rapidly, from night-deep-blue to a light mixture of blue-red-yellow-white.

A group of chanting Indonesian students don't seem to be here for any soul-searching experience, so I walk clockwise on the rim to get away from them and, after a few minutes, I am rewarded with peace and quite.

The air is definitely crisp but it doesn't get chilly. Squatting on the ground I only wish I had someone to share these emotions with.

When the timid sunrays touch the cold sand, mist is formed. It gets thicker and thicker and the sea of sand soon gets covered, which adds to its mystique.

The sun rises rapidly and majestically with its perfect rounded red shape, growing above the clouds. It is quite a spectacle.

The mist rising from the sea of sand mixes with the smoke of the crater. Dreaming with childish longing, I feel like finally walking over the clouds.