A Smelly Hike to Hell

Java is an island covered in active volcanoes. My plan for exploring the island, after several days of hopping over from Flores, was to head westward from the very east coast to Jakarta, fitting in as many hikes as possible on my way. When a friend said she was bored of the beach in Bali, I suggested she join me, and we agreed to meet at the ferry dock. After a travel mishap (a bus that took 14 hours instead of 6), I arrived a day late, but everyone got there in the end.

Banyuwangi, the dock on Java's east coast, is also the jumping off point for Kawah Ijen, one of Java's more well-known volcanoes. Ijen is famous for the sulphur that wafts out of the crater, and the blue flames that are visible as the gases combust. It was something I definitely wanted to see, but information was scarce on how to visit without booking a tour. In the end, it wasn't too difficult.

The handful of guesthouses advertised online all seemed equally low quality and overpriced, so we chose one at random. They are mostly situated at various points along the road from Banyuwangi up to the trekking point at Pos Paltuding (there is, I learned later, one camp-style accommodation right at the Pos Paltuding checkpoint, where the trek begins - if I were to return, I'd stay there). Our guesthouse was not too far from the village of Jambu, and I was able to convince a motorbike taxi to take me there all the way up there from Banyuwangi. I pulled up around 7 am (I was desperate to get out of the crummy hotel where I stayed in Banyuwangi and left more or less as soon as it was light). My friend was already there, so we had breakfast at the guesthouse, which was nice-ish and almost entirely empty. Since it was raining, we spent the morning in the chilly restaurant. Another guest showed up around 9 - he'd been to the mountain and back already. We were able to snag his jeep driver for the following morning (after a lengthy negotiation) to take us to the trekking point at 2 am (since the flames are only visible at night), then back to the guesthouse for breakfast and to collect our bags, and then back down to the bus terminal at Banyuwangi. Voila: Ijen without a tour!

Kawah Ijen

In the early afternoon, the rain turned to a light drizzle, so we decided to walk up the road a bit and see what we could find for lunch. We walked toward Pos Paltuding, enjoying the peacefulness of the mostly empty road, and the very green landscape along the mountainside. When it was becoming obvious that there was nothing to eat on the road, we turned around, headed back to the guesthouse. We noticed a small restaurant just beside the guesthouse, so agreed to eat there (they served only Indonesian meatball soup, but it was nice, at least, to have something warm). As we ate, we chatted with the owners - a woman, her husband, and their 20-something son - who spoke a fair amount of English and seemed delighted to have us (more perks of low season travel). When we'd finished, the woman asked if we wanted to pick rambutans. With nothing better to do, we agreed, and she sent us after her son, who led us to his rambutan trees, shimmied up one of them, and proceeded to knock down several branches as we waited below, gathering them up. He then led us to his aunt's house, pointing out various fruit and coffee trees as we walked through the family's farm. His aunt invited us inside, so we sat down on her couch, eating the fruits he'd picked, and chatting about our travel plans. Then the son led us to another family member's house. This one was much smaller and had a mud floor, and several chickens wandering around (waiting, probably, to become nasi ayam). We were offered coffee, which turned out to be homemade from the family's coffee plants outside. It was delicious: a little spicy and very strong. When we'd finished, we decided to continue walking, and the son led us down the main road toward town. We walked through it, although there wasn't much more than a school and several tobacco plants. We saw signs for the "Java Banana Cafe and Gallery," which we thought seemed interesting enough, but when my friend said aloud that she wanted to go there, our guide's eyes widened in shock and he refused to go, saying that it was too far. We continued on without him, which he only allowed us to do once we'd agreed to stop by later (we never did... oops!). The gallery was indeed something of a walk through a neighborhood of very confused people asking where we'd come from, but it sat on top of a hill with a stunning view of Kawah Ijen draped in clouds as the evening fog descended around it. The gallery itself was full of spectacular photographs of Javanese dancers, Kawah Ijen, and the port at Banyuwangi, a handful of sculptures, and (my favorites) Javanese shadow puppets, made of buffalo hide and hand painted in red and blue and gold. As it was starting to get dark, we headed back to the hostel, where we ate dinner and headed to bed early.

Baskets used by the miners to carry sulphur

The next morning our driver arrived at 2 am, and we headed up to the Pos Paltuding trekking point in his jeep. It was completely dark on the road, so we were relieved to find a decent sized group of hikers at the parking lot - we'd worried that we'd be the only ones. The first three kilometers were steep, and we were quickly out of breath. Mingling with the hikers were a handful of sulphur miners, on their way up to begin the day's work of gathering sulphur from the crater. The baskets hanging from the wooden poles that they balanced on their shoulders were empty on the way up, but they would soon be filled with some 100 pounds of sulphur. They were extremely friendly and chatty (especially for 3:00 in the morning) and happy to answer questions about their work, the crater, and the trail. It took us a little less than an hour to reach the weighing station, where we rested a few minutes to get our breath back before continuing up to the crater rim. This second leg of the hike was significantly less steep, as it wound back and forth around the mountain, but the sulphur from the crater started to bother our noses and throats. From the rim, we peered over, but could see very little beyond smoke billowing out from the crater. Up there, the gases were much stronger, and we tied our scarves around our mouths and noses (we'd been unable to procure masks beforehand). As we watched, one of the miners pointed out a faint blue glow - the blue flames we'd gotten up so early to see - but I was thinking, "is that all?" and feeling a bit disappointed. One of the miners offered to lead us down to the crater so we could see better, so we followed him (and the herds of tourists and miner guides) down the path. This part was by far the most difficult: the trail was steep and gravelly and hard to make out, and I had to stop several times to readjust my scarf to keep my nose covered. As we got closer the clouds of gas rising from the cracks in the stone made the air not only uncomfortable, but difficult to breathe. Everyone was coughing and gagging - the only other sound was of the miners banging on the rock to break apart huge chunks of sulphur. The one miner we watched as he was working did wear a gas mask but he still had to stop work and turn away whenever a particularly violent gust of smoke washed over him (I read later that some of the miners collect masks that are discarded by tourists, but that the filters are usually old and the masks are therefore ineffective). From where I was standing, it was painful - I truly couldn't breathe when the gas hit us, and hid my face in the rock behind me. I thought I was going to vomit, or pass out, or cry, or all three. Once the smoke cleared, though, and we got our first real look at the blue flames, I was astonished: they were more than worth it. The blue was brighter and more dazzling even than I'd anticipated, and it was amazing to watch the flames rise up out of the rock. It was dark enough that they were the only light, and seemed just to appear out of nowhere. Eventually, desperately in need of fresh air I led the charge back up out of the crater (I was practically clawing my way out of there). We emerged beside the blue lake, and waited there for the sun to rise and the smoke to clear to get a good look at the color, which is the result of the high concentration of hydrochloric acid there. Around 6, we made our way back down, slowly, to admire the scenery we'd missed in the dark on the way up. There were several volcanoes visible beside Ijen - perfect cones with beautiful, rugged craters. One of them was actually rumbling, but apparently it's nothing to worry about. We returned to the hotel, had breakfast with our driver, and then drove down to the bus station at Banyuwangi, where we found a bus headed for Probolinggo, and Java's most famous volcano: Mt. Bromo.

Blue flames in the crater

Crater rim as the sun starts to rise

Ijen's Blue Lake

At the crater rim

View from the walk back down

Sailing in and out of weeks and almost over a year

After traveling across Flores, and ending up in Labuan Bajo, the island's westernmost point, I was unwilling to spend the money on a flight to Java, my next destination. In searching for a cheaper way to make the trip, I discovered that I could island hop, using a series of ferries and buses, from Flores to Sumbawa to Lombok to Bali to Java. It would take a long time, and be less than comfortable, but it was cheap and seemed straightforward. I was also interested to see the island of Sumbawa, generally ignored by tourists making the Flores-Lombok hop.

View from Labuan Bajo port

There wasn't a lot of conclusive online information about the boat to Sape, the port in eastern Sumbawa, so a day before I planned to head out, I moseyed down to the ferry dock. I was told that the boat would leave at 9 AM, but that I should be there around 7 to ensure a ticket and a seat. I arrived about 7:30, bought my ticket and headed up to the passenger deck. The boat was enormous: it carried huge banana-bearing trucks, a couple of tour buses, and private cars and motorcycles, in addition to the passengers. The passenger deck consisted of three separate areas: one filled with bunk beds lined up side by side, where several local people had already claimed the mattresses on the lower bunks (the tops were bare). There was quite a bit of space left there, but I didn't feel much like lying down all day, so I moved on. The second room was lined with metal benches, and open windows letting in the breeze from the harbor. There was a small cafeteria there, selling noodles, drinks and snacks. The third room was marked "Kelas Bisnis," although there hadn't been any choice of classes when I bought my ticket. Inside were rows of comfortable (ish) leather seats, and the room was air conditioned. It was also at the front of the ship, allowing for views of the sea ahead. I settled in there, and no one said anything, despite my ticket being, officially, "Ekonomi." The cafeteria room filled up quickly, but only a handful of people sat in the Bisnis area. I was the only tourist on the boat and stood out like a sore thumb, but people more or less left me alone. We finally pulled out of the dock at 9:20, and the grainy TVs in all three seating areas started playing "Captain Phillips" (a strange choice of movie for a boat ride, I thought). We passed several, apparently uninhabited islands to the south as we sailed past, rising beautifully out of the sea.

"Ekonomi" Class

Horse cart in Sumbawa

When the eastern coast of Sumbawa came into view (around 4 PM), everyone stood and crowded near the front of the boat. A little cluster of homes were set on a hill along the coast, and  there was a mosque right beside the dock (a reminder that Sumbawa is one of Indonesia's more conservative Islamic islands). I followed the crowd off the boat and was snatched up by someone as the token lost Westerner. He brought me to the bus stand located conveniently at the far end of the dock, and settled me on a bus to Bima, Eastern Sumbawa's biggest town (the few tourists who take this route tend to board a bus to Lombok straight from Bima). The bus was no luxury coach: a small, hot, cramped, public bus with no air conditioning or leg room. My backpack got strapped to the roof and I squeezed in, already hot and sticky. The port town of Sape is small, with nothing to appeal to travelers. The streets are dusty and, aside from the economy buses, the only vehicles on the road are horse carts, carrying people and goods (I saw one loaded with bananas). The ride to Bima took some two hours, along winding mountain roads. The views weren't as nice as in Flores: a lot of dusty streets, roaming goats, and the occasional mosque. We reached Bima, and I ignored all the touts selling tickets to Mataram, Lombok, instead grabbing an ojek (motorbike taxi) to a hotel nearby. I hadn't booked a room, and was dismayed when the receptionist told me that the economy rooms were all sold out and I'd have to pay for a VIP room. I turned to leave and he called after me, saying that he could turn off the air conditioning in a VIP room and sell it to me for the economy price. This satisfied me, and I headed upstairs. The lobby of the hotel was very grand: marble floors and staircases, and even an elevator, but the room was pretty shabby. Fine for just one night, though. I went out to find some food, and found that there was very little, and I was one of very few Westerners spotted in Bima (I attracted so much attention to make me uncomfortable). After walking a while in the dark and nearly empty streets, I picked up some rice and tofu to go and returned to my room, where I had a much needed relaxing night.

Even after 14 months, I still find
it odd to walk barefoot in museums

I'd planned to head to Sumbawa Besar, the island's major central city, the following day, but after a night in Bima I decided I didn't want to stick around Sumbawa, and would head overnight to Lombok directly, where I'd at least see a few of my own kind. I therefore spent the morning bargaining the ticket price down, and then I headed out to see the handful of sights in Bima. I went first to the old palace, which is now the sight of a very strange museum. The outside is pretty, but inside, not so much. It's a bit crummy, with dusty bedrooms and portraits on the walls. I think I accidentally wandered into an off-limits attic (at least, it should be off-limits, as some kind of squeaking animals live there). I walked down into the courtyard, which was nice, until it started to drizzle, when I headed back to the hotel (passing a rather lovely white mosque on my way).

For lunch, I headed down one of the main streets, ignoring the shouts of "Hey, missus" from everyone I passed. I ate in a nice little restaurant, and then wandered back around the bus station. I followed one road up and around a mountain, from where I had a decent view over the city. Walking through the small villages around was much nicer than in the city itself: people still watched me, but I didn't feel as uncomfortable as on the main street, and the houses and landscape were very pretty.

View from mountains over Bima

That nice view aside, I wasn't too bummed to leave Sumbawa that evening and head to Lombok. Around 6 u headed over to the bus station, and we pulled out around 7, bound for Mataram, where we'd arrive the following morning. The bus ride was easy, if long. There were a handful of other western tourists straight off the boat from Labuan Bajo, and it did make me feel more at ease not being the center of everyone's attention. I slept on and off overnight, and around 4, we parked on the ferry and got out to stretch our legs. The boat was more or less empty apart from our bus load so we had plenty of space to lay down across the benches during the two hour ferry ride. Ok the Lombok side we hopped back on the bus for a quick hour-long trip to Mataram. I talked a motorbike driver into giving me a ride to Senggigi Beach for a decent price and was relieved to check in to the hostel for a couple of nights.

I headed to the beach in the morning, which I found almost completely empty, except for a few fishermen and a couple of batik-sellers. I sat near a resort where two other sunbathers were, hoping for a little bit of company, and enjoyed the morning in and out of turquoise water.

Overlooking the beach at Senggigi

Completely deserted Senggigi Beach

Even though the beach was nice, I was disappointed by the lack of other people, since I'd ditched Sumbawa in the hopes of being around other travelers. Since I didn't want to lay on the beach alone the next day, I booked a diving trip to the famous Gili Islands, a group of three tiny islands off Lombok's northwestern coast.

When I arrived at the dive shop in the morning, I asked how many people would be diving; the divemaster literally sang: "only youuuuuuu". I was surprised, since most trips require a minimum of two or three people to justify the trip. Perks of low season, I guess! Three divemasters ended up coming with us, so I was very well looked after.

The dives were good, but nothing compared to the Komodo Islands (I may never be impressed with a dive again). We stopped for lunch on Gili Air, where I walked around on my own for a while: it seemed like a nice, low key place, with more tourists than Senggigi but not crowded, with cozy cafes and bars lining the beach.

Can't get enough of these little guys

The following day, I left the hostel at 7:30 for the last leg of my trip to Java: a bus/ferry/bus/ferry combo to Banyuwangi, where I was planning to meet a friend heading there from Bali. I'd been told there was a bus at 9:00 and that the trip would take about 6 hours. This seemed like a remarkably low estimate, given that the ferry from Lombok to Bali alone takes 5 hours, and from there we'd need to travel across Bali and hop another ferry to Java, so I extended the estimate to 8 hours. This turned into my biggest travel disaster to date. At the bus station I was told the bus would leave at 10, not 9. It didn't end up leaving until noon, but everyone was content to just wait on the bus while snack tours and guitar players got on and walked through the aisle, hoping for some cash. It was only an hour to the Lombok ferry port, and we were given a lunch package of (cold) rice, tempe, lettuce, and (questionable) chicken. We got off the bus and joined to other ferry riders on the passenger deck. I sat next to a local woman who offered me a little banana leaf packet of sticky rice. I thanked her and took one: it was bizarrely spicy and sweet and salty all at once (I think there was both banan and meat inside) and she spent the next five hours insisting that I take more, completely disregarding my replies tbTi wasn't hungry. I was relieved when we reached Bali around 7 pm and could get back on the bus. Meanwhile, my friend had expected me in Banyuwangi around 6, and I had no means of contacting her without wifi. As it got later and later I tried everything I could think of to reach her, but was unsuccessful. In the end, I just hoped that she'd given up and headed to a hotel (although since we'd never agreed on one I had no hope of finding her until I found wifi). Traveling across Bali took hours - much longer than I'd guessed because of traffic. It was also dark, meaning that I didn't even get to enjoy the scenery during the ride. We stopped for dinner (rice, tempeh, egg) at a small restaurant around 9, then hit the road again. I was so relieved when we finally got to the western dock in Bali and boarded the second ferry of the day, around 11 pm. This one was shorter: less than two hours, and I ran off the boat. I felt like kissing the ground, I was so glad to have reached Java. It was too late to head up to Cemoro Lawang, though I'd planned to spend the night there; instead I grabbed a motorbike taxi to a hostel in town. Finally connecting to wifi, I saw that my friend had reached Cemoro Lawang. I wished I had just headed there (I could have motorbikes all the way up there from the ferry): instead I promised to get there early the following morning and instead slept in a profoundly crappy hotel room (dirty sheets, cold bucket shower, suspicious stains on the walls). At 1 am,17 and a half hours after leaving the hostel in Senggigi, I was too tired to worry long about it (although I did wrap the pillow in a t-shirt before putting my head on it). The clock striking midnight outside, reminding me that Java is an hour behind Bali and Lombok, was very little consolation.