Volcanoes - Mt Semeru, Mt Bromo, Mt Ijen

Day 12 - 10 May 14

I enjoy a long shower in the morning, making the most of the available hot water. The showers in the hostel are in clean, concrete cubicles, with a chink of blue sky visible between the woven door and corrugated, plastic canopy. Shouting voices of school children float up from the street below. For breakfast, we share a fruit salad and banana pancake with maple syrup before leaving Kampong Tourist Hostel.

We hop on a blue public minibus to Arjosari bus station. Upon reaching our destination, the driver, with a cheeky grin, leaps over his seat into the back for a photo before we get out. At the bus terminal, we ask for buses to Tampung. Blank faces stare back at us, so we tell them our final destination instead - Ranu Pani. This they understand and hurry us to a bus - they tell us we need to go to Lamicung to get to Ranu Pani. We believe them and clamber on the bus. A guy motorbikes Hannah to the nearby ATM quickly to pick up money, but the bus starts to leave in her absence. I panic and start to shout 'my friend, my friend'. The passenger next to me says 'yes, yes' with a reassuring smile. The motorbike with Hannah pulls up just as we are pulling out of the bus terminal.

The fare is 60,000 IDR, which is 10 times as much as the guidebook suggests. Assuming that the ticket man is trying to cheat us, we refuse to pay this fare. He looks bewildered and finds a local to help him who uses his Google translate to communicate with us. Eventually we realise it is this price as we have been sent a very long away round to our destination. We are already an hour into the 3 hour bus journey. Although frustrated we decide it will take more time to return to the start point and try to locate the correct bus so we continue on this convoluted route.

At Lamicung, a minibus offers to take us to Ranu Pani. They are clearly desperate for our custom but refuse to lower their price. We head out of town into the countryside and eventually start the steep uphill climb. The once tarmac road has mainly fallen away - maybe from rainwater or the weight of the heavy vehicles logging trees. Motorbikes pass us in the opposite direction, piled high with long branches balancing precariously, their engines turned off as they use

gravity to roll down the hill. Large red flowers line the road. The minibus is struggling over the bumpy road. After a few stop starts the driver stops. We find a phrase to ask whether we have broken down. He answers with a thumbs up. We smile, relieved. Having stopped a few passersby, we realise they are in fact trying to get us a lift as their vehicle is not capable of driving over this terrain.

We drive back into the local town to find a jeep. The new price offered for the remaining journey is now 750,000. By now I am greatly lacking enthusiasm and conviction that this adventure is possible. Hannah smiles and jokes and manages eventually to lower the price down to 450,000, while I nervously pick at my nails, being of little help.

It takes about an hour to get to the village. The journey is jolty and we haven't eaten for a while. I have a stinking headache and desperately need the toilet. It is dark when we reach the small town. The stars and moon shine brightly in the clear sky. We stop at the office to gain permits for the hike. They ask to see our health certificates, required to enter the national park. We don’t have health certificates and can only get them from Tumpang, which is 2 hrs away. I am thoroughly disheartened but Hannah stays upbeat. We eat packet noodles with a fried egg in the restaurant with our drivers. It's cold at night at this altitude. I am exhausted and after being dropped at the homestay, I go to bed although it is only 8 o'clock.

Day 13 - 11 May 14

Our homestay provides tea in the morning but no breakfast. Before heading back to the office, we attempt to fake emails, on our phone, from our doctor, in replacement for our health check. This is Hannah's cunning plan, to try and save us the cost and time spent driving to Tumpang. The weather outside is very pleasant, the sky a piercing blue giving the village a postcard effect. We pass the lake - bright yellow sunflowers grow on the banks. Back at the office, we are only asked for our passports - our health certificates not requested thankfully! Only Hannah has a passport photocopy, but this is sufficient. The price for 2 days in the national park is extortionate - 207,000 IDR per person per day.

We eat packet noodles for breakfast on a rustic wooden bench in the sunshine outside a shop. There are flies everywhere and a rancid smell pervades the air. An irritating tune is playing on repeat from tinny speakers - it sounds like an ice cream van but we don't know where in the village it's coming from. We chat to a friendly tour agent from Jogjakarta who's relaxing in the village while his client is hiking.

At the Family homestay (Pak Tasrip) next door we try and organise a guide with the owner Tomas. There is an English speaking guide but he won't be back until later and it's not certain whether he will be too tired to climb Semuru again - we must wait to find out. We stock up on water, sweet snacks, bread and noodles in the meantime. As we go to get lunch, the same tour agent is driving past, who offers us a lift to the next village where there is dancing and celebrations. He gives lifts to a few of the village children too who jump in the jeep happily.

A stage has been set up with a Gamelon orchestra playing at the back. There are a few elegant, singing/dancing ladies, dressed in red embroidered corsets and netted long black skirts with gold high heels. Their faces are heavily made up and their hair is coiffed back in a beehive, held up with ribbons and netting. Men are drinking beer on the tables in front of the stage - we are jovially ushered over to join for a drink. The women and children are standing watching from the back, so we are unsure of how appropriate we are being. After

watching a couple of dances, we agree to join some of the villagers onstage. We stand in 2 lines and pass each other from the front to the back of the stage intermittently. Men and women dance together alike, except the men's legs stand further apart. The dance is slow but everyone is moving their arms and hands in a fairly freestyle manner, so we copy as best we can. We look a little ridiculous in our tracksuit trousers and hiking boots, a head taller than the rest, but it's pretty funny. We cheers with the merry men and down another beer, before saying our goodbyes. We want to avoid getting drunk before our hike!

We eat a late lunch of rice with tofu, potato and chicken. At lunch, we meet a tour group who is about to spend 4 days hiking to and from the volcano, so we hope that 2 days will be sufficient. We relax and read in the late afternoon sunshine outside the guesthouse. At about 6.30, Tomas has managed to procure a guide for us. His name is John and he speaks a little English. His dark features, moustache and goaty and his general cool, yet scruffy attire gives him an appearance similar to Jack Sparrow. He will organise a porter for us and we are told to meet at 7 the next morning. We eat noodles and egg at the Warung a few doors down before packing and bed.

Day 14 - 12 May 14

As the porter is a little late, we have time for a leisurely breakfast at the Family homestay, which consists of a lot of rice with an egg. A Singaporean who returned from the trek yesterday evening kindly gives us the remains of his food, including a treasured Cadbury's chocolate bar! He also gives Hannah a spare head torch. We set out a little after 8, passing the PHKA office, under the archway into the national park. We start up the path, our breathing already heavy. Our guide leads us off the main path via a shortcut – this path is overgrown and the dewy plants soak our trousers. We re-join the main path, which weaves around the valley, bamboo growing on each side. It’s easy to follow. We pass groups of Indonesian students returning from the climb. The trees and plants of the jungle create a canopy overhead protecting us from the sun's glare. Pink flowers, shaped like primroses and white bells, like snowdrops, scatter their petals on the path like confetti in places. It is still relatively cool and as we climb higher the pathway becomes shrouded in mist. Palm trees hang into the clouds below. Eventually we reach the lake, which glimmers as the sun appears from behind the cloud. We stop for lunch at the shore's edge watching the gentle ripples of water. We eat plain rice and eggs again. We're happy to bump into our tour agent friend - he left an hour after us but is here already. He has come to bring food to his client who's headed for the camp. He hugs us and wishes us good luck.

It's a steep climb up from the lake - we come out on the other side into

a new landscape. The valley below is filled with long grasses and purple flowers - the colours reminiscent of the heather on the Yorkshire moors. There is a pinewood ahead. The purple flowers tower above our heads as we wander through the flat valley. Our guide's clothes and scarf are in purples and greens, so he camouflages perfectly into this landscape. The path through the wood is steep. Blades of grass, bracken and a plant with small cabbage like flowers glow bright yellow-green beneath the dappled sunlight. The trunks of the trees are black with charcoal - I assume that this was once caused by a lava flow. John, our guide, corrects my mistake. Apparently, in the heat of the summer, men hunting will drop lit cigarette butts which sometimes start uncontrollable fires - the dry bracken acting as perfect kindling.

We come out of the wood into a clearing - tufts of grass and weeds grow which should signify a marsh, but the ground is dry. Grey sand covers the pathway. Mt Semuru looms ahead - a giant cake of grey ash. Dark paths meander down its sides like a delta at a river's mouth - perhaps created by previous lava flows.

The base camp sits at the bottom of the mountain. It's just before 2 - our guide and porter help us to erect our tent and we try to nap. There are lots of groups of young Indonesians in camp, chattering and laughing - not conducive to sleeping. I lay with my eyes closed trying to sleep but with little luck.

At 6, John wakes us to eat. It's dark by now. He has collected water from
the stream for our tea and noodles. There is a hut used by the guides and porters - they have a small room to sleep in, in which they have built a wood fire and lain logs for us to sit on. They have collected bracken to use as their mattresses. The room is dingy and filled with tear-inducing smoke - a rough, square hole is cut in the ceiling to act as a chimney but it's not fulfilling its job. Graffiti on the walls depicts child-like drawings of a human face and a large dragon.

We go back to bed to prepare ourselves for the climb ahead. Music is playing - what sounds like country western music but with an Indonesian singer. The winds howl sounding like the traffic from a nearby motorway. Lightning flashes. In my dream the howling wind is actually the sound of the volcano erupting and lava flows spill out directly over the tents. I wake up petrified in the dark. I don't know if it's the effect of the Malarone but I have been experiencing a lot of vivid dreams recently.

Day 15 - 13 May 14

We are woken at 1am for the big climb. The rest of the camp left to start at midnight so we will be a couple of hours behind them. We have bread and boiled egg for breakfast and prepare ourselves. To our disappointment and annoyance, John does not feel fit to guide us up the volcano - he has not slept, because he drank too much coffee and is sending the porter in his stead. Due to a miscommunication from an earlier conversation, John believes we are Christian, so we politely bow our head for prayer prior to our trek. (Interestingly, he is studying theology - we wonder whether he aspires to priesthood). We head out into the darkness with our head torches. The porter speaks no English, yet he makes no attempt to communicate with us through sign language or facial expression. He walks well ahead of us and after Hannah has tried to explain twice that we must all walk together she gives up. It seems pointless having a guide if they will not assist through the difficult patches or provide encouragement, especially as there are plenty of white markers for us to find our own way. The bottom of the mountain is wooded. We use the tree trunks as handholds to pull ourselves up the sandy, steep path. The moon shines faintly through the clouds.

It's a long way through the wood. The sand is now mixed with small stones of lava, which begin to fill our boots and rub uncomfortably against our ankles. We leave the woods behind. The slope's gradient is incredibly
steep - it seems unfathomable that we will be able to conquer it. With every step we slide down the slope a little. The wooden sticks our guide has cut for us are a necessity. Small lights glow up the mountain far ahead, like a line of ants - the way looks never ending. We pass a group on their way down - they have had to give up as one of their team is ill. It's not an encouraging start. The darkness of the surroundings helps us to concentrate on each step visible within the spotlight of our torches, rather than considering the journey to come. We stop and stand to catch our breath often - it is a real test of endurance. It feels surreal climbing a mountain in the dead of night. As we rise higher we look back the way we have come. Millions of tiny lights shine below us to our left. The glow of electricity reaches up to a certain point in the sky above the buildings, creating a bubble effect like cling film that has risen after being wrapped over a dish in the microwave - a protective layer of light covering the far-reaching cities and towns below.

Layers of colour in between the clouds appear to the left as the sun begins to rise. We can now see the mountainside dropping away behind us. The light dampens our spirits as the reality of our speed is realised - we are covering distance at snails pace. Passing other climbers sitting exhausted provides us with much needed motivation that it is not only us struggling. I need to wee, but the mountainside is barren and too populated with people. I feel the mountain scree is too slippery not to slide down the mountain were I to attempt to crouch here.

It takes us a total of 6 hours of monotonous footfalls, but finally we are on top of the world. The views are incredible. In front of us is the giant crater; to it's right, miniature, tree covered mountains; to it's left the tops of clouds like a view from an aeroplane; behind, the mountainous range with the crater of mount Bromo in its centre; blue sky above. We are bombarded with requests from groups of Indonesians for photos and nearly miss what we have come to see - the cloud of volcanic ash, which erupts out of the crater dramatically. Hannah spots it just in time - its brown hue differentiates it from the background clouds. Disappointingly, it's too dangerous to walk around the crater itself since the volcano is active.

The way down is much quicker - with each footfall, gravity slides our boots further through the sand, belting out clouds of dust in our wake, like skiing. It takes 2 hours to reach the bottom - a third of the time of our ascent. Our guide makes us tea and pot noodles before we collapse in the shade in exhaustion. The thin, green fronds of pine sway in the breeze and glimmer white beneath the sun like tinsel. A chilly mist seeps into the camp - little clouds bump along the valley floor carried by the wind. We nap for a short while in the tent and wake at 1 pm to pack and to start the long trek back.

The path takes us back the way that we came. Despite our exhaustion it feels much quicker and easier since it's mainly downhill. We stop

for only a few minutes by the lake, as we don't have much time before it gets dark. Mystical mist rushes past the lake as we enter into the clouds along the path. The cacophony of birds calling is juxtaposed with a repetitive roar of thunder. Our guide climbs the side of the path to pick leaves, which smell like lemongrass, for cooking. There is an hour left of the hike and the heavens open as the light starts to disappear. Thunder crashes and the sky blazes with flashes of light repeatedly. Our boots fill with water, squelching between our toes as we half-run through the dripping foliage. Our torches light the pelting rain, obstructing our view of the path. After wading through the stream running down the road, we appear at the door of the hostel - two drowned rats. There is no shower so we clean our feet and put on dry clothes. We haven't washed since we left Malung! Our limbs are weary as we bed down, dreaming of food other than pot noodle and chocolate snacks, and a comfortable bed tomorrow!

Day 16 - 14 May 14

Our clothes and boots are still soaking. John motorbikes past our hostel to wish us farewell and we give him a small tip to say thanks. Although we were angry that he did not take us up the volcano, he is has been a great guide the rest of the time and we have warmed to his relaxed manner and smiley face. We take the correct route back this time - jeep to Tumpang and then the 45 minute public bus back to Malang - it's much quicker and cheaper! On arrival, we share some fruit, hand in our dirty laundry to be washed and enjoy a much-needed shower to wash the volcanic ash out of our hair. We ashamedly head to McDonald's in town - we want to treat ourselves to some Western comfort food and we enjoy every mouthful. Torrential rain pelts down for the remainder of the day so we relax on

the rooftop of our hostel.

Day 17 - 15 May 14

Today we book a tour to see Mt Bromo and Mt Ijen before leaving Java, which will be much quicker than navigating the journey using public transport. We visit a few agencies in the area to get the best price. We pay for half a night at the hostel, as we will be leaving at 1 am. We chat to the fellow guests in the evening. Two English guys both traveling solo and a father and son from Germany. The German son has been traveling for a year and has utilised the Couch Surfing website. He has just received an email from a local Hindu man who has offered to host him and his father at his house in Bali. As they will be visiting in the middle of a holy period, they must perform a ceremony if they are to stay. This ceremony involves the man sprinkling water on his guest in a flowery meadow and then returning to his house, where they must both be naked and he will smell all parts of his guest’s body. It sounds incredibly bizarre and a little terrifying. We advise him to avoid this particular experience!

Day 18 - 16 May 14

We are transported to the viewing point to watch the sunrise over Mt Bromo. Jeeps are parked all along the road bringing tourists - we join the crowds at the viewing platform. It feels a bit like being at a festival trying to get a good spot at the front of the stage before the DJ or band arrives. It's cold and dark and busy and reminds me why I do not like tours. The moon shines faintly. As the sun rises everyone snaps away, taking pictures of the view, pictures of themselves in front of the view and of course, selfies. It is in fact an incredible sight - a lunar landscape of epic proportions. Cloud layers the valley below like a frozen lake covered in snow. Mt Bromo appears at the forefront and Mt Semuru behind, both erupting volcanic ash clouds. Cliffs surround the plain, the sky is pink and mountains reach the horizon in the distance on all sides. I get carried away and have probably taken about 20 photos of the same picture.

Breakfast is provided in a warung nearby and includes a battered banana - apparently a Javanese speciality. By the toilet in the basement of the restaurant a man sits in front of a vat of hot bubbling oil frying the flour coated bananas.

We are driven down to the valley below. The mist on the plain is dissipating and blue sky appears. We join the convoy of different coloured jeeps bouncing along the sandy terrain - it feels like we're part of a flash mob or advertisement for jeeps. Our boy-racer driver speeds past the other jeeps, shooting up dust in our wake.

There is an option to take a horse part way but we walk up to the crater. It takes about 45 minutes. Stone steps have been built to aid the tourist's climb. It's a spectacular sight - like nothing I have seen before. Clouds of sulphur with a green hue are bubbling out of the melting pot far inside the crater, belting out fumes of smoke into the sky. We buy a gimmicky flower bouquet as an offering to the volcano and Hannah chucks it in after thanking 'the gods of Mt Bromo' - it slips down inside the steep grey cone.

We return to our minibus for the 7 hour journey to our homestay. It's incredibly luxurious compared to the public buses and trains we've been taking - AC, comfy seats that recline far back and lots of leg space - perfect for napping after our early rise.

We eat lunch in a touristy roadside restaurant. Here we discover the French couple we are sharing the tour with are on their honeymoon - we apologise for invading their romantic trip but they are smiley and don't seem to mind. We pass the coffee plantations. Apparently the government pays for the houses that the workers live in nearby. We stay next to the Arabica Coffee factory, in a large guesthouse set up for lots of tour groups. There's a large outdoor dining space and bare simple rooms.

Day 19 - 17 May 14

We wake at 3.30 am. The breakfast provided consists of a sandwich filled with birthday party chocolate sprinkles and a cold boiled egg, assumedly cooked the previous evening since the yolks are a greyish-green. It takes 30 minutes to reach the start point for Mt Ijen. It is dawn and a little chilly as we begin out walk uphill. Our guide has a mini speaker in his rucksack and we listen to Mumford and Sons and Coldplay on the way. Splashes of bright yellow powder sprinkle the ground in places along the well-trodden path. It takes an hour and a half, to reach the crater's edge. The sulphur gas veils the lake below like a mist. As the sun rises higher, the lake of liquid green sulphur below is exposed - it looks like appealing clear water, shining turquoise in the sun. There is a pipe that carries the liquid sulphur up to the rocks in the crater below. Here it solidifies into a bright yellow mass, sulphur fumes bellowing out of the vents. Workers cut the yellow sulphur and carry it up out of the steep crater and down the hill in 2 baskets, balanced on their shoulders. It is heavy work and we assume their lungs must suffer from the poisonous fumes. The air is filled with the smell of rotten eggs. As we walk around the edge, white cloud fills the crater, so thick that the sun behind us creates a silhouette of my figure onto the white mist, bouncing rays of shadow from my head.

The German dad and son are here from the hostel. They managed to get here early enough to see the blue flames burning in the crater. We're a little jealous as we were told this was not possible due to the danger from the volcano's current activity.

We enjoy a cup of fresh coffee at the bottom before continuing our journey to the port. It's a simple outdoor cafe with wooden benches - water bottles have been creatively cut into lanterns, with little plastic doors opening at the base. On our journey, we pass through the clove plantation, which is used for the famous Indonesian clove flavoured cigarettes. Everyone except me is sleeping so we don't bother stopping. We reach the port and say goodbye to our guide. He hands out little plastic key rings in the shape of pieces of chocolate or biscuits. We tip him in return. He was smiley and enthusiastic.