Brian Visits Bromo

Other times I have found myself in a location sinking into the culture, adapting and becoming one with my surroundings.  At times like this I feel like I could stay indefinitely.  Bali was one of those times.  It was difficult to make the decision to leave.  I have heard other travelers advise that you should never leave a place before you are ready.  Likewise, you should always give a new location a few days so that you can adjust.  In the end I believe you need to make your own decisions, sometimes listening to your gut and leaving before assimilating, while other times you have to make the difficult choice of leaving before you want to.  I was at this crossroads as my birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s steadily approached.  I was divided between staying in Bali and celebrating these occasions versus heading west and succumbing to the siren call of climbing volcanoes and diving in pristine waters for my birthday and the holidays.

Either way I was choosing between two paradises.

In the end I decided it was time to leave Bali and head west to the island of Java, to Probolinggo and the alluring Mount Bromo.  Then my plans would take me on to Jogjakarta and the impressive temples of Borobudur and Prambanan.  I would next make my way east, flying to Manado and then taking a small boat to the tiny island of Bunaken in Sulawesi, celebrating my birthday and Christmas diving in one of the best locations in the world.  Finally, I would fly to Singapore and ring in the New Year.  The plan sounded great.  I just needed to take that first step and leave the amazing sunsets of Bali behind.

It was with a bit of hesitancy that I made my way to book my buses and flights to begin my holiday journeys.  I started by hopping on a mini bus from Kuta that would eventually find me alighting in Probolinggo.  The mini bus was supposed to leave at 5:00PM, but this being the backpacking life, things never go as planned.  An hour later, no bus, and the tour company I had booked the bus through got on the phone to call the driver.  Due to the chaotic traffic around Kuta the driver was still fighting to get to my stop.  So I hopped on the back of a motorbike, backpack attached like a small child hanging on my shoulders for dear life, as we made our way to the current location of the driver and the mini bus.  I clamped my teeth to stop them from knocking together from each pothole and cobblestone we hit.  We reached our driver, and I was amazed to find that I was the first passenger to board.  I threw my backpack in the back and settled in for what I now knew would be a long winter’s night.  In 80 degree Bali weather.  We then made our way across Bali, picking up more passengers for the trip.  I was the only foreigner aboard this bus; the rest of the passengers were either visiting family in Java or leaving after visiting family in Bali.  Eight passengers and another hour or so later and we were finally on our way to the ferry crossing between Bali and Java.  Upon reaching the ferry crossing the mini bus rolled onto the ferry, and I tried to sleep as the boat rocked back and forth across the water for 45 minutes to Java.  Destination Java was reached, and we rolled off the ferry and back on to the road for a very long, long drive to Probolinggo.  4:00AM.  In the morning.  Nearly 11 hours after I had started waiting for my bus and 10 hours after hopping on board, we had reached Probolinggo, my stop.  Groggily, I rolled myself out of the seat and into the street, collected my backpack, and was directed in to the tourist office for my next destination: Mount Bromo.

I was groggy, but knew that I could still catch the sunrise from the vantage point atop the Mount Bromo lookout.  My ride had been lacking in creature comforts, but I still reached my destination in time.  At least that is what I was told by the tourist agent.  With an air of agitation, he said I could still see the sunrise if I left now.  Right now.  So I hopped into a small van as they drove me…somewhere…explaining on the way that I would be riding on the back of a motorbike up to Bromo.  Ok, I thought.  Not the 4×4 tours in jeeps that I had expected or read about, but if it gets me to the lookout point for sunrise, then mission accomplished.  A quick 10 minutes later we stopped in front of a house, a man popped out, fired up his motorbike, and I saddled myself in behind him, having put on my rarely used rainjacket due to the colder weather at this higher altitude.

Off we went, hurling down the streets in darkness.  Mind you, the driver who I just met had a helmet on.  I had my backpack on, was rubbing my eyes from lack of sleep, and had no helmet on.  Being 4:15AM meant it was still dark.  We zipped along the road, taking turns and passing cars at a speed much faster than I was comfortable with.  I desperately tried not to think what would happen if I lost my balance or somehow fell off this bike, my poor unprotected head hitting the pavement like a ripe watermelon.  Flashes of a Seinfeld episode kept rerunning in my head.  Kramer on his way to Hollywood hitching a ride on the back of a motorbike while the driver explains why he always wears a helmet.  Oh my, just get me safe to Bromo, please.

The sky started to lighten as the sun came up, and my fear of dying splattered on pavement was slowly replaced by the dazzling view around me.  We were riding up the valley floor and through the small mountains to the volcano.  The landscape was lush with black soil rich from the lava flow around.  Stunning jagged mountains with lavaflow ridges surrounded me.  Rich farmland with fields of cabbage, corn, onions, and potatoes filled my view.  Some of the fields were planted up the mountains.  I rode in awe and silence, my mind stunned and as numb as my hands that were now cold and asleep from holding on to the back of the motorbike as it zigged and zagged around corners.  What a view.  What a ride.  What an incredible refreshing commute on this clear and cold morning.

The sun was rising too fast.  I knew I wouldn’t make it up to the viewpoint in time to see it rise.  But I no longer cared as much.  We reached the base of the viewpoint and I started to hike my way up the trail just as the first people were starting to hike back down it.  Not everything goes according to plan, especially when backpacking, and I had learned by now to enjoy the nuances, the small hiccups, and the myriad diversions that occur with traveling.  It was with this attitude that I ascended to the viewpoint, reaching an overlook that would have taken my breath away if it was not already stolen due to the mile high altitude and 20 minute hike straight uphill.  Three volcanoes loomed in front of me.  A great valley opened up directly below me, and the chasm between me and the volcanoes was filled with an eerie, magical mist.  I found myself smiling, glad that I had made this decision to leave Bali and see new sites.  It is a great challenge as a traveler to know when to make the decision to stay and enjoy a beautiful location, and when to leave and see other incredible sights that beckon.  I believe I had made the correct choice.  I wondered what time it was.  I reached into my pocket for my iPhone.  It was then that I realized I had lost my phone.  Outright panic set in.  I knew exactly where it was.  On my seat in the mini bus which was by now close to reaching the city of Surabaya.  My enjoyment quickly cooled like lava hitting the icy sea.  I was not happy.

It was with this mood that I made my way back down to my motorbike driver, told him how impressive the volcano was, and then told him I lost my phone.  He got out his phone and relayed the news to the main tourist office.  With nothing further to do, we made our way to the second vantage point, first driving along the valley floor to the base of the volcano, and then climbing up about 200 steps to view the caldera from the top.

I climbed the steps, reaching the pinnacle overlooking the caldera, and in an exhausted state.  The long overnight drive, the hourlong motorbike ride, hiking up to the first overlook at an altitude over a mile high, and now climbing a grueling set of stairs, again at altitude, to reach the second overlook had taken its toll.  Added to that my recent discover of my boneheaded misplacement of my phone in my groggy 4:00AM condition, and I was beat.  Not defeated, but soundly exhausted.  Bromo impressed despite this new dilemma, and I was later to learn from new friends I would meet in Jogjakarta that the day before when they visited Bromo, the conditions were clear and their pictures were astounding.  Way better than mine.  I know; I’ve seen my pictures and I have seen theirs.

Back to Brian at Bromo.  I descended down the stairs, made my way to my driver, and he let me know that the mini bus driver had my iPhone in hands.  The driver would be heading back to Probolinggo that night on his way back to Bali and could drop my phone there.  Then the mini bus the next day would deliver my phone to me in Jogjakarta.  It felt like karma had finally repaid me.  I couldn’t believe my luck.  Of course, there would have to be some money exchanging hands for all this help.  Of course.  I’m not that naive.

So it was that events found me back at the tourist office at 11:00AM with this information in hand.  My motorbike ride back to Probolinggo from Bromo was just as exhilirating but not as cold and my hands didn’t fall asleep this time.  Both plusses in my book.  I could still take the mini bus departing at 11:30 from Probolinggo to Jogjakarta that day.  It would be a long 24 hours, but worthwile.  I had ridden for 10 hours from Bali to Probolinggo, hopped on a motorbike for an hour, hiked around Bromo for a few hours, taken the motorbike back to Probolinggo for an hour, and now after 45 minutes rest would hop back on a bus for another 11 hour journey to Jogjakarta.

Ahh, the unpredictable life of a backpacker.  It has its ups.  It has its downs.  Sometimes the ups outnumber the downs.  But oh the places I will go.  The stories I will be able to tell…