Last night the weather didn't look promising with heavy fog blanketing the area. I woke up just after 3am and loked out. The fog had eased and now sat low within the large crater, blanketing the area around the base of Bromo and Batok. I met up with a jeep at 4am and six of us piled in to the back. In the dakness the whole village was busy with tourists and jeeps preparing to head for the higher mountains for the dawn sunrise. One by one the jeeps left as they collected their quota. We rattled across the sandy crater for 5-6km bumping and rattling aver the sandy track. The windscreen of our jeep fogged up. We couldn't see out and it became dangeraous as the driver kept losing the track so he pulled over and let a car pass so we could follow in his wake. We made it across the 'sand sea' and joined a paved road which twisted and turned up into the mountains. By 5am we were at a viewing point overlooking Cemoro Lawang, Mt Bromo and the whole valley. We shuffled out of the jeep into a sharp air. About 150 other had made the trip up this morning. Still fully dark locls manned souvenir stalls leading to the viewing point. We were offered among the usual souvenirs and postcards hot breakfasts, coffee, batteries. Warm jackets were available for hire for those who had underestimated just how cold it can be at 2,000m altitude in the tropics.
We went up, picked our spots and waited for daybreak. Unfortunately as the first streaks of sunlight began to flicker across the sky so the fog began to thicken and rise. Above, clouds to close in on what had previously been clear skies. By sunrise all we could see were the white fluffy tops of the fog bank. The volcanoes were completely obscured. The only hint of the volcanoes below was the column of white vapour which rose constantly through the fog. Having seen postcards of the spectacular views from this point it was disappointing. We hung on hoping for an improvement and, just before we left the fog began to thin enough for Batok and Bromo to emerge. Even mt Semeru a taller Volcanoe some miles off showed as a hazy shadow in the background. For the few of us remaining it set off a flurry of activity as everyone began snapping off shots.
We returned to the jeep and headed back down to Bromo to climb the rim. The jeep parked up alongside 10-15 others about half a mile from Bromo. Immediately the jeep was surrounded by hordes of locals offering us pony rides to the base of Bromo. It was all a bit frenzied, very in your face as 20 or so locals vied for business from six of us. A grumpy German couple in our group threatened blue murder if the lads didn't back off. I was the only one to decline a pony ride, tight git that I am. All the rest bumbled along on the ponies. I climbed Mt Bromo again, meeting streams of ponies and tourists returning from the crater rim. It was so different to yesterday afternoon, so busy. Tourists armed with cameras, touts armed with pony whips and newly acquired banknotes from the westerners, small ponies loaded with overwight Europeans obediantly followed the trail they walk every day to the base of the volcanoe.
I met Alex and Marianne returning from their dawn trek to the crater. Sunrise had been quite spectacular for them. WE chatted briefly and arranged to meet up back in the village. I dutifully climed Bromo again and after a brief stay at the rim returned to the car. I was back at the accomodation having breakfast with Alex and Marianne by 8.30. We swapped accounts of the morning sunrise over pancakes. An hour later I was taking a minibus back down through the valleys to Probolinggo. When we arrived in the town I was met by the lad who'd taken cross town by motorbike yesterday. The grumpy Germans had travelled down from Cemoro Lawang as well and when the lad innocently enquired if they were stopping here they brushed him aside with icy aggression. It was ignorant and you could see he'd been hurt by them. I had to tell the lad not to mind them that they were like that with everyone.
Back down in Probolinggo the heat was stifling. I was to meet with another bus which would take me into the centre of Java to one of the old Royal cities of Surakarta, known locally as Solo. Sitting by the roadside as we chatted waited I cooked. The heat drains you even if you're doing nothing. We waited for 30mins and I was glad whin the minibus arrived. There were only three of us travelling. Myself and a French couple in their fifties. They had also returned from Cemor Lawang this morning. They had seen me a few times and nicknamed me 'the cousin' on account of my resmblance to the husband. We left for Surakarta in boiling heat. The A/C in the minibus was struggling to cope. It was uncomfortably sticky on the bus and you tried not to move in the seat. Any movement produced trickles of sweat to dampen your clothes which soon began to stick to you.
For hours we passed across flat plains of eastern Java which consisted, mostly of rice fields. It was actually a good day to be travelling. Java is predominantly Islamic and Friday being the day of prayer for Muslims meat the roads were less busy than usual. We passed through one town as crowds of people exited the local mosque making their way home. Most were well dressed, wearing hats. Curiously some placed neatly folded silken cloth draped over their hats. The landscape became monotonous it was so flat. What enlivend the journey were the antics of the driver. He tore along the road weaving through traffic at speed. He passed traffic at every and the earliest opportunity. If there was a possibility of passing more traffic he remained on thopposite lane only returning to the correct lane at the last possible moment usually to the sound of blaring horns. More than once each of us passengers gasped with anxiety as the drive pulled off a crazy stunt. He had no qualms how he passed traffic. Left or right, it didn't matter. If he couldn't pass you on the outside he'd pass you on the inside. Sometimes he would veer onto the hard shoulder to pass slower traffic.
The humidity was stifling and eventhough there was a good deal of adrenaline flying about I found I couldn't stay awake. I usually never sleep when travelling. Always looking out, trying not to miss anything but I couldn't stay awake. Eventually I just drifted away into a sleep. As the afternoon progressed it began to rain and the showers brought some cooling relief. The A/C bgan to cope and the cab cooled down significantly. We stopped for a brief food stop and were on the road again by 4pm. It took a further 3hrs to reach the outskirts of Surakarta. We survived another few hairy moments as 'evil kenieval' behind the wheel played chicken a couple of times with oncoming lorries and arrived in Solo after darkness had fallen.
I had given the driver an adress of the accomodation I'd decided to try. He dropped me off on the footpath by the guesthouse and I bade farwell to himself and the French couple. Two mins later I was back out on the footpath as this place was full. The owner couldn't speak English but he tried to direct me to another place. Somebody outside spoke pidgin English and told this new place cost 150,000 rupiahs, double what my budget would allow. I picked out another budget option from the guidebook, negotiated a price with a motorcyclist who would take me to the new location down in the city centre. He was an old guy. I sat on the bike behind the cyclist carrying the small rucksack while the old guy balanced the large rucksack between his knees and off we went into the evening traffic.
Very soon it became clear this lad hadn't a clue where the hostel was. He ended up bringing me to a hotel at random hoping I would be content with that. But this was an expensive looking place. There was no chance I'd stay. A porter came out to take my rucksack but I told him to stop, that I'd not asked to be brought here. A manger was brought out and I explained the situation. I was tired and annoyed with the old lad. He'd got a good price for this journey, over the odds and he just taking the mck now. Thankfully the hotel manager was very helpful. We got the phone number of the hostel. He made a call, got directions and relayed these to the old guy. WE took off again, heading deeper into the city. This time we were more successful and got to within a street of the place. We then proceeded to to go in circles around this street. I lost my patience, got off the bike and told the old guy to follow me. I proceeded to walk down a couple of streets to the hostel while the motorbike crawled behind. At the front door of the hostel I paid the auld lad. He tried asking me for more money as we had made a couple of detours. "No chance, mate. Its not my fault if you get lost. Go on, on yer bike!!" Still the old guy was good humoured about it. He laughed, gunned the engine and rode off. Twenty mins later I was asleep in bed, exhausted after a long day.
