We were now off the beaten track, so no trains or big buses to take us up to the village outside Mount Bromo. We had to get on a reggae bus, which, as you'll know from our blogs about getting through south Sumatra, aren't my favourite form of transport. We jammed our poor legs (well Jo did, I pulled a neat stunt of jamming my legs down the aisle so no one could put a stool down there) into the non-existant leg room at the back and stewed for 20 minutes while the bus crew waited for more passengers for an already full bus. Eventually, a lady sitting next to us shouted through the window something about tourists, I don't know what she said but it was pretty effective and the driver got in and off we went. Then about 10 men jumped out of the bushes on the side of the road and swung through the door of the bus. It really makes me mad that they can't do this earlier as then the bus would be full and we could leave!
Two guys sat on the roof, their feet dangling down past the window
One of the best cared for mullets we've seen so far; jet black with streaks of orange, and silky smooth
A couple of hours later we got to the top. The roads were fearsomely steep and this bus seemed to have some kind of engine nicked from a Formula 1 car, such was it's throaty roar as the driver booted it up the hill.
Our hotel was pretty expensive for what it was, but its location couldn't be beaten, right on the side of the massive crater that Mount Bromo sits in. You see, before I got there I was getting confused, because guys were offering us tours where you drove along the crater bottom at Mount Bromo. This sounded pretty amazing but I couldn't get many details. Now that I was there, I could see what they were talking about - Mount Bromo sits at the bottom of a huge crater with walls 30 feet high, so you don't drive in the bottom of Mt Bromo, you drive in the creater that it sits in. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this crater, a massive expanse of dusty, desert-like plain stretching for miles. I haven't been to the moon, as many of you probably know, but I imagine this is what it is like. I think I said the same about the Gobi Desert, so it was a bit like some parts of the Gobi. Either that or I'm getting confused about what the surface of the moon looks like. But this was pretty barren and there wasn't much animal or plant life.
We walked across the crater, shuffling through the grey sand. Indonesians are so obsessed with their motorbikes that dozens of them were trying to ride them through the sand that was about 10cm deep. Mental. You could see their back wheels sliding out, then they would get off and be pushing it through the sand while their co-passengers jogged alongside. Others took horses, which were a bit faster. All in all, I think Indonesians are allergic to using their own legs to get them anywhere.
Mount Bromo loomed up, a big wide column of steam belching from it's very wide crater mouth; it's not the classical conical shape of Merapi, nor is it as green, everything is grey and dusty. There are steps up the side of Bromo, and at the top a set of bars running about 100m, so no-one falls in while they throw in their bunch of flowers offering, or the cows and sheep and goats during the Festival last month. A dad and his toddler were dressed like it was the Arctic, with fleeces and gloves, even though it was probably about 18 degrees C. The toddler looked shocked, like he'd been plonked on another planet, and it didn't help matters when us foreigners walked past with our strange alien-like faces.
It looked like you could walk around the crater, although clockwise looked easier than anti clockwise, which had a ribbon-like path of very small width. Needless to say the authorities hadn't extended the safety rail beyond the top of the steps. For the first third the path was nice and wide, then the next third was steep and tricky.
A third of the way round the Mount Bromo crater, steam from the vent on Jo's left hand side
Halfway round, the Bromo crater backs on to another huge crater. Jo climbed down to write our names with rocks, so if you're ever passing, have a look. Then we passed 2 young Indonesian guys, (not on motorbikes, using their own legs as transport for a change, don't worry I looked for evidence of wheel tracks but found none) one of which asked us if we had any water, at this point I thought we might be the first victims of a robbing on the crater walk of Mount Bromo. But we weren't. For the last third, the rock was very crumbly, and the path would give way under our weight. The following picture was taken on the last third.
Careful Jo
By the time we got back to the hotel my trousers had about 3 layers of thick volcanic dust on them and were practically walking around the room on their own.
The next morning we got up at 4.50am and watched the sun rise over Bromo. A blanket of thick white cloud 20 ft high covered the bottom of the crater. There were jeeps driving through this, and some people walking, and later we found out from some people that they had got lost walking through the mist (you couldn't even see a volcano in it obviously). But they were German, and they're always getting lost.
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