April, 2019 | My Indonesia

Kawah Ijen: Crater of the Blue Fire

I finally made it there.

People crowd around a section of mountain that’s erupting with blue fire.

Followers of this blog will recall last year, when as (bad) luck would have it, the day I landed in Surabaya, Kawah Ijen crater erupted, spewing toxic fumes so intense they killed the entire riparian ecosystem in and around the crater. Officials closed it to all human entry (not even the sulfur miners were allowed to enter), and this continued for the entire time I was in Indonesia. It was crushing to have come halfway around the world and be so close…yet not be able to go.

Few times in my life have I truly been mesmerized, captivated, transfixed by something like I was that night, staring in wonder and awe at the famous Blue Fire of Kawah Ijen Crater.

Luckily, a year later, I was back.

And this time, my Blue Fire dreams came true.

As with my visit to Borobudur, the Kawah Ijen trip began — cruelly — in the middle of the night. Though the fire burns 24/7/365, it’s only visible in pitch darkness, and the hike up there is a good 1.5 to 2 hours, so to view it before day begins to break requires leaving the hotel at a punishing 12:30am.

Not my ideal departure time, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

The guide and driver arrived promptly at 12:30am, and still rubbing sleep from my eyes and wishing for coffee, I stumbled out to the LandRover and we bumped and bounced for a good 45 minutes up to the entryway. The guide cautioned me to hide my DSLR and drone equipment, as the guards often try to charge extra for people who bring more than a cellphone into the crater.

“We’ll have to see, too, if anyone else is flying a drone,” the guide said. “Sometimes the rangers will come looking for people flying drones.”

(As irritating as a drone is, it’s undeniably incredible to have drone images and video — an indispensable and ever more ubiquitous photography tool.)

Getting photo equipment past the guards was not the only challenge. In fact, it was cake (just kept it in my backpack) compared to the difficulties that lay ahead.

The first was just getting to the rim of the crater, which was a good, hard, steep hike. Altitude wasn’t a problem, but with the faint wafts of sulfur fumes getting ever stronger and the chokingly thick clouds of cigarette smoke from the European hikers and the Indonesian guides (including my own), my lungs were feeling it even before we descended into the volcano. I was still getting over my cold, too, so on the way up I stopped frequently to hack, wheeze, and feel like old age and decrepitude was creeping up on me.

By three-thirty A.M., I’d reached the rim. My guide, who had smoked basically non-stop the entire way up, hadn’t even broken a sweat. I (and okay, I had 30 pounds of backpack on me) on the other hand, was drenched, my clothes were cold and clammy, and I was huffing and puffing like a marathon runner at Mile 23.

Those who feel this part of the hike is too strenuous have the option — from the gate entry to the crater rim — of taking a hand-pulled cart, which (as I huffed and puffed myself to the top!) seemed ever more tempting. Many tourists opted within the first 200 yards to take a cart, and soon vanished ahead as 2 or 3 cart guys, strong as mules, pulled them all the way to the rim. It cost about 700,000 IDR, if I recall…just under $50USD in today’s exchange rate. When you consider that this is a hefty fee for a day’s work, it’s not a bad thing to support these hard-working folks who will make your life so much easier. It also allows you to save your strength and energy for the rim-to-fire descent.

By three-thirty A.M., I’d reached the rim. My guide, who had smoked basically non-stop the entire way up, hadn’t even broken a sweat. I (and okay, I had 30 pounds of backpack on me) on the other hand, was drenched, my clothes were cold and clammy, and I was huffing and puffing like a marathon runner at Mile 23.

But the hard part hadn’t even begun.

From there, it’s a 45 minute clamber and scramble down a rough, often slippery trail to where the fire is.

And this was when the guide said, “Oh, it’s good: it’s visible. Often we get here and it’s not even possible to see it.”

At no point prior had anyone explained that seeing the Blue Fire was a possibility, not a certainty. Good to know, I thought, bent over and breathing heavily with my hands on my knees. Good to know.

Then began the descent. Nothing impossible for anyone who has done a bit of mountain hiking or hit the trail from time to time. A well-worn track zigged and zagged to a spot far below where I could see, dimly, a fuzzy patch of blue billowing in the breeze. The trail was lit by other hikers carrying flashlights or lamps, from those nearby to some far below, as small as ants.

I let the guide carry the flashlight and just followed where he stepped, and while I had a few skids and slips, had no falls or twisted ankles. It wasn’t so steep that a misstep would have sent you tumbling down several hundred feet of sheer cliff, but you’d likely break an ankle or pop a knee, and that would have been an unfortunate end to the journey.

The bluish fuzz got closer and closer and closer, until finally it was unmistakably fire. As hard as it had been, as long as I’d waited, there was a part of me that had wondered if it was worth it. I mean, how amazing could it be, right? Just blue fire.

Well, it was worth it.

Few times in my life have I truly been mesmerized, captivated, transfixed by something like I was that night, staring in wonder and awe at the famous Blue Fire of Kawah Ijen Crater.

The photos don’t do it justice.

Something so magical, otherworldly, eerie, and beautiful. A patch of mountainside the size of a tennis court burning in blue flame. It was incredible.

I took photo after photo after photo, hoping some of them would come out, would do a decent job of sharing this sight with those who haven’t seen it. But I think part of the magic is that of actually being there. Having it right in front of you. Before your very eyes.

I could have stayed at the bottom of the crater until the sun came up, but two things happened that made me pull myself away.

First was the hope to get good photos of sunrise at the crater rim. At this point, it was already 4:30am, and while it was still dark, the pitch darkness had lifted and the stars were starting to fade.

Second was that the wind shifted, and the billows of toxic sulfur gas that had been heading off over the lake were now choking anyone who was dumb enough to stick around. I had been in the middle of setting up a photo when my eyes began burning and I couldn’t breathe at all. Poison gas was suffocating everyone, sending people scrambling up the mountainside for safety and breathable air. How ironic if my final moments were down here, gassed like a sewer rat by the same fire I’d waited a year to come see.

Coughing like a tuberculosis patient, I clawed for my gas mask, clamping it over my nose and mouth and unsure whether it would actually work. Suddenly I could breathe again.

A miner braves toxic gas to collect sulfur in the crater.

There is a darker story to this crater too, which is that the sulfur miners often work without any protection, no mask, no goggles, exposing themselves daily to fumes that over time reduce their lifespans by decades. Many die of fume-related causes in their forties and fifties, working for pennies to bring sulfur up from the crater by the bushel, often carrying 30 or 40 kilograms at a time. Selling a sulfur carving for even 10,000 IDR (about 71 cents!) can be more than they earn from the mine in a day. So I was more than happy to buy a few of these trinkets from various people selling them. (Though note: sulfur is a substance that is not allowed on the airlines, so you will likely not be able to bring these home in checked or carry-on luggage.)

Even with the mask, by this time I was coughing non-stop, my lungs producing a thick liquid that just kept coming and coming. Climbing out of the crater I had to stop frequently, hacking and coughing so deeply my sides began to hurt. Each time I stopped to rest, my guide would fire up a fresh cigarette.

The author arriving back at the rim of Kawah Ijen crater, with a 30lb pack of camera gear.

By the time I was nearing the top, a lovely gray light had illuminated the crater walls, revealing a landscape that looked almost lunar, painted with splashes of rust, ochre, and chalky white. Below the fire was no longer visible; only the smoke billowed, indicating the location. Thick gray fog obscured completely the beautiful emerald lake that I knew was right there below.

There is a darker story to this crater too, which is that the sulfur miners often work without any protection, no mask, no goggles, exposing themselves daily to fumes that over time reduce their lifespans by decades.

That was my final goal for the trip: I’d brought the drone specifically to hover it high above the lake as the sun hit the water.

The drone caught some beautiful shots of the volcanoes.

It would have been a magical finale to the incredible Ijen journey…but just like my first time coming a year ago: it was not to be.

Instead of sunshine, the clouds just kept on building and building, and the rain that had threatened to wash out the entire visit now seemed ominous again. The sun peeked out for a brief moment, but never strong enough to burn away the thick fumes and fog that were cupped in the crater like cotton in a nest.

The crater stayed filled with gas and fog.

Hiking down the steep trail to the exit gate, I saw the beauty that I’d missed coming up in the darkness, and decided I’d have to come back again. This time for the emerald lake.

And if I felt up to it, another descent down into the crater. Kawah Ijen and its blue fire.

The view going down was as pretty as the hike up was dark.

Visiting Borobudur Temple

The Largest Temple in the Buddhist World

Dawn light breaks at Borobudur Temple, in Indonesia.

I am not a spiritual, dharma-seeking kind of guy. In fact, I think that I’m well aware how lucky and “blessed” I’ve been in this world and try to treat this world and its peoples as Paradise, rather than think there’s anything grander coming next.

But to witness daybreak at Borobudur was certainly impressive, a time for quiet contemplation and reverence and awe even if you don’t quite buy that there’s a grander scheme of things. The largest pyramid in the Buddhist world still remains mysterious, as little is known about its use, its construction, or why it was erected there. I’ll let Wikipedia fill you in on the details, but if this UNESCO Heritage site isn’t already on your bucket list, it should be.

It was pouring rain when I checked in, pitch dark, and a part of me was shaking my head thinking “why am I not curled up in a snug bed right now?”

From Surabaya, it’s only a quick flight of about an hour to Yogjakarta, a large city in the south-central part of Java. Compared to the 14 hours to Hong Kong and 4 to Surabaya, a flight of an hour is cake.

From central Yogjakarta it’s about an hour drive out to the site, so I left my hotel at 3:30am, arriving at 5am. Very important to remember that in addition to an admission ticket (often included in the tour, but not always), you must have a copy of your passport. Your hotel may provide you with this, but it’s easy to forget. If you do forget, you may not be allowed entry into the site!

It was pouring rain when I checked in, pitch dark, and a part of me was shaking my head thinking “why am I not curled up in a snug bed right now?” The driver provided a thin plastic poncho, a flashlight, and a bottle of drinking water. I had my hotel umbrella, under which was a good $4000 worth of camera gear, all precariously in danger of getting soaked.

Though the photos make it look like I had the place to myself, I was far from the only person there. A bus tour of Japanese tourists, numerous couples and threesomes, and a bunch of school children all jostled and huffed their way up the staircases…still entirely in pitch dark. And in the rain.

My driver had said to go up and then around the central pillar to the left for the best, most dramatic view. It turned out that the best view was actually due east, though this was where nearly everyone decided to wait for the sun to rise.

I and a gazillion other people waited for the sun to rise.

Luckily, as the sky gradually changed from black to gray, the rain started to let up. I was soaked from the knees down, but at least my head, camera, and (most important!) my spirits were not damp.

The clouds threatened to spoil the sunrise but just as many people had opted to call it a day and head back, the sun pierced through the torn-cotton clouds and splashed the volcano and surrounding forests and fields with amber. Combined with the mist, the dark stone columns we were standing among, the sunshine seemed even more ethereal and supernatural. Something sublime.

Stunning sunrise seen from Borobudur temple.

I have trekked to many remote and strange places, summited mountains, seen untouched jungles from the tops of near-unvisited pyramids, but this was something different and unique. A chance to catch a glimpse of something pure and beautiful and, (if it’s not blasphemy to come from the mouth of yours truly!), holy.

Whenever I’m standing on one of these ancient monuments, I feel just a bit like I’m a time-traveler. Standing there I could feel the presence of the people who built it, who stood there as I did, watching the sun rise and bring warmth and light to the world. How wonderful that this place, forgotten for centuries, now has protected UNESCO status.

The walls are covered with detailed depictions of the 10 levels of life.

The walls of Borobudur are covered with detailed depictions of the 10 levels of life, from sex, conception, and birth (the lower layers), to old age and death at the top. The Indonesian government has covered up the sex level as it was deemed inappropriate for viewing. (Luckily, this has not been destroyed, just covered.)

On the way home, my driver said that for a long time after its discovery, this temple was often looted for its Buddha heads. Many were sold, often for a hefty sum, some to museums, but many to private collectors — effectively hiding them from the world as well as the jungle did. Who knows where these precious artifacts have gone to, and whether any might find their way back here. Most likely they’re gone forever.

This Buddha remains. I watched as the rain collected on its cheeks. It seemed alive, and grieving.

A raindrop tear collects on the nose of Buddha.

Hello again, Surabaya!

Hard to believe that it’s been a whole year since I left, but what a treat to be back in Surabaya again, excited to see more of Indonesia’s natural and cultural wonders. The customs and immigration procedure at Juanda International Airport couldn’t have been smoother. It’s worth noting that Jakarta gets vastly more international traffic than humble Surabaya, despite the fact that this city has all that’s required to fill most travelers’ needs: full customs, visa, immigration, and other departments. Anything you need to do, you can do it here just as easily (or in many ways, more easily!) than in busy Jakarta.

Unfortunately for yours truly, I arrived in Surabaya with a head cold that (combined with jet lag) knocked me out for a few days. Nothing one can do; sometimes it happens. But it meant taking it easy those first few days and doing more at the end of the trip than the beginning.

Despite being sick, I managed to enjoy some Surabaya food. One of the highlights of a trip to Indonesia is how diverse it is — you can literally get everything from fancy Italian to Chinese to pretty decent Japanese-style ramen.

I feel lucky to have had Surabaya city as my entry/exit to Java, as it’s far less hectic, crowded, and crazy than Jakarta. Everyone goes in and out through Jakarta, but hopefully Surabaya will be more on the map in the future. It’s a great place to start a trip through incredible Indonesia.