"Volcano Climbing," Indonesia Day 8

This photo is my favourite even though it was a blind shot.  I was standing on the narrow ledge at the top of the volcano. I looked down into a steaming crater, to my right was the staircase full of people and to my left was this group. The sun and sand were in my eyes but I took the shot anyways.

In the chilly early morning, a Javanese man is standing at the foot of an active volcano, wrapped in a thin shawl and clutching a tiny cluster of flowers.  He has a scarf wrapped around his head and is wearing a cloth surgical mask over his mouth to stay protected when the wind sweeps across the "Sea of Sand" like a desert breeze.  The small posy of dried and dusty looking yellow plants may have been flowers at one time, pretty and wild mountain flowers perhaps, but now they appear as though all the moisture has dried away and stiffened them under the beaming sun.  

"Gift to the mountain gods," he mutters under his mask yet clear enough for the dozens of tourists to hear as they begin their ascent to the top.

From where the jeep dropped me off, it was about a twenty minute walk to the base of the volcano.  When the wind danced across the ground the sand filled your ears and eyes.

The legend of Mountain Bromo in East Java starts along time ago, in the 15th century, when a princess and her prince were unable to have children.  The barren couple decided to seek help from the mountain gods.  In return for twenty-four children, the couple had to sacrifice the twenty-fifth infant by throwing it into the volcano.  On certain days, some people in East Java still bring offerings of flowers or foods to the top of Bromo and toss it in.

At the mountain town of Cemoro Lawang, an organized jeep trip brought me to a nearby cliff at five am.  Along with maybe seventy other foreigners, we watched the sun rise in the distance, lighting up a smoky sky and a picturesque volcanic backdrop.  Wearing thick sweaters and wrapped in blankets, tourists reached for their cameras and started shooting pretty landscape.  A middle aged Japanese man had a lens big enough to be a telescope, amateur backpackers were equipped with their Nikon DSLR's between their clumsy hands, and the rest of us were holding onto simple point and shoots.  The tourists all merged to the edge of the cliff, scoping out a spot where they could capture the beauty of nature devoid of any human interruptions.  

At sunrise, many tourists are brought to this mountain cliff to see the sun rise because it is apparently the best time to get a good view of the volcanoes.  It was cold being woken up at 4am. 

I lost my beloved Canon G11 way too early in its life and decided to only bring my iPhone4 and shoot with the attached camera.  I prefer it actually, as I could sneak up on people and take photos less intrusively.  There was no way I could capture the stunning scenic image before me anyways, even if I did have the appropriate camera and the perfect aperture settings. Beauty like that tingles you inside, plays with the atoms in your body, and nothing I took could really capture it. So I didn't try for that flawless National Geographic cover shot.  And after a little while, I became bored so I interested myself with the travelers surrounding me.   

I love people who take lots of photos. They interest me immensely.

After the sunrise on the cliff, the tourists would get in their jeeps and have locals drive them to the base of Bromo.  Some walked through the sand for the twenty minutes it took to get to the right volcano but others took horse rides.

There was one set of steps going up the mountain so only enough room for a single file line up and down.  The wind and blowing sand was wretched at this point and you were subject to the speeds of the people in front of you. Finally when I made it to the top, the surrounding ledge into the volcano was very narrow.  

Looking down into the caldera of the volcano as it hisses steam.

The single file going up and down filled with tourists of all shapes, speeds, and languages.

This lady was amazing. Some of the local Javanese went down into the mouth of the volcano to retrieve the gifts of offerings.  

More Javanese men on the ledge hoarding their stash.

I stayed on the top for not more than ten minutes as the sand in my eyes was unbearable and the push of tourists could have resulted in an easy tumble into a hot magma death.