Gunung Bromo, or "Where The Bleep are the Bleeping Steps"

I won't lie to you: we have had an interesting past few days.

It all began as we said goodbye to Bali and entered the most heavily populated island in the world- Java, baby! On Friday night we took the 6 PM bus (which arrived promptly at 7:15) from Lovina, in northern Bali- our destination being Probolinggo, which is the main place to catch a ride to where we really wanted to go- Gunung Bromo.

Bromo is a rather small, highly active volcano in East Java. Our plan was to begin our ascent around 4 AM to catch the supposed amazing sunrise over the barren, moon like plains surrounding the volcano. Also, climbing an active volcano sounded cool.

So off we went on our very long bus journey through Bali and into Java. Our bus took it's time getting through Bali, stopping every so often to pick up a new passenger, or to pick up a package, and once we even stopped so the driver could get out and get blessed at a small Hindu temple while the passengers watched and waited... patiently. "No worries, this is Bali time", as we had been told numerous times throughout the week.

We arrived at the ferry terminal in Gilimanuk at around 10 PM where we waited some more, this time for the ferry to arrive. We were, however, the first in line and got on the boat within 20 minutes. As the ferry was filled to capacity I looked around, wondering how many buses the boat was truly meant to hold. I guess it could hold as much as was necessary. I was a bit worried about our situation, but I held my breath and we made a smooth crossing in about half an hour. Welcome to Java!

Suddenly we were not on Bali time anymore, and the driver revved the engine and plowed through the (twisting and turning) roads of Java. He drove like an absolute maniac, and I was extremely fearful for my life. Apparently, though, looking around at my fellow passengers and even looking at Patrick resting peacefully, I was the only afraid person on the bus.

We stopped somewhere around midnight and Pat and I gathered our things, thinking this was Probolinggo, but a nice young lady informed us that this was just a pitstop to eat. We paid a bit more for this bus and what we got was: a reclining seat (including reclining foot rest), air conditioning and our dinner. I guess this was dinner. Pat got out to eat, but it was around midnight at this time and I wanted to try and sleep before attempting to climb Bromo so I stayed in the bus.

After another two hours of crazy driving, we finally arrived in Probolinggo. Can you say sketchy? It was the middle of the night and instead of dropping us at the bus station, they dropped us outside a travel agency so they could get our business. We were angry. We were pretty tired of Balinese people always omitting certain information so that we would give them more money than was really necessary, and this was our breaking point. The man at the agency said that it was too late at night for us to get a local bus to Bromo and we would have to pay for a chartered van or simply stay the night in Probolinggo. We never planned on staying an extra night; we just wanted to climb Bromo and leave, so we had no choice but to pay extra for a charter.

After an extremely sketchy experience with our first driver, who drove about 100 meters, stopped, left the van running and simply left us without saying anything, we got another (sober) driver to take us to Bromo. It took about an hour of going through winding mountain roads to get there, and when we did, it was actually cold outside! A nice surprise.

We found a nice guy to keep our bags safe at a hotel close to the Bromo starting point, and we set off at about 3:30 AM, thinking we were veery ahead of the game and would be waiting for the sun to rise on top of the volcano. In true Indonesian fashion, every single person there wanted to be our tour guide. We could see what we thought was Bromo in the distance and saw no need for a guide, so we politely refused everyone. We put on some jeans and a local pointed down an extremely sketchy hill and told us that was the way to Bromo. He was lying, as we found out later, walking back on a lovely paved road. But at the time, in the darkness, we had to take his word for it, so we set off down to steep and slippery slope ( in my birkenstocks, no less) and wondered if we would ever be on a decent path.

Eventually we made it down the hill and all around us was what looked like the surface of the moon- black sand, a random boulder here and there, and in the not too far away distance loomed (what we though was) Bromo, a large cone shaped mountain. We made our way across the plain in the darkness, more certain than ever that we were on the right track and still had plenty of time. Nothing could possibly go wrong- I mean, Bromo is right in front of us! There is nothing in our way! We were excited to be in such an eerily quiet, dark place with nobody badgering us.

When we got to the mountain, we thought the stairs would be easily accessed and were surprised to see... no stairs at all. Hmm. Did anyone tell us where the stairs were? No. The only thing we knew from Lonely Planet was to follow the white stone markers... which were nowhere to be seen. We knew we were in the right place. So where were the effing stairs?! Pat dragged me all along the mountain as I got crankier and crankier. There was no way the stairs, if they even existed, would be so inaccessible. Finally I told him I wasn't going any further. I hadn't eaten since 3 PM the previous afternoon and I had gotten no sleep on the bus. I was going to sit in the mud and wait for the sun to rise.

Suddenly we heard voices. We listened carefully. Were they speaking.... English? Yes! Other trekkers! They must know where we are; they can help us! As they got closer I shouted a greeting. It turned out to be two American girls who were just as lost as we were. No hope. Finally, we decided to walk back to where we started. The sun began to light up the night sky. At last we could see where we were going. That's when the realization hit us.

"There is supposed to be a small Hindu temple in front of the volcano", Pat said.

"Oh, we saw that on our way!", one of the girls said.

Then we saw the volcano. It wasn't the mountain we had been walking around for hours, it was behind the mountain we had been walking around for hours. I felt like crying. It was completely invisible in the night sky and we couldn't even see the mass amount of smoke coming from it's core. And, of course, in plain sight, there were the stairs.

So we sorta missed the sunrise, but in the early morning light the whole landscape was extremely beautiful. We went on to climb the volcano, and then we had a nice breakfast with our new American friends, who just so happened to be going in the same direction as us, so we all went back to Probolinggo together where we got "ekonomi" train tickets (about 50 cents a ticket) to the main hub of Surabaya (second largest city on Java next to Jakarta).

This was the scariest and most fun train ride of my life. The train was about to fall apart and it really sped to Surabaya. On the other hand, we were the main attraction on the train. Everyone practised their English with us and laughed hysterically at Patrick when he bumped his head on the ceiling. An elderly man invited Pat and I to his home the next time we were in his area. He said he would cook me a proper dinner. A woman got some tempeh (Indonesian fried tofu) and smiled with delight as she gave it to us to eat. She was even more delighted when we ate the whole thing. A man with his young son stared with interest at my mp3 player, and a man from Sumatra had a listen on Pat's Ipod. The Javanese people have been nothing short of wonderful to us ever since we left Probolinggo. They are beautiful, giving and hospitable. This is true Islamic behaviour; it is nothing like the information you get from travel warnings. I love Java!

When we arrived in Surabaya we bought some "bisnis" class tickets to Yogyakarta, which would be our home for the next few days. Bisnis class means a guaranteed seat, less people, and ceiling fans (1.60 a ticket). It is not in the least bit fancy, but it was very nice to have a seat for the five hour journey to Yogya. We arrived around 10 PM, tired and dusty, and found a place to rest our heads. Our days here are filled with encounters with extremely honest and kind souls. My faith in Indonesian people has been restored.