Experience is not what happens to a man – it is what a man does with what happens to him

I awoke at around 8.30 and the bus arrived promptly at 9.15. We did the classic Indonesian thing of driving around in circles for half an hour, being deposited in the middle of nowhere and getting on another bus. I’d grabbed a prime spot on the first bus but on the second was uncomfortably squashed amidst a German family.

The bus journey was only around one and a half hours but, of course, didn’t go where it was supposed to – Kintamani – but to Penelokan which was a few kilometres south. This wasn’t a major problem as both were situated on the rim; the bus driver probably had a mate who owned a nearby hotel.

The view was incredible – a 10km wide caldera formed by two massive eruptions, the first around 25,000 years ago. Encircled by steep cliffs, it was now dominated by the uneven cone of Batur, marked with vents stretching down one side, one of which was gently smoking; to the right was a long crater lake, sparkling blue in the sunlight, which filled the east side of the caldera. Most of the land was filled with vegetation punctuated by small villages taking advantage of the rich soil and rich tourists. Batur itself, however, was a dusty brown and the massive lava flows caused by an eruption in 1974 had blackened everything in their path. Thousands had been killed by its uneasy temperament over the years; the most recent major eruption had been in 1994 when lava fragments had been ejected to heights of 300m. It looked like I had arrived on a peaceful day, a month earlier there had been a series of small eruptions for over a week; today, however, it was quietly smoking as inoffensively as it could.

As I sat admiring the view, people began to disperse and it wasn’t long before a cheerful, smiling chap approached me touting for business. Over his shoulder was the 2000 metre peak of Gunung Abang sitting a few kilometres outside of the Batur caldera. I had already made a tentative decision as to where to stay but the guy offered a free trip down to beside the lake where my climb would have to start and a room in his hotel for 20,000Rp – the hotel was, I think, the Hotel Segara, in the lakeside village of Kedisan. This all sounded okay so I got inside his jeep and said ‘hi’ to a couple in the back.

"He got you too?" said the girl .

I grinned. "Looks that way."

We chatted as we were driven down the winding road to the lake. On arriving at the hotel we checked out the single-storey rooms which faced the central courtyard and agreed to stay. Just as we were getting settled we were collared by a friendly chap offering trips up the volcano to see the sunrise – in his hand was a book of quotations from previous travellers about how good his trips were. They varied between $15 and $25 depending on the duration – four to seven hours – this was a price of around 240,000Rp (£12) which compared extremely interestingly with my 36 hour Jogya-Bromo-Bali trip of 100,000Rp (a fiver). He was very insistent that this was the only way to get up the volcano without getting lost (how you could lose this volcano, I didn’t know) and that we needed to decide now. The three of us looked at each other and unspokenly agreed to mull it over during brunch. We made our excuses and went to order some food.

It now seemed appropriate to make some introductions. Vit and Diana were students from the Czech republic studying English language at university. Diana had spent a year in London as an au pair getting paid £30 per week; short dark hair framed her smiling face and her manner was a pleasant mix of eastern-European and English. Vit (pronounced veet) had light brown hair topping his gaunt frame and was less gregarious. They had both been working in Germany to save money for the trip and spoke very good English and German.

We chatted about getting up the volcano. The hotel was asking an outrageous amount of money and we didn’t particularly want to make the trip with a large group of people. Making our own way to the summit seemed like much more fun. We came up with two options: 1) hire a jeep for 24 hours, go up this afternoon and, if we felt like it, tomorrow morning too, or 2) charter transport to take us now.

The guy from the hotel hassled us again in a slightly less friendly fashion and began to offer discounts; we left in search of a vehicle. We walked out of the hotel, the volcano just to our left and after five minutes we stopped a French guy in a jeep and asked him where he’d acquired it. He pointed vaguely and told us that he’d paid $15 for two hours (which seemed an outrageous price). We carried on walking past various offers of guides and trips and came to a large parking area which seemed to be the main stop for boat journeys. An old guy asked us if we wanted a trip and we were reminded about the warnings of the price changing halfway across the lake – we declined. We ambled through the car park and it wasn’t long before we heard the traditional Indonesian greeting.

"Transport?"

Vit and Diana rolled their eyes as I turned to say: "We’re looking for our own."

"You go to volcano?"

"Yes."

"I take you for 70,000."

We looked at each other – this could be a possibility.

"You need guide?"

"No, we want to go on our own."

"OK. I take you there and wait."

We decided to have a brief discussion but in the few seconds we had been there, an audience of seven or eight locals had congregated in very close proximity. Bees round a honey pot, or as the Indonesian’s say ‘where there’s sugar, there’s ants’ (ada gula ada semut). We tried to talk but the prods, interruptions and general presence around us was making it very difficult. We moved a few yards away and sat down; the crowd followed and surrounded us unsmiling. Diana looked up and counted nine – had it been fascination or friendly interest on their part, it would have been okay but there was something very uncomfortable and unbalinese about the whole thing. We quietly discussed the options, occasionally asking interfering locals not to be so rude with their intermittent sleeve-pulling and constant, unfriendly interruptions. Between three of us it could be quite a good idea so we asked for clarification of what it involved.

"You’ll take us to the track and wait for us for around four hours and then bring us back?"

The driver agreed. We decided to haggle and offered him 50,000Rp; this was met with a tirade of how this was a good price, the last price, etc, etc. So much for bartering. The crowd were still around us and the whole thing felt a little intimidating. We decided to do the trip this afternoon, maybe catch the sunset at the top and probably not bother with sunrise. We confirmed the arrangements with the driver once more and asked him to drop us at the hotel for ten minutes so we could get changed, etc. As we left, faces were pressed ominously against the van like a scene from a Hammer film.

Having got ready I was first to return to the van; the driver, crisp white shirt and big sunglasses, introduced himself as Wayan. We set off along the winding narrow road which skirted the base of the volcano. Wayan asked us if we wanted the short or medium walk; aware of the time constraints, we went for the shorter one. We drove through Toya Bungkah and eventually reached the slightly grubby village of Songan. The road took an abrupt and narrow left in the centre and we had to do some fancy manoeuvres to avoid several farm trucks. I was quite keen to stop and buy a little food and drink as I’d only had a pancake all day but for some reason I didn’t say anything.

A couple of kilometres out of Songan we turned left down a farm track and stopped about 1km later at a collection of houses. Wayan vaguely pointed up at the northern slopes of the volcano.

"The track up that way. If you want you can go up and back down this way or you can come back the longer way to the hot springs (in Toya Bungkah) and I meet you there."

We were unsure as to how long we wanted to walk and thought it might be asking for trouble to meet Wayan elsewhere so we agreed to come back here. During this time a crowd of locals has gathered around the van and had been incessantly trying to talk to us. A little kid thrust his hand through the window (it was open).

"Hello, you need guide and I can offer you special price. We have three trips $15, $20 $25………"

We smiled at each other wryly.

"Yes, we know. Thank you. Don’t need guide."

We got out of the van and were once again surrounded with offers of guides which we politely tried to ignore. This was exactly what we had hoped to avoid. I spotted a food stall and thought now would be a good time to grab a drink and maybe a bite to eat.

"You want drink?" said the woman.

"How much?" I replied pointing at the coke.

"10,000," said the little kid.

I laughed incredulously, "and the water?" pointing to a small bottle normally costing 1000Rp.

"10,000," said the little kid.

"No really. How much?"

"10,000."

"OK, forget it then. I’m not that thirsty."

We set off in what we thought was vaguely the right direction surrounded by five or six locals. They’d leave us eventually.

"Hey you need guide, you need guide."

"No we don’t," we replied, "that’s why we come this way."

"You get lost. Very difficult."

I pointed to the peak. "Look it’s there. Exactly how difficult can it be?"

We continued walking.

The pack got more and more animated and at this point an older guy started jumping in front of us.

"Hey you need guide. Only $20."

"We don’t need guide. We don’t want guide. We want to go on our own. Thank you."

The guy got more intense.

"Hey, look, stop. We talk. You need guide."

We carried on.

He began to harangue Vit and Diana who were just behind me and they did their best to politely decline; when this didn’t work they ignored him. He jumped in front of me again.

"Hey stop. You need guide." I stopped and looked at him.

"I’m sorry. We want to go on our own. We don’t want a guide. Okay. Thank you."

We continued.

He jumped in front of me again and tried to grab my arm. The rest of the group continued to buzz around and the whole thing began to get very heated. I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying at this point but it was something like ‘hey, this not your country, this our village, I make path, you can’t go this way,’ etc, etc.

I replied as calmly and assertively as I could. "We would like to walk up the mountain. Thank you."

The guy became absolutely furious. He hit me with a tirade of abuse and the rest of the group got more and more animated. This was something I had never experienced in all my previous travels and it was very, very uncomfortable. It was turning into a rather ugly scene. My gut reaction was to carry on but I could see Vit and especially Diana were even more uncomfortable than I was. Diana spoke.

"We’re not paying $20 for a guide when we don’t want one."

"OK. OK. $10."

"No, thank you."

"OK. 100,000." (A couple of weeks wages.)

I laughed. "No way. Why should we? We can go ourselves."

The guy went nuts again. One of the younger chaps attempted to step in quietly.

"Hey, I take you. Good price."

By now we’d walked some distance but though it seemed like a while it had probably only been three or four minutes.

"OK, you give me 80,000Rp."

Diana spoke to Veet and looked at me and said:

"What about 50,000?"

It was impossible for us to discuss the situation and so I asked them if they spoke French. They didn’t, and I didn’t speak German. I really wasn’t keen on giving them anything but the situation was very unpleasant. The young chap spoke to Diana.

"I take you for 50,000."

We stopped and looked at each other; it was seeming like we had little choice. We reluctantly agreed.

Suddenly it was all hypocritical smiles and the irate guy shook us by the hand and thanked us. My immediate English reaction was to shake his hand and smile but afterwards I regretted it deeply. To put it into perspective we were paying someone 50,000Rp (one week’s wages) for two hours work which we didn’t need. Compare that to what a schoolteacher gets paid in Indonesia and it’s obscene.

Our ‘guide’ was a younger, quieter, 18 year old called Mali. I got the impression that he was quite embarrassed by the whole thing. I wondered how much of the 50,000Rp he would see. We were accompanied by one of his mates, the little kid from the village, and a friend of his. The little kid told us his name but I wasn’t interested and mentally referred to him as Macauley. He was twelve years old, spoke excellent English – sometimes with an Australian accent – and was extremely precocious.

We set off up the initially gentle slopes at quite a gallop; the kids talking incessantly. We put the unpleasantness behind us as we didn’t want it to spoil what was supposed to be an exciting day. After about twenty minutes, the terrain steepened and our pace had slackened. We stopped for a brief rest and admired the fantastic views – in front of us the parched grassy ascent which led up to the rim of Batur; behind us the long slopes, partly covered in fir and deciduous trees, leading back to the village; the lake in the distance and the sheer cliffs surrounding us on all sides. Macauley pulled a bottle of coke from his bag – so this was why he was here.

"You want drink?" he said with a slimy smile.

"How much?"

"You pay at bottom."

"Not 10,000 I don’t."

"Maybe later, OK?"

I shrugged in a non-committal fashion – I wasn’t interested in getting fleeced by a twelve year old, regardless of how thirsty I was. This was aided by the fact that Vit had rather intelligently brought a large bottle of water from which we drank a small amount.

We continued up the steep, dusty, rocky track; the kids still talking incessantly. They asked me if I was married and I gave the appropriate Balinese answer of ‘not yet’.

"You want to buy wife?" asked Macauley's friend. I laughed. "No, do you?" Everyone started chuckling.

I looked at him again and asked. "Are you married?"

"Oh yes," he said.

"And you have children?"

"Three children."

Macauley joined in.

"Monkey children. They live in the forest."

Everyone cracked up. We discussed his monkey children for a while and then got on to ages, concluding that he was actually a mature man of fifty and I was seventy.

We were still going at quite a pace but were beginning to tire; Diana visibly so. We stopped more frequently (and each time I was offered a drink) and I used these opportunities to look around and take a number of photos. The village was now far below us, set amongst a browny-green patchwork of fields and trees.

The terrain was now quite steep and the intermittent trees gave way to the clumps of wiry grass which spread out either side of the dirt track. We had only been walking for around an hour but the mid-afternoon sun had been hitting us hard the whole way. We began to notice sparse clouds below us moving around the lake; we were now within ten minutes of the summit. Our steps got heavier but eventually the ground began to level off and we were on the rim.

The first thing I noticed was a couple of benches which had been strategically positioned there; I fell onto one with a groan. The rest of the group soon joined me and we finally took in the magnificent view: the long route down to the village, the lake stretching itself around the cone, the sheer cliffs in the distance, and, of course, the crater. Several hundred metres in diameter, the uneven rim trailed round to the west and south, its inner walls partly covered by scrub. To the south-east, the crater fell away and in the distance I could see black lava flows looking like an oil slick on a brown sea. The uneven floor of the cone was around 100 feet below me, steam emanating from a number of cracks. I moved away from the group slightly to gain some personal space and take in the scene.

Macauley began to hover, his bag open and three bottles of coke in his hand.

"You want drink now?"

"Not if they’re 10,000."

"OK, OK, I give you good price – 8000." I laughed and said ‘no way’. Macauley looked sullen and gave some speech about carrying them all the way up the mountain which I regarded as his problem.

"How about 20,000 for three," said Diana.

"I’m not going to pay him 7000," I replied.

"Look we’ll get them," she said. "Pay us 5000."

I should have felt guilty at this point for being so tight, but I didn’t. Macauley wasn’t happy with the price but opened the drinks with a sullen expression, muttering under his breath. He then asked us if we’d pay some money so that he could give one to the guide and at this point we gave a polite version of ‘fuck off, stop taking the piss.’ He sat and sulked on the bench cursing loudly in Balinese; mostly , I thought, directed at me. It was strange – he’d told me I was his best friend twenty minutes earlier. I later learned an Indonesian proverb, ‘habis manis sepah dibuang’, ‘after the sweetness the remains are discarded’. I didn’t mind being discarded.

We drank the coke and I asked Mali about the empty stalls that were up here. He said they served drinks as it got very busy up here at sunrise – this morning there had apparently been nearly one hundred people. I was now very glad I’d come at this time of day. It was clear, if a little hazy. Beautiful, and we were the only ones stupid enough to be up here in the middle of the day. The only thing spoiling it was the kids who seemed to be getting noisier and noisier. My main reason for wanting to come up on my own was to experience the quiet and take everything in. At 1717m above sea level, it was by no means the highest volcano in Indonesia; but the way in which it rose 700m (over 2000 feet) from the caldera floor, the calm lake at its feet and the cliffs all around – it truly was a wonderful place.

Vit, Diana and I were in awe of the whole scene, but those accompanying us seemed quite bored by it. I wondered how many times you had to climb up here before that happened. They obviously wanted to move on so we asked about following the rim around to the other side and perhaps look at the remains of the still smoking crater which erupted in 1994. Macauley, who seemed to speak for everyone, said this could be done but it would cost more – surprise, surprise. This would have given us the option of taking the long way down but we had already arranged where to meet our driver so we decided to wander around the rim as far as we could and then return the same way. Mali agreed to take us and thankfully the entourage stayed where they were.

Mali was actually a really nice guy. He quietly led us up to a higher part of the rim and we approached the area where steam was rushing out of the rocks, blown by the wind. He showed us a place ten feet down from the edge where it was possible to cook eggs and we tentatively placed our hands against the rock to feel the heat. Mali took a chunk of red lava, scarred with yellow sulphur stains for me to keep. We then took a few photos of each of us standing inside a volcano, the steep brown walls above and below us, rocky and scrub-covered, and the gusts of steam shooting out over the rim.

We climbed back up and continued our progress past the rushing steam. The rim was now sheer on both sides; to continue we had to precariously find hand and footholds in the rock. Standing on the rim again, I asked for a photo to be taken and as I looked either side of me realised how steep it really was. We reached the far side and were able to see the kids as specks sitting on the bench – this gave a real sense of scale so I took a couple of pictures. We could now get a better view of the plume of white smoke from a smaller cone further on and all around us we could see the solidified lava flows stretching out in all directions across the floor of the basin. It was a very impressive sight. We had a fantastic view of the whole area and sat quietly transfixed by it. Clouds moved around below us and it was all so peaceful.

Mali didn't seem that interested in sitting there for ages admiring the view so we briefly discussed the idea of sending him off with the 50,000Rp and making our own way back when we felt like it. This seemed to be a good plan so we told him of our intentions and he seemed quite pleased that he could go early.

However, he then quietly spoke.

"You give me 10,000 for taking you to here?"

We looked at each other.

"No," said Vit, "sorry but we agreed a price and you didn’t mention anything about paying more."

Mali shrugged his shoulders and we gave him the 50,000Rp. He said goodbye and set off at a canter around the rim. We felt a little guilty as he was actually a nice guy and we wondered how much he would actually get to keep. However, we were still smarting from the events earlier and had a good old bitch about everything that had happened. But now we were on our own as intended. Complete silence all around, broken only occasionally by the movement of the clouds. It was fantastic being somewhere so big and having it all to yourself. We sat there for a long while watching the misty tide ebbing and flowing over the crater floor. From time to time a chill wind would bring the clouds rushing towards us, piercing our bodies and skimming across our bones until the equatorial sun broke through again. I had never been in a cloud before.

As the sky disappeared, the crater shrank away, leaving the three of us suspended on a small patch of rocky ground; this was a magical place. The clouds wrapped around us, drifting across our eyes; they were here to stay; it was time to make a move.

We walked carefully around the rim, stopping once or twice to take precarious looking photos. Back at our original spot, we sat for a while wondering if the skies would clear enough for us to see the sunset. After half an hour or so it didn’t seem likely and it had gone 5pm. It seemed sensible to start heading back down. As we descended, the air cleared to reveal the village below us. Sunshine filled the caldera but behind us the top 30 metres of volcano were hidden beneath a protective blanket of cloud. We stopped halfway down for a brief rest and then continued our descent at a relatively rapid rate.

It was dark as we approached the village. Macauley was there, sitting on a motorbike, gave us a wave and then drove off. We walked the last kilometre through small farms with small collections of kids shouting ‘hello’ over and over again – celebrity status achieved. Wayan was still there waiting. Macauley caught us again.

"You want drink? 3000?"

My head said ‘Fuck off.’ My mouth smiled and said, "No, thank you."

As we got into the truck he held out his hand, I assumed for a tip – we ignored it.

Wayan laughed as we told him what had happened. We couldn’t decide whether he’d set us up or not but we gave him the benefit of the doubt.