Feeding off the fat of the Ausies.

What is this horrible place boss?

Buy some cheap shit Boss?

Transport Boss?

It’s a wooden hard cock Boss?

One for your keys Boss?

One for your girlfriend Boss?

One to make your friends laugh?

How about a bumper sticker that says, “Kyle is gay”?

Or this one that say, “I drive like a cunt”?

Just come inside Boss?

Cum inside Boss.

Very cheap Boss.

I’m not your boss.”

Will you give me your money?

Yes, maybe.”

Ok Boss.

How about you eat at a restaurant called Naughty or Wicked?

The food is five time more than the local food, but its ribs done just like at home.

You like ribs, right Boss?

Western food – Yay!


Fat beer bellies getting burned on the beach.

Disgusting thongs, men and women, and not flip-flops.

Loud drunken crowds.

Offensive to the local’s sense of acceptable public behavior.


But they are paying Boss.

Transport Boss?

Very cheap.

Massage? Asks a 13 year old with braces.

Just in case an old pervert is walking by.


Go get too much sun, too much food, beer, cheap shit.

Go out to the GO-GO bar and tell your wife you were just getting drunk.

You won’t buy the girl, just have a crack making sexual comments at her.

Oh hello Boss, come in my shop, special deal for you.

Please buy Master.

How much for this wooden cock?”

10 dollars master.

10! No thanks.”

Ok 5.

No, maybe later.”



3 cocks for a dollar, give your friends a cock Boss.


I’ll show it to some local girls!”

They will be disgusted and I’ll get half a boner!,”

And some stories to tell while getting drunk tonight!”

Yelling, “This fucking shop girl kept staring at my cock!”


Where you go Boss?

Transport Boss?

Surfboard Bro?

Massage Sir?


Can I talk you into a spontaneous tattoo?

This tribal is cool.

It’s Indonesian.

What about this cock?

Just like your keychain.

It’s very funny, Boss.


Off to the Rice Fields

I woke at 6 am. Yes I cannot believe it either but I did go to sleep around 10 the night before so I guess it’s not too surprising. I sat with Ary and two of her friends showed up, Galle and Hastate, I think were their names. The girl did research here and I’m not sure about the guy, but he graciously said he could take me around Denpasar and help me find seeds to take home. They all, but mostly Ary told me about other local plants or fruits that have healing properties. She had had cancer and beat it, four operations she said but still beaten. I did not ask what kind of cancer but my first guess is cervix.


They left and Ary and I took off. Down the road and then down another smaller turn off. It was basically a one lane road but bigger than the pathway of last night. She told me about different plants as we walked past them.

There was a small stream and we walked along a path next to it. I don’t remember if it was a turn off or the road just became this. On either side of the stream were rice fields. It looked like there were places where you could stick a board in the stream, damming it, and it would flood your property. I was reminded of my old irrigation on the Clay St. property of my youth.

At one of the rice fields we walked out into it. The fields here are special because they are stair-stepped one below another so that the water floods from one to the next. The fields are on the side of a mountain so this is kind of necessary. Each paddy is in a small section, maybe 10 by 30 meters, some smaller and probably some bigger. We went up to the owners little house in the middle of the property, I later learned they were just care takers, the land owner doesn’t do the work of farming. They watched us walk up with smiles on their faces. This has been my experience in most of South East Asia, no anger or suspicion at someone on their property, no idea of trespassing or claim of ownership. They don’t suspect you to steal something, or to ruin something that can’t be fixed.

They didn’t speak English so I just said “Hallo” and Ary did all the talking. She wants to make records of the culture because most of Bali is now just for tourists. There is not going to be any of the old culture left soon. It will be a new culture, a salesman culture, not traditional or living off the land.

DSCF5666 They offered us a seat and food right away. I sat but didn’t know what they were talking about so I got up to take pictures. Their home is on the side of a large mountain. Most of the mountain is trees, except for the place cleared, what looks like a long time ago, and made into a livable, workable property. It is a small house and about 2 acres of rice. When you look across the valley to the mountain next, you see from a distance dense trees of dark green, then cut outs with bright green rice fields patched across the mountain side. You can see the many different levels of the fields too and there are patches of palm trees around the fields and a house, usually centered on the property

DSCF5675The people’s house that I was at had a few papaya trees and some ponds right next to the house. In the ponds were hundreds of fish, and the furthest pond the fish were one foot to one and a half, and some orange coy, as the rest were thinner grey fish. The fish poop and fertilize the water. In the water they grow morning glory, and the water flows into the rice patties to fertilize them. I didn’t see much else growing so I guess they buy or trade for other vegetables.

Along the front of the different rice paddies is a path to walk which is higher and holds in the water. There are ½ foot cut outs here to let it drain into the next pond. On the corners there are steps cut into the soil to go up to the next level, but not at every corner so it is a bit of a maze to get to where you want to go. This style horticulture, of stair stepping the paddies and letting the water run down from one to the next is special, and one of the cultural techniques that may be lost to them in the near future.

DSCF5684 I think you could stand for hours looking out across the mountains. The sky, this bright blue. The different greens of the mountains. I think it’s all alive, other than the rare house or a road if you can spot one, which is unlikely. It’s all alive. Even the people here are more alive. They talk. And they just sit. And they work. One of the older guys had lost many of the teeth, something that I have problems with. His fronts were ok but his backs were mostly gone, he just had one good pair that looked pretty weak and dying. I stared his two usable teeth for a while. He was probably 50. And I imagine he will be out pulling rice and working hard in 3 days when the harvest comes. Like I said when we showed up, they were sitting. Resting. The oldest man – maybe 60 – started sharpening the blades of some scythes and the hoe. They were harvest yet and had no TV to watch or computer to waste their time on. Their house was a few rooms with no ceilings. They had a roof but basically there was no sound privacy and the bugs could do whatever they pleased. The house was concrete and cold. Not much on the walls. Not much color. Life is outside, the room is for sleep. Now I must say this is the rare case and these are old, poor people. Most people, especially kids have smart phones and want to be like the west. Processed foods are moving in and Facebook is king. But they still talk and laugh and have a good time in a close personal way, without alcohol most of the time.

Ary finished talking with them. Took a picture of the woman and man. The woman looked away from the camera and tried to act natural and to laugh and be beautiful, but she was very self-conscious. I think the man was similar but I didn’t watch him while his picture was being taken. Then we left and made our way through the maze, climbing up from level to level. I had forgotten my notebook and they yelled for me. I would have been very sad if I had lost it, or had to go far back to get it. We got to the next property, very close by, and I sat and looked out at the valley and imagined a life here. So boring but so much more fulfilling. My heart and soul nourished, but maybe my brain bored, wanting videogames or something stupid like keep my brain active but my heart numb. I thought of marrying an Indonesian woman and having a farm. My mind jumped ahead to how much happier I would be when I died, though it would not be an easy life. The farmers I met did not own the property, there was someone else who had many places and they got about  50% of the money earned from the harvest. Maybe I could be that guy. Or start an English school on the side. Or even have a hostel or farm-stay to bring in more money. And also…my mind went quiet. And I just sat. So quiet out there. So much to take in, but all of it simple. So peaceful.

We walked back to the stream and saw a mother and her son collecting coconuts. We went to their shop and drank one. They had two dogs, a cat and some chickens. I think the family was a husband, wife, two sons and a daughter. The boys played football, the man talked with a friend and the wife cut open our coconut and did dishes. The little girl picked up a pole and walked down the mountain out of my view. When we left I asked how much and she said “up to you.” I was very confused as was Ary, but up to me. I gave her 10,000, about one dollar. I guessed it would normally be 5,000 but she was nice and if up to me better to be generous that cheap I guess. I think she was smart and figured I’d over pay this way, and she didn’t have the guilt of charging me more than normal.

We walked back to the house. It had been about three hours. I wrote and was ready to sleep, but I didn’t think it was a good idea so I walked to a waterfall Ary had told me about. She told me the back way. I got lost for a second but then a little kid told me the way and then a woman with a baby whose dog wanted to eat me did the same. The waterfall was very nice. The way back was all uphill and my legs were very tired from 4 days of intense workout. I was actually getting overwhelmed by all the great things I had been seeing and experiencing. I think some of them had far less of an impact because I had been amazed so much already. So the waterfall was really special but I have few details recollect, it was just peaceful.


Odalan – Full Moon Celebration in Munduk Bali


Most of the village, the town is all considered related so they are one family, is Hindu. Ary, the lovely woman who decided to host me as a couch surfer, told me it is actually a mix of Hindu and Buddhism. Munduk is small and I had to take a motorbike here as there are no buses. It is a tourist spot, which surprised me, mostly French, but it’s not cheap, most people rent cars to bring them here, but I found a local motorbike taxi and paid him 4 dollars to drive me the 30 minutes up steep roads full of turns. I arrived around 2 PM still exhausted from being up all night at Ijen and from doing so much the previous two days. Ary had a nice room for me and I took a shower – cold but refreshing. Then we headed to the ceremony.

We found what looked like a little driveway off the road but turned out to be a concrete path winding all the way down the side of the mountain; past beautiful homes full of flowers and lush trees, all very close, a neighborhood connected by a long walkway. The path was thin, steep and winding, though motorbikes were coming it as well. As we went lower into the valley a thin mist began to form. At one point we passed by a beautiful Indonesian woman taking a bath and doing laundry in her concert tub on the side of the path. I did not want to be caught looking at her exposed breasts. I said hello and kind of kept my head down. She had great breast, hard due to the cold water, not to big, but dark and firm, and she was not shy about them in any way. Her and her friend had smirks on their faces and laughed, I think they joked about my embarrassment in Bahasa Indonesian.

At the end of the path we were on another road, full of hundreds of people, cars and motorbikes, all pushing through trying to get to the ceremony. All of the people were dressed in saris of uncountable designs and colors. The women wore shirts of bright colors, many sheer, but they had on undershirts, there were many floral patterns and things like this. Their hair was in pony tails or pulled into a bun and wrapped in tight black silk hairnets. They had pieces of rice stuck onto their forehead in the place of the red dot seen on many Hindus. The men wore mostly white jackets and a white headband with sharp folds making a strong pointy pattern in the center of their head. I put on a sari basically like a dress, wrapped around my waist and down to just above my feet, then a belt and my normal shirt. I’m sure I looked funny trying to figure out how to put it on. Bule.

DSCF5638Walking up the steps and into the even denser crowds of people I was overwhelmed. There was a man flinging holy water on everyone with a small paint brush. Once inside it is hard to decide which way to go. There were people coming out of a doorway and it seemed like the right place, but where to enter? I was clearly looking at the exit. Pushing past some girls and young boys with heavy make up on their faces and big head dresses on of gilded metal leaves and designs, I found the entrance. Inside there was a small set of steps leading up to a platform where from the outside leading in there was another door and a steady stream of women bringing in baskets on their heads filled with offerings of food and flowers , some whole cooked chickens, fruit and vegetables. Later they would take it back home. I don’t think it is the belief but I like the thought that the food would now be blessed and better to eat.

Past the food offerings there were maybe 100 people sitting in prayer, but not stiff, they all seemed very relaxed, some held their thumbs to middle finger on their knees, but most were just sitting and looking, or chatting with the person next to them. In front of everyone were some men with lots of flowers preparing holy water and possibly other things though I don’t know what, it seemed very anti-climactic. One the side there were people playing instruments and there was a man singing or chanting. His voice was very harmonious and calming to listen to. He was sitting next to three other guys. One of them would make a speech later that sounded almost like he was announcing winners to a contest.

I stood and listened for a while but didn’t sit down because the ground was muddy and I didn’t have a plastic bag to sit on. I left through the exit door and got some more holy water splashes, and went to admire the people in makeup, performers. They had long eyelashes and eyeliner, with blue around their eyelids and along their cheekbones, it drew a majority of my attention to their eyes.  Their cheeks were reddish, basically their whole face was heavily made up, and they wore bright red lipstick. The girls had elaborate golden head dresses. The boys had spears and almost the same makeup and clothing. They looked very famine, and at first I confused them for younger girls. Later all would dance. The girls had very defined hand movements like in Khmer tradition dance, with fingers and feet in specific positions that would flow into the next position and stop stiffly for pose. DSCF5644They would shake their hips as they moved up and down, and they would shake their heads with a stiff head bobble, the head seeming to rotate directly from the stem of the spinal cord. When they did this they would open their eyes wide and stare with intense directness and strength, almost giving off the look of insanity, then change into a sweet, laughing smile, self-awareness showing through. In some of the dances they would wear long dresses, holding them at their lower thighs as they spun, the dress going high out to the sides. In other dances they used fans, or they would face each other in a circle and show off, maybe in contest, maybe in fun and feminity.

The boys, there were six of them, wore similar dresses but more like the sari I had on. They fought each other with spears or they practiced moves. One of the boys kept shoving his spear into the face of a little girl in the crowd. She was laughing with joy and jumping her head back with every thrust.

This was the second day of three for the ceremony. They have a ceremony every full moon and new moon. The festival starts in the early morning and goes into the night. On the last day it goes all night long.

We walked home in the foggy night. The houses along the walkway provided some light but a flashlight was needed, there certainly were no street lights. Though their houses are small and open without privacy, it felt comfortable and cozy in the cold wet village. Once on the street you could see the big mountains around you, covered in a white mist, cold but not too cold because it’s still tropical here and we’d just walked up the steep path. Although I would miss the comforts of modern life, for me this would be a great place to call home.

Ijen and the Blue Fire

From start to finish this was my favorite part of the tour. We stayed in a guest house in some coffee plantations, didn’t see much coffee though, but below the guest house were big gardens with mountains around them, there were mostly strawberries in the gardens. The people here were very friendly, with big smiles and happy to talk to me. I went off looking for the seeds of a plant called Kelor to take home for my mom to grow. I’m told it grows all over Indonesia and seems like a miracle plant. It is good for your garden, adding fertilizer, nitrates or something, and is a natural pesticide. It is rich in vitamins and a source of yen cooling energy, and fights black magic. It is used medically to treat loss of appetite, epilepsy, ulcers, jaundice, muscle pains, herpes and other skin wounds. You can eat it in soups and the seeds can purify drinking water from germs and other impurities. The people there, fishing or going on walks or heading to mosque, said it didn’t grow in that area, but they were very amused by my looking for it and asking in Bahasa Indonesian. I had gotten a nice gay Indonesian guy on our tour to teach me how to ask to buy it and I think what he wrote translated into: “Can you give me a gift of some Kelor seeds?”

The guest house was worth a few days stay but we went to bed after just a few hours, at 7pm and tried to get some sleep, then woke up at midnight and didn’t return. Luckily I was tired from getting lost on Mt. Bromo the day before and did get some rest.  Off to the mountain.

The climb up was steep and about three kilometers. I barely stopped and let my heart rate climb high and level out. It is different to climb in the middle of the night. I talked with a cute Indonesian girl on the way up and some of her friends. It’s weird to talk with girls who have saris over their head and are clearly Muslim. I don’t know the rules. Another time I had been told not to touch a girl, not even to shake her hand. I don’t know the way to tell the level of each girl’s strictness in her religion.

At the top there was just about nothing, only a sign saying “Danger, it is not allowed to go any further”. I did not notice this sign till after I had come back up from going further. It was dangerous too, we went down into a valley or something, very steep, walking on rocks that could slip away. Of course there was no railing, like most outdoor tourist sites in SE Asia, but also it winded on itself often so if you fell it could be down multiple sections at once, meaning, it was a damn far fall, maybe death. The sulfur wasn’t too bad till I was at the blue fire. There, when the wind changed and blew it in my direction, it burned into my lungs. As it attacked my chest I did not get enough oxygen so I wanted to breathe even deeper. Even with my sweatshirt over my face, it didn’t filter much of the sulfur smoke, and it burned my eyes so I couldn’t see. The only good move was to stay still, breath slowly, and get lower to the ground.

The blue fire. It is the sulfur on fire. It does not stop, 24 hours a day, until all the resource has been used up which I guess will not be for a long time. It’s supposedly only present in two places in the world, here and in Iceland. In the night not much is visible, blackness and smoke, but when the smoke shifts you catch a glimpse of it, blue flames on the side of the mountain. It is like they are hovering, dangling in the air because you can see nothing but blackness around them. Multiple different patches of them but the smoke blocks your view so when they appear you stare in amazement. Something about it being the side of the mountain that is burning, or that it is rock that’s burning, or that you just climbed up here in the middle of the night. It’s like no fire you have ever seen before, it is like it’s not fire at all. Everyone is in awe, trying to get pictures though the picture are just blue flames in a field of nothingness, they just can’t do it justice as most pictures usually cannot for scenes of natural beauty. You must see it with your own eyes.

DSCF5625They have set up little tubes to collect the melted sulfur as it runs off. It goes down the tubes and onto the ground below, where it hardens and the workers, local men, break off pieces with a metal pole and carry them one kilometer up the steep rocky path that I came down, and then down the mountain another three kilometers, all in two baskets connected by a piece of wood that they then carry on their shoulder muscles on one side of their bodies or the other. Fifty to seventy kilograms we are talking about here. They do it two times per day, every one of them. Most of the men I talked to have been doing this for upwards of twenty years or were sons of men who have been doing it for longer. One older man had a torch made of a soda bottle full of fuel with a rag sticking out. He stood, torch in hand, amid the sulfur smoke posing for pictures, breathing it in for extra tips. None of the men wore face masks.

I stayed up there till 7am. There were different places to stand with different views, avoiding the smoke was always at the top of my list of priorities. There was also a lake that I didn’t see till the sun was coming up. It was very acidic, I put my hand in to see if it was hot, it was hot, a little more than lukewarm, but it also burned the cuts on my hand, and even my skin but only slightly. I didn’t notice it at first but within a few second the acidic water started biting into the exposed flesh. It hurt pretty bad for about 15 minutes.

There were people collecting the molten sulfur and pouring it into water slowly to make pretty (stupid) looking souvenirs to sell to us. They looked like hand dripped beeswax candles.  In the daylight I also found the toilet amid some rocks off the path, where the early morning dump is taken when needed.

Really the fire was beautiful, incredible, alien, but it was the whole experience that made it great. I was one of the first up as I walked fast and past most of the Indonesian tourists who had started a little earlier, and I was one of the last ten to leave. One the way out I had had enough sulfur. It came hard at us while we walked out up the rocky path. I didn’t think I could take anymore. My hacking lungs started to sound bad and I kept gaging. But I made it out and looked down at the smoke and flames from above, less impressive in the daylight.

I gave one of the guys carrying sulfur rock a shoulder massage, he said it was the first time anyone had done that. He had been carrying those heavy loads for 24 years. I said he must have a great wife to work so hard for her, he laughed and said yes of course he did.

On the way down I passed tourists going up. They were tired and didn’t really look at me, whereas all the workers smiled big at me and said hello enthusiastically. I don’t know how they keep their spirits up while working so damn hard but I guess they have to or day after day it would be unbearable. I gave a few of them snacks from my bag and bought some silly turtles molded out of the sulfur for a buck. I forget the figures of how much they made for a trip of seventy kilos but it was small, 10 or 20 cents on the kilo, but I was told they make double what a normal worker in Indonesia makes.  I would put it on my list of hardest working jobs, maybe hardest, but definitely not worst jobs, just hardest.

Mt. Bromo Indonesia



First stop on my three day tour from Jogjakarta to Bali, Mt. Bromo, an active volcano which I’m told last erupted three years ago and later heard it erupted again three days after I left. It must have been small because there is a whole town around it and the houses are actually quite nice, I assume they were not damaged. There were lots of farmers, I was told they grow a lot of coffee but I saw a majority of cold weather crops such as onion and cauliflower. The tour guide said it would be 6°C at 4 am.

We stayed in a hotel just outside of the park, you go down a hill and are inside, there is a big rim all around you, I guess 360 degrees but I could only see about a third of the circle, so I can’t be sure. Inside are sand flats with some small hills, kind of sharp peaked, but only a meter to three meters tall. Then there is a cone shaped mountain with some green bushes growing on it and a shorter one next to it which is the volcano Mt. Bromo. It is wider but not as tall and the top looks flat from far away, like it had been blown off long ago.

I don’t know if this small mountain is the only volcano or if both are, or if the whole area is basically one giant volcano. I’m guessing the whole area is but the short one is the mouth with the active tube releasing gas and magma. I discovered that if you pick up a piece of lava rock and throw it in the air, there is a deep boom when it hits the ground, like it is hallow underneath and the sandy floor is stretched across a huge cavern in the earth like a drum. It was a great sound to hear the earth make, deep and shallow, immense.

The trip in started at 4 am. I walked in with a Spanish couple named Miguel and Lluria, instead of paying 100,000 rupiah for a jeep tour (about $10). It was very dark and we didn’t know where to go. Some motorbike drivers gave us bad directions and we ended up paying some other ones 35,000 each to bring us to the mountain. We shouldn’t have paid it and would have been fine walking the way we were headed, but it was too dark for us to know. When we got off the bikes another guy came up holding a horse and said, “You buy my horse?” We laughed about it, he meant another ride of course, but we took it to mean did want to buy a horse, bring it on the bus, and take it home in a few weeks?

We walked up to the mountain, past locals selling coffee, to some steps. At the top you could see down into the volcano a ways, but couldn’t see magma. There were steep cliffs down to the inside of the mountain and then a hole in the middle with sulfur steam or smoke coming out.

I walked to the right, to the end of the chain railing and it seemed the path stopped. But on the other side, to the left, it went on. So I walked along that path leaving the Spanish behind. It kept going pretty far, I walked maybe a half hour till I was about halfway around. In my residual anger at paying the motorbike drivers, I was planning to slide down the outside of the mountain and cross the small hills to where they picked us up. I got to a place where it became green with bush so I thought I might go down through there, though maybe dangerous and difficult, and I wondered about snakes. Again I changed my mind and kept going to the highest peak in the path, above the very low mist line.  The view below me became less visible but on the other side of this peak, I could see there was another semi-circle touching the side of the volcano on the outside of it, it seemed like it might hold water, in the past or future.

DSCF5532I walked down until the cliffs were lowest at their point, so I decided to venture inside the volcano. If I slid/climbed down one cliff, I would be on a second plateau, then down one more and I would be just along the lip of the hole where I could lay o my stomach and maybe be able to see what was down there or feel heat on my face.

But the plan looked easier from the top than it was once inside. I went down the first hill but could find no safe path to go down the second one. I was getting a little scared too down there, so I went back up instead. The sand was hard to climb because it kept slipping under my feet. At points there were layers of mineral deposits that were sharp but would break under my feet, so not really very strong but I’m sure it would still hurt to fall on them. Before I left I did some Tallon Indian war cries into the volcano, they echoed across and some others repeated them back to me.

I got out with only difficulty because it was not too steep. I kept going along the path to try and make it all the way around. It started to rain right after I got out. Thinking it was good that I didn’t try to make it to the bottom, I trudged on hoping not to get too wet or find a nice spot for shelter. The rain didn’t last long, what it did was bring in a thick fog so I couldn’t see across the volcano at all, and the sulfur smoke was blowing right at me at times, choking me up and bring tears to my eyes.

I came to a simple shrine and gave a bow and asked for protection. A few minutes later I came to a fork, I went right realizing that the left probably went to the other mountain, but truthfully it was a guess, I didn’t know because I couldn’t see more than 10 foot in front of me. I was glad to have given a bow and assumed I had made the right choice, which I had, but quickly that trail disappeared and it looked like it went down. So I went down with it till that path disappeared. I couldn’t tell if I was going down into the volcano or outside of it into some valleys between the two mountains. I figured better to end up on the outside of the volcano rather than inside so I went down and left and steered left more than I should have. I realized it would be very difficult to get out of where I was heading, but it seemed like keeping going was the best option. A slight fear was beginning to rise and settle in me.

There were no people near me, and I doubted that anyone would really wait for me if I didn’t get back in time. I had a few hours before my bus left, I told myself to breathe and relax, then through a break in the mist I saw an Islamic structure off to my right and I recognized it as near the entrance to the stairs. I was now aware that I was between the two mountains. So I went down to the valley, where water would flow if there was some. But the water didn’t flow evenly, there was a big drop off, probably about 10 foot, maybe more, a waterfall with no water if you will. It had sheer cliffs up to where I was standing, if I jumped down I might get hurt. I slid along the edge and crept down slowly, knowing that my footing and hand holds could slide right out from under me at any point. Full of fear, or maybe what some would call adrenaline, I hung down from my arms, facing the ground, not the cliff, and dropped. My right foot pushed off a small ledge a foot below and I jumped about a meter and a half down. I knew hitting the ledge would make it risky but it made the drop less. I landed and was fine though my nerves were pulsing.

And a few minutes later… another drop off, this time 4 -5 meters. There were hand holds to try to climb down, but there was a small amount of water on them and I imagined slipping and falling or that they would just break, and me with them. I pictured myself alone in a pit with a broken leg or hitting the other side of the rock cliff with my head, as this and the other resembled a hole about two meters wide, rather than a path. I decided not to jump down,  I said no and went back up, back the way I had come, it was the only somewhat safe option. At this point I am asking myself why the fuck am I sliding and climbing and jumping down the side of a volcano, all alone in another country? I did have a phone, with almost no credit and reception, but I probably could call someone, too bad I didn’t find out the number to call in case of emergency. You always forget those sorts of things right? 911 certainly would not work here. I was starting to lose it, my mind wandered to possibilities of me dying, to being lost up there for days, but I reasoned it out and found it unlikely.

The mountain was too steep and the sand keep sliding out from under me, it was exhausting my legs fast. I got up to a point and saw foot prints, of a cat or some small four-footer. Good. I followed them but I slipped a lot more than they did. Then I got to the top of a sandy peak and sat for a moment. More prints…Human…Mine! I followed them back hoping they were where I started to go down and not one of the many back and forths I had done, zigzagging down.

They did take me to where I had started to go down, just after the fork in the path. Where before I could not see where the path was, now I could see that the path went along the peak, thin as it was. I could go on but it seemed the path was a little dangerous, only about a foot wide. On either side I could easily slip or fall down the outside of the volcano or into it. I could go the safer way back, the way I came 45 minutes. I decided to go the new way to completer the hike around the rim. On the thin path where before I might have been afraid to see down the possible deadly edge into the volcano, with sharp rocks and walls too steep to climb back out, now with hardened nerves I walked happily because there was at least some kind of path and I had a clear direction. Then I saw some small strings of yellow guard rail, and people on the edge, “Hooray!”

Thank YouI came walking up expecting the people to point at me: “You are crazy dude, what are you doing out there?” But they said nothing. I leaned on the rail and relaxed. A woman who I shared a room with, Catharine, came up and said hello and I told her a little about being so happy to be back but her response was slight. Then  saw a girl from Holland I met in Jakarta, and she too didn’t care much. I bought a bouquet of hard flowers to throw in the volcano for a wish or prayer. I said only “Thank you” when I threw them in. I had been really scared out there and realized that I was very stupid to have put myself in that position. I felt awkward because no one else around me was sharing my experience, I felt alone in my relief.

I told Catherine more about it as we walked down the stairs. She gave me the understanding I needed, she had been in Nepal and went off on her own and the mist came in and it got dangerous. I was good to hear, just to know she understood the feelings I was having or had went through. She understood being lost on a mountain, possibilities blowing through your mind, until you will yourself to calm and be logical, and the embarrassed relief when you get out of your predicament.

She headed to her jeep and I walked up the outer rim road to my hotel, it was about 8 am now. There was hot water, lucky me, my legs needed it.