Today we traveled 250 miles to Mount Bromo (and its active volcano). The travel agent and my guidebook estimated 8-9 hrs for the journey. We took a private shared van, contracted by the travel agency. We rode with four other western travelers.
The driver stopped about 30 minutes into the trip. We were still in Jogja. He didn’t say anything to us. And we didn’t get out of the car. A policeman approached the back of the truck. I did not see a police car, nor a police station nearby. The driver unloaded several large boxes from the trunk and gave them to the policeman. It seemed shady to me. Jameelah agreed. We could only guess what was inside those boxes.
The driver hauled butt on the highway. Ten hours later we stopped at another travel agency. We hadn’t climbed any mountain yet, so I knew it’d be at least another hour or two. So we were going to be late.
A travel agent sat with each one of us to upsell the sunrise jeep trip to a high vista of the volcano. I firmly said no. Oh, and he didn’t like that. But I asked him, how could I trust their operation now that we will be four hours late? And perhaps they would upsell us on other stuff, too, later. I stuck it to him. I was not happy about the service of these two travel agencies we dealt with today.
We arrived at Cemoro Lawang, the town atop Mount Bromo, at 9pm. It was cold up there–about 30 degrees cooler than sea level. We did not have adequate clothing. The best we could do was wear multiple layers of shirts and pants.
They dropped us off at a different hotel than the agent in Jogja told us. The hotel room was spartan and cold. We were upset. We had been lied to about the location and quality of our room. We went to the front desk and let them have it. But they acted like nothing was wrong. We went back to our room fuming.
Then someone came to our room, to rent us winter jackets at an exorbitant price. I declined. He persisted on renting the coat, but I stood firm. He left in a huff.
Jameelah was upset and loud and paranoid. She forbid us to eat breakfast there in the morning. She was sure they mumbled to each to taint it. I let that one go. Whatever. We’ll eat somewhere else. I did my best to calm her down.
I left to explore the town for a better hotel. I stumbled upon Mark, a traveler I met in Jogja, who went with a different travel agency. He had the same problems as us–crappy room in a different hotel than agreed upon.
This little town’s travel industry is price-gauged by a mafia–similar to the batik artwork in Jogja. The hotel owners and staff must deal with these tourist outrages every night. And they didn’t show much sympathy. I’m not sure how they were compensated or otherwise motivated to carry out this cold-hearted milking of westerners.
But I shifted my atitude and remembered why I came here–to see a natural landmark. The town, Cemoro Lawang, is perched on the edge of a huge crater. And the volcano, Gunung Bromo, and its sister mountain sit in the bottom of that crater.
I wandered over to the edge for a gander. The moon was full. And the volcano’s smoke cloud wrapped around its neighboring mountain peak. It was a spectacular sight–one of the best ever for me. This trip was worth the hassle.
Next I prepared for our hike to the volcano tomorrow. I bought two winter hats, scarves, and gloves for us from some peddlers outside. I got a good price after a round of negotiating. The town’s mini-marts were all closed. But I poked my head into one with its door open and someone watching TV with the lights off. I insisted on buying a cup of noodles, and they sold me a cup. They even poured hot water in.
I returned to Jameelah with a hat, scarf, gloves, and hot noodles for her. She cheered up a bit. We agreed to sleep on our normal schedule, check out, and then venture to the volcano on our own.
