Mt. Bromo, Indonesia

“I just met a guy named Orlando. He’s from MN. Actually, he’s from Minneapolis. In fact, he lives off Lake of the Isles.”

“What? You’re kidding me?!!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“No, I swear. Isn’t that insane? They’re also going to Bromo, so we’re going to meet after the train ride and coordinate transportation,” Will said with as much disbelief in his voice as I was feeling. I was awestruck. Start-struck, almost. We’ve met many wonderful travelers, some couples and a few solo, but only a handful of Americans.

“Americans graduate college and get jobs. They work their lives away. They don’t take time off to see the world. It’s so rare to meet Americans!”

We hear statements like this frequently from shocked travelers when they discover we’re Americans. And they are right… it is rare for Americans to travel like this. We barely take the 2-4 weeks of vacation offered yearly, and we all know that’s eaten up with holiday time off and long weekends in the summertime, rarely enjoyed in one long stint. In Australia or Europe, it’s half expected to go off after uni (university, or college) and explore the world. Or Europe. Or Asia. Or anything besides your own backyard.

So you can understand my excitement when we met Orland and Megan, two Minneapolis natives that know our favorite restaurants, know the lakes, the magic of a Minnesota summer and the State Fair. Megan and I even have similar yogi friends, both members of Core Power, both completed teacher training. We spent our time together laughing and sharing stories of travel and home, making plans to meet again in Minnesota. We shared a great adventure climbing Mt. Bromo, and later laying on a sleepy beach, splashing in the waves and swimming with sea urchans and sharks. It was wonderful to share our time with some new friends from back home.

It wasn’t easy getting to Bromo. The train ride was fine, a full day on a much smoother ride than we’d experienced before, and we got to the station with the normal evening rain. Except this rain was anything but normal. This evening, it was a torrential downpour, a flash flood threatening to wash us away. We suited up in rain coats and pack covers, and sloshed to a shuttle promising to bring us to the bus station where we’d board the bus up the mountain, an additional hour and a half drive. The sun was setting as the shuttle slowly putted through the drowning streets.

The 'bus station' just so happened to be a nice tour guides office, and our driver refused to bring us to the actul station, so we chatted with the nice tour guide and negotiated a decent rate to get us up the mountain. A fancy truck with leather seats pulled up, the four of us climbed in, and we cheersed to our success in finding a comfortable ride for a great price. This windy ride was looking up!

500 meters later, the truck swerved off the road. The driver threw it in park, ran to the back, and started unloading our bags. Confused we hopped out of the truck.

“You wait here.”

“For what?”

The truck drove off as two girls ran up, desperation in their eyes. They had been waiting hours for more people to arrive. Another shuttle driver refused to leave with just the two girls, stating their option was to pay for the entire bus or wait. They were starving and exhausted. It sounded like it had been hours of arguing and negotiating what wasn’t a fair deal in their favor.

We’d heard some horror stories about getting stuck in town, and since we were on the last train in, we knew it may be tough to get up the mountain. A group of 6 was easier to negotiate for, however magically the cost per head increased from what the girls had been told earlier. Eventually reaching an agreement, paying 4 times what the tour guide quoted us (a rate we had already negotiated), we were on our way, winding around sharp turns under the light of the moon.

We didn’t have a room booked, but there are many guesthouses in the small town where the trailheads start. We were at about 7,000 feet in elevation, and although the morning started hot and sticky, the cool mountain air chilled our bones. The night was a cold one, but we didn't plan to sleep for long, which worked well, because we were snuggled together in 1 twin bed to stay warm and because we picked a super cheap room with questionable cleanlieness.

The alarm went off at 3am. We pulled our warmer layers on, grabbed the head lamp, and met Orlando and Megan for the start of our climb. We avoided the group tours and jeep rides in favor for the hike, and made our way up the mountain, stopping for hot coffee from local vendors along the trail.

We made it to the top in a few hours, just as the sun was peaking over the mountain range, and watched the morning haze swirl with the sulfuric smoke rising from the active volcano. It was serene an quite. We’d avoided the popular lookouts in lieu for a more intimate experience, shared between the 4 of us and a nice French couple who abandoned their jeep tour. I took 5 years of French, and the most I could spit our was “Et, Voila!” after snapping their photo on the mountain. Mr. Bouruff wouldn’t be proud.

Here's the famous jump shot. We've taught a few travelers this little trick along the way. Want to capture your own in 1 take? See video below!

The hike down the mountain was enjoyable, passing many farms and green gardens we hadn’t seen in the darkness on our trek up, and we ate a huge buffet breakfast at the hotel Orlando and Megan booked. As difficult as it was to get there, we left on the first bus out that same morning, returning down the mountain and back to the sticky heat of sea level.

From Mt. Bromo, with Love,

Sara + Will