By James & Chloe
After a rather delayed hotel transfer we arrived at Banguwangi Homestay, a small house with a German couple staying in the room next to us and the family relegated to sleeping on the living room floor. We were pretty uncomfortable about this, but our host Desy insisted, I guess they make enough money for it to be worthwhile?

The Ijen Crater is famous for two things; sulphur mining and the lava that burns with a bright blue flame due to the sulphur. Unfortunately, as there had been some rain recently, we were informed that we wouldn’t be able to go hunting for the Blue Fire in the morning as it was too dangerous, so our lovely host lit some sulphur (bought down from Ijen) in the front yard of our homestay…it stank!

After far too little sleep we awoke at 12:30 am, and were bundled into our jeep and driven the hour and a half to base camp for the climb up Ijen. We were given our standard issue torches and gas masks (yes really), and told to come find Desy when we returned. So at 2.30am we began our arduous climb to the summit in the pitch black!

Now, in terms of distance, it may not be very far from the entrance to the crater, but in terms of height, it covers a huge amount of ground! Most of the climb up consisted of 30-45 degree slopes (if you google this, you’ll see how steep that actually is!) On our way up we encountered some very smiley, friendly local men with no gas masks and wearing only trainers or flip-flops. Whilst some carried baskets, others worked in a team of two to haul an empty cart up the steep slopes (just think of those huge hand trailers used at Glastonbury and other festivals, but much less shiny and new). These spindly, smiley, flip-flopped guys were the miners! In fact, as we worked our way up to the crater, they kept asking us if we’d like a taxi. We initially thought they were joking (everyone in Indonesia seems to offer you a taxi as you walk past), but it turns out, for a small fee they would push/drag you up the steep slopes in their carts. They had calves of steel! These guys make this trip up and down the steep slopes of Ijen at least once a day, shifting a minimum of 160kg of sulphur out of the crater in a single morning just to make enough money to survive. It put our aching calves into perspective.

After a tortuously steep climb on (mercifully) surprisingly well-maintained mud path, we arrived at the crater, strapped up in our gas masks against the noxious gases and sat down to try to distinguish the blue fire from the plumes of sulphuric fumes that were emanating from a far-off patch of darkness. If we squinted juuuust right, we could make out the distant flicker of blue flames, but unfortunately, we weren’t allowed down into the crater for a closer look. We gave up at 4.30am and made our way up to the ridge (more climbing!), where one can see the sunrise.

We pitched up on a cold patch of concrete and, as the first people there, got the best spot for the glorious sunrise over the sea to Bali. The sunrise was beautiful, but it was freezing, and James’ teeth were chattering by the time the sun finally rose enough to warm us up.

Once the sun was up we turned around and explored the other side of the ridge. And boy, were we glad we did! The sunlight had an otherworldly feel to it, with a slight mist adding a golden glow to the 6am sunlight. I can honestly say, I don’t think we’ve been anywhere that took our breath away quite as much as the sun hitting the Ijen crater and beautiful scenery behind it. The beautiful creamy turquoise lake you can see in the photos is renowned for changing colour depending on the concentration of sulphur in the water; the lighter the colour the higher the content. If it’s white, get off the mountain immediately!

Once the clouds rolled in and began to obscure the crater itself we headed back down to the ‘Blue Fire viewing point’ and saw the miners in action. Using basic tools, and two bamboo baskets hung on a long stick over the shoulders (as you would two milk pails), they mined huge chunks of sickly yellow sulphur out of this crater and lugged their 80-100kg loads up the steep crater rim. Think of them the next time you spark a match…

On our way down we saw those who didn’t think the sunrise was worth getting up so early for making their way up (more fool them!! As the crater was now covered in clouds). Whereas we had walked up on our own two feet, these people chose a much more decadent form of transportation.

 

We could not fathom how they could sit there whilst four poor locals lugged them up and down the mountain, changing shoulders every 200 meters because it hurt too much. Each time we passed them- with their looks of haughty indifference on their faces, their noses in their iPhones- James couldn’t resist greeting them as either “M’lord” or “M’lady” (much to Chloe’s chagrin). I suppose it was a way of making money for the guys and it beat hacking at sulphur, but still. More white man’s guilt… it leaves such a bitter taste in one’s mouth.

On our way back to pick up our bags, we pulled over to the side of the road, on one side a Java coffee plantation, and on the other, a rubber plantation. It was strange to tap a tree and feel the fresh rubber ooze onto your finger.

So after waking up at 12:30am, and arriving back to our accommodation at 9:30, with just 10 minutes to pack up, we got a taxi to the ferry terminal, a ferry over to Bali, and a five-hour minibus ride once on the other side to Denpesar to meet Rosanna (James’ sister). We then passed out in our hotel after an incredible, but long day!

 

Which is where we will pick things up next time.

All our love,

The Backpack Duo x

By James

After a 20 minute walk, nine hours on a train, a 45 minute taxi ride and a one and a half hour minibus journey, we finally arrived at Ngadisari, our base for our trip up to Mount Bromo. This was the coldest we’ve been on our entire trip! I mean, hatesvabd scarves kind of weather!

After a very short sleep (noisy neighbours and thin walls), we were picked up at 3.30am by our driver in a cherry red jeep, picked up our fellow visitors, and headed up the mountain in pitch darkness. Ahead of us we could see five or so pairs of brake lights snaking up the hill ahead of us, to Mount Pananjakan to view the sunrise. At 2,782 meters above sea level and a full 400m higher than Mount Bromo below, it should have been the perfect spot to view the sunrise over the plain.

However.

As you can see from the out of focus photo here, everything was totally obscured by mist!

As the first rays of light trickled through the mist, 200 people, phones held aloft, rushed over to take photos (with flash) of absolutely nothing. Then they waited there, a crush of 15 people deep, at the railing waiting for a majestic sunrise.

We, along with hundreds of other sunrise seekers were very disappointed. (Including a couple of very cynical Frenchmen who were sat next to us.)

We tried not to let our dashed hopes show in our faces as we faced one another on the drive back down the winding road towards the plain. Then, suddenly, Chloe noticed over my shoulder a glimpse of a valley. We called for the driver to stop, rushed out and scrambled up the steep slope to a clearing.

We were rewarded with a majestic view of a valley we had been promised, bathed in light and a volcano puffing away below.

We were chuffed to bits, as you can see.

When we arrived at the ash-blackened plain we hopped out, told the driver we could get back ourselves (one of our group needed to catch a train) and made our way to the foot of the volcano. We were joined by Charlie and Robyn, a lovely young couple we had met on the minibus the night before, and, after a brief visit to a Hindu temple where locals were praying to the volcano (presumably asking it not to explode again- its last eruption was only in November 2016!), we started to climb.

 

The climb itself was not very challenging in terms of height, but the dust made it difficult. Whilst Mount Bromo (2373m above sea level) is not the highest volcano in Java (that honour is reserved for Mount Semeru in the east of the island), the altitude, combined with the dust that was kicked up by the horses that were carrying (lazy) tourists to the steps, meant it was quite hard to breathe and slow going.

As we got to the steps that led up to the crater, we caught the unmistakable smell of sulphur on the wind and heard what sounded like a jet engine.

I do not speak in hyperbole that when I say that, when we got to the top, heard the roar, the rumble under our feet, saw the steam bleach forth and the sheer SIZE of it all, we were awestruck and more than a little humbled. The undeniable power of nature was really brought home to us all.

Many offerings were placed on the crater rim or thrown in. We saw bouquets of flowers, fruit and biscuits. As we walked around the rim I spotted an offering that was sure to bring protection for months to come.

Yep, that’s a cow. It appeared to have been trussed up, slaughtered and thrown into the crater as a sacrificial offering.

We explored the crater’s edge for a good 45 minutes until Chloe’s hitherto unknown vertigo got the better of her and we descended for a breakfast of cold eggs, and chocolate caramel wafer bars.

Our ride now was gone, so we made our way across the southern side of the plain just the four of us, up the steep mountain road, back into Cemoro Lawang, the nearest village to the volcano. After a brunch of noodles (slimy yet chewy) and coffee (bitter and grainy), we said goodbye to Charlie and Robyn and trudged the 2.5 miles back down the valley to our hotel.

As we had been up since before dawn and had been very physical, we were exhausted. So we quickly showered, drank as much water as we could handle and passed out in each other’s arms at 1pm. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that we were awoken by the local imam singing out the prayers welcoming in the first day of Ramadan.

What a wonderful day, spent with the most wonderful woman.

Next it’s off to Ijen Crater in the extreme East of the island to visit the sulphur miners!

Until then, all our love- The Backpack Duo x

By James

After a three flight slog via Jakarta we finally arrived in Yogyakarta on the southern coast of the island of Java. Our journey involved boring waits in airports, sudden rushes to planes that were not officially announced and lots of different groups of umrah and hajj pilgrims who were all dressed in the same colours. Complete with colour coordinated bags, shirts, dresses, hijabs and even scarves- they looked for all the world like different supporters from different football clubs heading to away games, which all happened to be in Mecca.

We stayed in a place called Hati-Hati (which means ‘look out!’ in Bahasa, the official language of Indonesia’s many languages) and it was where we based ourselves for our visit to the temple sites of Borobudur (Buddhist) and Prambanan (Hindu).

On our ‘orientation day’ that we have in each new country we get to, we headed out to get money and SIM cards. To find SIM cards we headed into the strangest shopping centre I have ever seen. There were three floors: the basement was given over to laptops, the mezzanine was full of mobile phones and the top floor was kitchen appliances. As we still had our computer and were well supplied with blenders, we went to the ‘phone floor’. On it we were greeted by a ridiculous over-abundance of kiosks, all selling phones. I do not exaggerate when I say there were nearly 100 little shops there all selling the same thing. As a market, it just didn’t make any sense!

I picked one at random and started the vastly over-complicated, confusing process of getting a SIM card.  Whilst we were battling to understand their different options I had been spotted by the manager. He came over and asked me to pose with him, holding the new Samsung Galaxy 8 and looking impressed. We didn’t stay long enough to see it put up, but I am now on the side of a billboard somewhere in Yogyakarta, helping to sell phones!

Afterwards, we went off for a cup of tea in a cafe and were accosted by two very sweet university students, who proceeded to interview us for the next 30 minutes. It was lovely to feel so interesting!

After a day of orientation/rest and recovery, we were picked up at 3am by our driver Toto and headed out to the sunrise lookout point over Borobodur an hour north of Yogyakarta. We arrived at a spot that was heaving with locals, looking to make a quick buck off of the gullible tourists (this became a theme for our time in Java that grated ad nausium). We trudged up to the summit and a lovely Chinese man taught me how to take better shots of sunrises. Below is my best attempt.

We headed into the main park at 7am, and made our way through the Tourist Entrance (10x the price of the local ticket), received our cup of Welcome Tea (I’d like to see the Tower of London adopt this approach. We like to think of it as our national drink, after all!), and started up to the main edifice.

Borubudur was built in the 9^th Century by the local Sailendras dynasty and was abandoned in the late 10^th/early 11^th Century, after a series of volcanic eruptions. It was not rediscovered until Governor General Thomas Stamford Raffles (he who founded Singapore) ordered a Dutch engineer to explore the site, towards the end of the 19^th century. The temple itself blends the Indonesian indigenous cult of ancestor worship with the Buddhist concept of attaining Nirvana. The journey for pilgrims starts at the base of the four sided pyramid and rises up the three ‘layers’ to the final platform. The monument’s three divisions symbolise the three ‘realms’ of Buddhist cosmology: the world of desires, the world of forms, and the formless world. The final platform is Nirvana, where 72 Buddhas sit, protected in bell-shaped stone stupas.

Eager not to miss the sunrise, we boosted up to the top platform then worked our way down.

One our way down we encountered groups of school children on trips and families. Every time we met a group of Indonesians, we were made a great fuss of and were forced to pose for multiple selfies, on multiple phones. This was amusing at first, however, after the tenth group it began to grate, and after the twentieth group, we had had enough. It was lucky that I was wearing sunglasses, otherwise the dead, defeated look in my eyes may have ruined their photographs…

After breakfast (little buns we’d bought the day before) and a quick wander around the Samudra Raksa Museum of Naval Exploration- where we saw a reproduction of the ship that carried Javanese sailors all the way to Africa- we met Toto and headed off to Prambanan. (He didn’t sing ‘Africa’, in case you were wondering!)

On our way to Prambanan we stopped off at what is locally known as the Chicken Church. Commissioned by Daniel Alamsjah, who said he had a vision from God, he attempted to build a place of worship in the shape of a giant dove looking over towards Borobudur. Although the funds ran out and it looks like a demented chicken, it was still a lovely place to visit and a great viewpoint from atop its head.

After a hot ride and a brief nap, we arrived at Prambanan temple complex on the outskirts of Yogyakarta- a simple, if imposing series of Hindu temples, the largest honouring the trinity of supreme deities- Shiva, Brama and Vishnu.

We had just climbed up to the top of the first one, Vishnu I think, when I was spotted by a gang of 13 schoolgirls, all under the age of ten. At this point Chloe had completely had enough of posing for selfies, so did her level best to disappear into the darkness of the ten foot square room we were in. Unfortunately, her ninja skills still leave a great deal to be desired and she was discovered.

They all stopped and stared at us in a very awkwardness-inducing way until what appeared to be one of the leaders of the group, a short girl of nine, caught sight of Chloe and, opening her eyes wide in amazement, said ‘Oh. So beautiful!’ After such a cute compliment she was honour bound to take a photo.

(Honestly, I’ve been saying that for years and do I get an awkward group photo? No.)

We left the main complex and went exploring, finding a less frequented, yet we felt, more interesting ruin- Candi Sewu.

(Not to scale)

After such a long day we passed out back at the hotel for a while, then went out to Warung Spesial Sambal (sp). Sambal is a spicy, chunky sauce that is used to flavour rice and meat on one’s plate. This restaurant had over thirty varieties of sambal to taste and the food was lovely.

The following day we visited the rather disappointing Water Palace, which was the Sultan of old’s bathing house. I don’t know if it was the time of year, but the small amount of water there was slimy and disused. It made what should have been a beautiful building, very disappointing and shabby.

When we left we were interviewed again (apparently it’s an end of year assignment) and we made our way to the main shopping street, Maliboro Road. There we were interviewed for the third time and bought some very tasty little paste cakes. Unfortunately I was too slow to get a photo, but I did bear witness to a lady tending to a barbecue on which she was cooking chicken sate kebabs, decide her current location wasn’t profitable enough and put the whole operation, smoking hot barbecue and all, on her head and walk away. Such confidence in her own sense of balance; I would have been horribly disfigured by hot coals…

After a quiet meal we packed up and moved hotel to one close to the station for our very long journey East to Mount Bromo.

Until next time.

All our love,

The Backpack Duo x

By James

As the neon flashes, the beats pump and the young sirens lure customers into raucous bars, a ten-year-old boy calmly walks out into the centre of a stream of traffic and breathes fire.

Welcome to Saigon.

Best know in the West, thanks to war films and a well-known musical, for where the Americans finally evacuated all US personnel and as many Southern Vietnamese as possible the day the Viet Cong took the city in 1975, modern-day Ho Chi Minh City is a thriving, bustling metropolis of 8.5 million people, and almost as many scooters.

Renamed by the North after General ‘Uncle’ Ho Chi Minh, the city is still called Saigon by the locals and has a very different feel to the more subdued North. The bars are more garish, the young people more Westernised and the attitude much more informal.

After such a busy, activity packed few weeks with my parents, we were in need of some rest and recuperation. This meant that we did not venture very far from our hotel much and spent most of our time drinking beer and watching films in our room (at one point Chloe didn’t leave the room for 36 hours!)

One excursion we were glad we made, braving the utterly manic traffic (they drive on the pavements during Rush Hour!), was to the War Remnants Museum.

This inexpensive museum, set over four floors, is billed as a monument to peace and international understanding. However, the American tanks, helicopters, APCs and fighter jets parked outside hinted at the tone of the exhibits inside and attested to the old maxim: history is written by the victors.

In Gallery #1 on the top floor, entitled ‘Historical Truths’, they lay out their case against a) France’s colonial oppression in support of the Independence War that started soon after the Japanese surrendered in WW2, and b) against the Americans and their ‘War of Aggression’, that started soon after the French surrendered.

Like a lot of you reading this post who were born after it all ended in 1972 (or 1975, depending on whose account you read), the only perspective on the American War of Aggression/the Vietnam War I ever had was from American Vietnam War films. In them, Martin Sheen catches only glimpses of a faceless foe on the banks of the Mekong, Robert De Niro plays Russian Roulette with a sadistic caricature of a man and Matthew Moldine is propositioned by a woman offering to “love (him) long time”. (Extra points will be awarded if you can name all three films referenced here without looking them up! Please speak to the young man at the prize desk on your way out to cash in any Backpack Duo Prize Points.)

What I never got, for reasons that should be obvious, was the story from the Vietnamese perspective. At the War Remnants Museum, they made a pretty compelling argument that denounced the Americans as an imperialistic, unreasonable and, at times, barbaric force of interference, and invasion. Alongside quotes demonstrating a duplicitous approach to diplomacy, international pronouncements of condemnation of the American’s acts of aggression and glorious calls for a free, united and just Vietnam, there was some very gruesome evidence of ‘American War Crimes’- accounts of whole villages being burnt up, whole families disembowelled and a photo that rather sticks in the memory of a groups of grinning GI’s proudly displaying their collection of decapitated heads. Undoubtedly there were atrocities committed on both sides (although the museum was conspicuously mute on the Viet Cong’s), it made for difficult viewing to have the behaviour of the Americans’ brought into such stark relief.

On the next floor down, there was a very refreshingly balanced exhibit that memorialised the war photographers who were active on both sides. It provided a small window into the decade-long conflict that chronologically told the story of the War (literally) through the lenses of these photographers. It was remarkable in its simplicity and its heartfelt lament for the loss of human life.

After a brief walk through the Agent Orange exhibit (utterly harrowing) we went outside into the dusk. We decided we weren’t quite traumatised enough by this point and made our way to a recreation of the prison on the now popular tourist island of Côn Sơn.

After closing time at the museum, we trudged our way back through the streets, dodging the increasingly audacious scooter riders, back to our hotel and hid away from the world.

The food in Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon was as delicious as it had been thought Vietnam, although a couple of restaurants deserve a mention. The first was Mumtaz Indian restaurant along the main party street. The food was delicious, the flavours were excellently balanced, and the staff had a very good taste in mid-Noughties hip-hop and rap, which they proceeded to play at a volume that made the seat next to me bleed.

The second was The Hungry Pig. After months of either no bacon or woefully substandard bacon (I’m not sure which is worse), we stumbled across this little cafe, just around the corner from our hostel. For a country where about 80% of the meat on offer was pork, they just could not get bacon right! Started by a young British entrepreneur, this charming establishment source and cure their own bacon, then serve it in generously sized, delicious bread products. The cinnamon and raisin bagel with cranberry sauce, cream cheese, maple cured bacon and rocket nearly brought us to tears…

After several days of recuperation, interspersed with traumatic museums, death defying near misses by scooters and life-affirming pork products, we watched our visa expiration date creep ever closer. Rather than get deported, we made our way to the airport for our 18-hour, three flight journey to Yogyakarta, on the southern coast of the island of Java, Indonesia for temples and volcanoes.

Which is where we shall pick up things up next time!

Until then, all our love,

The Backpack Duo x

By Chloe

After a beautiful train journey down the scenic coast of Vietnam from Hue to Da Nang, we arrived in the picturesque and bustling city of Hoi An.
Now, I’m not going to lie, we spent a disproportionate amount of time with the lovely Viet, her husband Sanh and their cheeky five-year-old son, Win, at their tailor shop Win Tailors. Viet and Sanh were incredibly welcoming, friendly and helpful! Apart from making us mountains of beautifully made new clothes, they took us to the best places to drink coffee and eat in the old centre of Hoi An – we could not have asked for better hosts! Big thanks go to Alex and Abbie for introducing us to Viet (Alex has been friends with Viet for 10 years now). If anyone ever plans on visiting Hoi An, or fancies getting some clothes made – Win Tailors and a coconut coffee with Viet is a must. That is if we left Viet with any fabric at all!!

James was the picture of restraint and only had two shirts and two smart/casual jackets made. I, on the other hand, went a little crazy and had; two dresses, a coat, a smart jacket, a pair of trousers, a silk blouse AND three skirts made…phew!

On to the coconut coffee…it was the best coffee I think I’ve ever had. Picture a shot of strong smooth espresso, poured on top of a glass filled with blizted coconut cream and ice with a dash of condensed milk for sweetness…you just can’t beat it. I think James and I visited this cafe every single day we were in Hoi An, and it’s definitely a recipe I’m going to bring home with me! Two other culinary experiences stand out from what was a very tasty week; the Bahn Mi we had at Madame Khanh, aka, “The Banh Mi Queen” and the fabulous breakfasts we had at Banh Mi Opla (okay okay, we like bread!)

For anyone uninitiated into the glories of Banh Mi – it consists (at its core) of a French style white crusty baguette packed with your choice of fillings. The Banh Mi Queen’s consisted of crunchy salad, coriander, mint, a pork and mushroom pate, slices of pork fillet and slices of a type of pork meatball, with fried egg and an amazing home-made chilli chutney/sauce. All for the astounding price of 85p! Needless to say, we came back here a lot. I am actually salivating whilst writing this. Opla on the other hand is a Vietnamese type of cooked breakfast. Little beef meatballs, fried eggs, and a fresh tomato sauce are all cooked and served on individual hotplates (shaped like a cow) and served with onion and a fresh baguette. Add a dash of chilli sauce and soy sauce, chop everything up and ladle liberally onto your baguette and jobs a goodun!

Much of our time in Hoi An was spent simply wandering or cycling around the grid layout of the pedestrianised old centre, with streets lined with old wooden Chinese and Japanese clan houses, glowing silk lanterns zigzagging above us, and classical music softly playing through the tannoy loudspeakers (okay we admit…the last one was a little weird, as it seemed to play the same song over and over again!) The markets were bustling and lively, the food was scrummy, and although it seemed that the world and his wife spoke to us, only to offer their tailoring services – Hoi An was amazing. We were also lucky enough to be in Hoi An for a full moon celebration (Buddha’s birthday in this case), where countless candle lanterns are set free on the river running through Hoi An, and the streets are packed with people, food, and laughter.

Two activities stand out among the many that we enjoyed in Hoi An. The first was a sublime cooking lesson with Hoi An Eco Cooking School  – it was fabulous! We arrived at the river, were deposited into conical boats, two-by-two, and given little fishing rods to try and capture purple crabs hiding among the roots of the palms. Sue was a natural, catching eight little crabs, I only caught one, and poor James and Brendan didn’t manage to snag a single crab! After our fishing excursion, we arrived at the cooking school where over the next three hours we learned to make a massive array of Vietnamese food. We even had a chance to make out own rice paper pancakes for our fresh spring rolls!

We even got to use fire!

The second was an early more escapade to My Son, a Champa temple complex about an hour outside of Hoi An. We were lucky with our timings, we arrived at 8:00am, just as the ‘sunrise’ group was leaving, and managed to see the main sites before the hoards of day tours arrived at 9:00am. We actually had the ruins all to ourselves! You may hear that My Son is the ‘Ankor Wat’ of Vietnam, however, anyone who describes it that way obviously hasn’t been to Ankor Wat. My Son is beautiful for what it is – a few temples that remain after the carpet bombings of the US/Vietnam war, but there really are only two small areas where the temples remain in decent condition.

Hoi An was arguably my favourite place in Vietnam – if you ever get the chance to visit, you definitely should, and assign at least three days (although we stayed for well over a week).

Love, The Backpack Duo X