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Gunung Ijen exudes a supernatural power over Javan culture. It is an active volcano, huddling at the far eastern end of the sprawling island of Java. Within its broad crater bowl, it harbours one of the most terrifying and otherworldly environments to be found on Earth. One of only two volcanoes of its kind on Earth - the other in Iceland - Ijen is a natural sulphur factory.
Haphazardly spewing out noxious sulphur-laden gases from vents within the crater, the interior of the vast caldera was blanketed in a fine yellow dust. Solidified sulphur deposits clotted around fissures in the rock. At irregular intervals, plumes of smoke - tinged yellow in colour - blasted free from holes in the ground, billowing upwards and engulfing everything in their path. The smoke swept eerily around us as we stood expectantly at the edge of the crater lake, as if in a theatre arena awaiting the emergence of the leading actors. At times, the smoke would completely obscure the view for minutes on end, stinging your eyes and irritating your throat and lungs. Not much imagination was required to believe that you might be gracing the surface of an alien planet.
Revered by man throughout the epochs, Gunung Ijen is akin to a gateway to another world; bewitching, magical and diabolical.
Viewed in the daylight, the caldera appeared desolate, hostile and stunning. In the pitch blackness of the early morning, the spectacle of an ethereal and unworldly blue fire could be beholden. Searing hot fumes laden with sulphur combusted upon contact with the air, birthing ghostly blue flames that flashed around vents in the crater, as bright as lightening. As if an optical illusion, or witchcraft, the flames would on occasion perform a wicked dance up the rock face, eventually vanishing from view. And at other times, they would plunge downwards, flowing like a wrathful stream of gaseous lava.
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Ijen is an open sulphur mine during the hours of darkness. Miners from the local villages trek up the mountain nightly to ply their perilous trade. As we made the treacherous descent into the crater, the miners gracefully weaved between us, hauling large wicker baskets brimming with solidified sulphur to collection points at the pass, before descending once again to gather another load. The miners wore flimsy flip-flops, but somehow scuttled up and down the narrow and steep path with the agility of mountain goats. Thin scarves were swaddled around their nose and mouth, affording only scant protection from the poisonous fumes they inhaled on a nightly basis. Many coughed and spluttered as they frantically went about their nightly labour. Rudimentary, ceramic piping protruded downwards into some of the most active vents. Ducking and diving between convulsing plumes of toxic smoke, the miners would collect sulphur deposits in the process of solidifying at the open ends of the pipes, and drop them into their baskets. I was later told that the miners would carry up to eighty kilograms of sulphur on their backs per haul, on average hoisting three or more such loads up the mountain per night.
Back upon the ridge of the crater, far above the heaving and tempestuous scene, the sky sparkled - replete with stars. Set against the blackness, the faint smudge of the milky-way arched directly above our heads. Hiking along the ridge to the far end of the crater, the tepid moonlight revealed a sheer descent into the caldera to the left of the trail, and to the right, parched vegetation and arid, dusty ground. Barely distinguishable in the low light, neighbouring Mount Merapi peacefully slumbered in the distance. Once stationed at the far side of the crater, the glorious spectacle of the sunrise got underway. A spectrum of warm colours began to wash over the dusty and rocky ridge of the caldera as the sun rose from below the Bali Sea. Now illuminated by the first light of the day, the Ijen crater lake appeared an ethereal turquoise blue, surrounded by the smudged tapestry of grey and yellow dust and rock.
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Mount Agung, Bali, visible in the distance from the eastern extreme of the Ijen caldera.