On the Rim of Mount Bromo, the Whispering Sands, and Back to Probolinggo

On Saturday, I wake up before 4 a.m. because our accommodation is located right by the road leading to the viewpoint where people go to watch the sunrise, and the bathroom ventilation is literally just a hole in the wall. Motorbikes and off-road vehicles transporting visitors to the viewpoint make so much noise that even earplugs are useless. I drag myself out of bed and climb up to the viewpoint as well. By then, it’s already packed with people.

I’m the only foreigner there—everyone else seems to be local. Many people want to take photos with me, and one woman, who is there with her whole family, makes her son interview me in English while she films it so he can get bonus points in his English class at school. The questions are standard—where I’m from, how I like Indonesia, and so on. The mother herself says she graduated as an English philologist from the best university in Yogyakarta. I notice several groups dressed in identical outfits—probably institutions or organizations on group outings.

Afterward, I have breakfast at a nearby hotel. There, too, almost everyone is local and dressed alike—it seems that outside the high season, it’s mainly locals who visit.

Once the rest of my travel companions wake up, our pre-arranged local driver picks us up in his more than 30-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser, and we set off toward the Bromo volcano crater. We still have quite a climb ahead before reaching the rim of the active crater. Since sulfur fumes rise from the crater, wearing a face mask is recommended.

At one point, we see a local man climbing out of the crater carrying a sack full of volcanic rocks. Apparently, selling them is his source of income.

After that, half of us eat at a rather questionable food stall nearby. There’s a whole row of such tents set up. The food is very simple—chicken and rice. Then the driver takes us to the nearby King Kong viewpoint, which is supposed to offer a magnificent view of the Bromo crater. I have no idea why it’s called that. Unfortunately, due to thick fog, we can’t see much. On the way, macaques repeatedly run across the road in front of the car.

The driver then takes us back to our accommodation, but after some negotiation, he also drives us to a third destination agreed upon with the tour organizer—the Whispering Sands. The entire area is covered in fog, and although there’s a strong wind blowing, we don’t hear any whispering from the sands.

Since we don’t want to spend another night in our noisy accommodation, and there isn’t much to do in the mountain village anyway, we take a taxi back down the mountains to Probolinggo, where we settle in for the night.