Climbing Boss?

The road from Kubutambahan village on the north coast of Bali winds up the backside of Mount Penulisan.Occasional pullouts look north-eastward to the sea revealing the surprisingly arid terrain below. The town of Penelokan is a highlight with tour groups for the panoramic views of Lake Batur and Mount Batur in the crater below. Large restaurants and a few hotels with names like “Volcano View” and “Lake View” cater to the busloads of tourists.

It is not possible to stop without being offered hotel rooms, trekking and everything else from woodcarving to women within a few minutes. The sales pitch is persistent and vendors often follow you about with offers of “special price, Boss.” I pre-empt the next statement by asking “for good luck?” “Yes, Boss,” I am undoubtedly assured, “for good luck.”

Mount Batur is an active volcano. The most recent eruption started in 1998 and finally subsided in 2002. A new crater on the western face of the mountain opened and the flowing lava covered a large area of land previously terraced with farms. This left hundreds of farmers without arable land or means to earn a living.

The road into the crater is steep and full of switchbacks. Groups rarely go into the crater, stopping only to snap a quick photo and continue on the prescribed circuit. The few visitors in the villages below create a strange state of affairs. Foreigners are aggressively hunted for hotel rooms and trekking guides. It is not permitted to climb Mount Batur without a guide. The local economy was decimated by the last eruption prompting the government to establish a trekking guide association to subsidize the loss. The result is that it is impossible to go anywhere in the villages without hearing “climbing Boss?” from virtually every male.

The women push massages and cheap trinkets relentlessly, holding your hand and putting a bracelet on your wrist while a second starts to massage your shoulders. Meanwhile, small children tell you to buy candy, chips or gum. The atmosphere becomes somewhat claustrophobic as you find yourself surrounded.

Visiting the hot springs in Toyabungkah where the local people bathe is a nightmare. It is almost impossible to get in due to repeated sales attempts. If you bother to try, the women follow and try to sell massage. No amount of “no, thank you” dissuades them and no amount of joking helps. It is advisable to spend a few dollars and visit the private baths and enjoy the quiet pools.

The climbing attraction is to see sunrise over the ocean and, if the weather is clear, views of Lombok Island. Treks commence at 4am and prices are surprisingly high. Although the climb is less than 1 ½ hours, with longer routes lasting up to 6 hours, prices start at $35 for the basic tour.

Choosing not to trek, I drove my motorcycle through the fields near the eastern base of Mount Batur early in the morning. The track winds steadily upward and is very easy to follow. I can clearly see where the guided groups have gone and it becomes clear that most of the lower section is done in the back of a truck. Walking starts a few hundred meters from the peak, explaining the short ascent time. Every time I see a person, I am greeted with “climbing Boss?” Even when I stop for a photo, someone appears as if by magic to offer guide services.

I make my way to the village of Songan at the end of the road. The village is famed for its temple, where a lychee tree mysteriously flourishes regardless of rainfall. It is surprisingly green in an arid terrain. The rim of the crater rises sharply behind the temple. The walk to the rim is steep but short and from the top I watch the sun making its daily ascent over of the ocean. Lombok is obscured by clouds but nearby Nusa Lembongan is visible. The view into the crater is clear with Mount Batur standing sentinel as fields of vegetables descend the southern and eastern slopes to the lake.

I descend to my motorcycle and return to Toyabungkah. Even at this early hour, I am accosted with sales pitches. Although I am sympathetic to the poverty, I find it difficult to be constantly fending off sales pitches. The relentless selling has worn thin and I decide to move on. Packing my bag, I let the family who owns the guesthouse know I am off and I am wished a good journey As I leave, to reinforce the point, a man standing on the roadside with his vegetables calls to me “climbing Boss?” I smile and drive on.

Copyright Tim Morch, 2006