Stumbling Up and Down

In 2017, I booked a one-way ticket to Jakarta, Indonesia. Within a week, I climbed my first volcano, completely unprepared and unaware of the endurance required.

Within the first week of my first solo trip on my first one-way ticket, I had gotten accustomed to saying “yes” to everything. Am I going to force myself to sit at the communal table in the hostel lounge instead of crying in my dorm? Yes. Am I going to let a handsome Scottish expat guide me through the back alleys overlooking the city to show me the “real” Yogyakarta? Yes. So, after six rounds of Bintang at 2 a.m. when my group of newfound travel pals invited me to hike a volcano the next morning – “no, not the touristy one, we’re doing this on our own” – and drink homemade wine under the stars, the answer was, unflinchingly, “yes.”

Immediately, the planners and campers of the group (i.e., not me) got to work creating packing lists and looking at maps. I cheerfully (blissfully, ignorantly), followed along, offering encouraging “sounds good!”’s and putting my hand up for tasks I was more or less confident I could manage, like grocery shopping for enough food and water to last our crew of six two days. Having never camped or long-distance hiked before, I probably shouldn’t have had that confidence.

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone in my lack of experience. A was just as much along for the ride as I was, but for better or worse, that meant we put our hands up for the same, seemingly basic tasks, leaving an imbalance in expertise for the execution of said tasks.

Still, we had fun. In the grocery store, we basked in the luxuriousness of hard-to-come-by air conditioning as we bought what we thought was enough instant ramen. Hot tip: One pack of ramen per person is certainly not enough for three meals (we figured we’d pack light, eat trail mix for breakfast, and have descended the volcano by lunchtime – LOL). We also had the same mentality about water, figuring it would be more painful to carry the heavy load than be a little thirsty. I’m laughing too hard at myself in shame to type this well. 

Though we had everything planned meticulously (did we? I don’t know; I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference) and aimed to leave early, we didn’t factor in additional time for traffic (always budget three extra hours in major Southeast Asian cities, always. One of my core memories from Yogyakarta is being stuck in wall-to-wall rush hour traffic, watching helplessly as an ambulance tried to unsuccessfully make its way through the tangle of cars, buses and motorbikes. Imagine being half-dead in the back of an ambulance and being told, “sorry, you’re not going to make it. *Shrugs* Rush hour, amirite?”) or for unexpected store closures and breaks. 

The more experienced pair who volunteered to procure camping gear rentals were gone for hours and, without local SIM cards to get in contact, the rest of us four just waited around, hoping they didn’t ditch to climb the volcano without us newbies. When they returned, balancing tents and whatever other gear we needed on the back of their scooter, they shrugged and reported that the rental place just wasn’t open when they said it would be.

Although I would go on to spend more hours driving a motorbike through Vietnam than doing any other activity on this trip, for my first few weeks in Indonesia, I was terrified of both riding on and driving them. This rendered me even less useful on our adventure, but again, I was grateful not to be the only one who didn’t want to take the wheel (handlebars?). A was also hesitant to drive, a fact which will serve to remember later in this story.

We finally set off in the early afternoon, only four hours behind our desired schedule. Add a couple of extra hours’ delay spent in traffic, inhaling dirty gas fumes on the back of L’s bike (while balancing a backpack stuffed with tents and water), and then another one waiting for a festival to pass through a small town – though, don’t get me wrong; the privilege of witnessing the music and cheering and spiritual energy radiating from the crowd was a much welcome holdup. Suffice to say, we didn’t arrive at the base of the volcano until sunset.

Arriving places at or after sunset has continued to be my MO ever since, for better or worse. I don’t think it’s anything I’m doing to slow my various groups of pals down, but I also seem to be the common denominator, so…

I don’t remember if there was the option to stay at the basecamp building that first night, but I remember wanting to. I don’t even think I had a headlamp. Judging by others’ eagerness to go, that thought didn’t cross their minds. So, on we went, up some steep dirt roads in near-darkness.

By the time we actually reached the trailhead, I was struggling. The incline and higher altitude, combined with the weight of my backpack, rendered me a sweaty, wheezing mess. Of course, these are conditions that any hiker (or person with common sense) would factor into their decision when gauging whether or not they were physically capable of climbing a mountain. I laughed at myself — in the moment it was a berating laugh filled with regret and self-loathing, but now that I’ve survived (spoiler) it’s a congratulatory laugh for believing in my limited capabilities — for thinking that my fitness “regime” of serving/bartending on my feet for 8-10 hours at a time and practicing yoga 3-4 times a week — would translate into mountain-climbing stamina. 

I’m not a very proud person and I’m not a very dramatic person. AKA, I have a pretty realistic idea of what I can and can’t do once I’ve tested the waters. And, in that moment, maybe 30 minutes into this hike that took us 12 hours to get to, I was pretty sure I couldn’t make it up that mountain. Especially not with my mind beating me up about slowing the others down. I had my “go on without me” moment — I figured I was close enough to the basecamp that I could find my way back and crash there overnight — but my steadfast pals were having none of it. 

I never played sports growing up, so I never really experienced the teamwork mindset until that point; the sacrifice of one’s own comfort to compensate another’s “shortcomings” for the sake of the common goal. Someone took one of my waters and another took my tent. L offered that I could walk ahead of her to make sure I didn’t fall behind the crew. Once we all acknowledged that this was hard, and I realized I wasn’t alone, my entire internal tone shifted. I still felt guilty for adding extra weight to others and decreasing our collective speed, but I took comfort in knowing that this trek wasn’t a walk in the park for the others, either. 

I don’t remember how many hours we hiked to get to our campsite — the first plateau we came across — but I was hugely relieved. Relieved, cold, and tired. Almost too tired to indulge in the promised main attraction of drinking homemade wine under the stars, but we managed a cup after setting up camp and before calling it a night. Sadly, it was not the joyful, romantic evening of my dreams, but damn lying down felt good. U and I shared a tent and giggled like girls at a sleepover after bundling up in our sleeping bags. Partly from delirium and partly because our newfound and fun friendship was keeping us warm & cozy on what ended up being a frigid night. Yeah, another thing I hadn’t accounted for was that even Indonesia is cold in higher altitudes. I slept until about 2AM, then shivered myself into bouts of restless sleep. I remember my eyes burning from feeling like they were frozen shut, or just dried out by the arid climate.

When morning finally broke, our meagre breakfast provided little relief from the cold night. I remember being irritated that everyone had so much energy — I was hoping they’d all feel similarly that we should just turn back and go to the comfort of our hostel beds and complimentary fruits. But no, as happy campers, they were determined to reach the summit. I was also in a miserable state of feeling inadequate and unworthy: I’d had to get others to carry my load, and wasn’t much use setting up camp, navigating, or cooking. What could I offer? 

I led our group through a halfhearted yoga/stretch session; my ability to actually think of yoga poses stifled by the critical voice in my head pounding in the idea that I don’t know what I’m doing. After, I stubbornly sliced up some apples (something I could do!) to share, even though my hands were struggling, numb from the prolonged cold. I remember the feeling of straight up misery, which I now see as my succumbnation to ego. I’m grateful that I now know the value I hold, whether “offering” anything or not. Everyone contributes in their own way, and it’s not always directly reciprocal or equivalent in a measurable sense. 

We continued to hike up and up, I think I had zero enjoyment of the journey. When we finally reached a plateau and viewpoint, I could finally appreciate the beauty of being above the clouds, catching glimpses of the vast valleys below us through their drifts. I understood what makes this kind of struggle worthwhile. 

A and I were ready to call it; she was leaving Jogja the next day and time was getting tight to get sorted. Under the convenient guise of accompanying her so she didn’t have to venture back solo, I eagerly raised my hand to end this journey. Going downhill was steep and strenuous, *almost* worse than the ascent. But, with relief, A and I confided in each other that this just isn’t either of our thing but we were happy we did it. We talked about more relational topics and matters of the heart while we stumbled our way down, way more my vibe. 

When we finally reached the garage housing our belongings and motorbikes, the most unsafe part of the trip began, really. As I briefly mentioned, A had little experience driving a motorbike: her first time was a few days earlier when we’d driven to some waterfalls and I’d happily played passenger princess to T. So, her experience was as a solo rider — not with another human + two backpacks & tents balancing on the back. 

The drive started on a shaky, swervy foot: maneuvering down winding dirt roads was awkward and we nearly tipped more than once. I think I ended up walking down most of the way with our stuff, while A got her groove. I’ve mostly blocked out the rest of the drive beyond that, but I imagine I was gripped by a simultaneous state of panic and succumbing to the knowledge that there wasn’t really another choice. 

Eventually, A got comfortable and we continued happily chatting away until we hit dense city outskirts traffic. At this point, again self conscious for my lack of “contribution,” I offered to drive. I figured stop-and-go would be more manageable than a long drive. Hah. It’s all about balance, and it most certainly wasn’t easier to control. I think I might have passed the reins back over to A shortly after, and we lurched our way back to the loving embrace of Laura’s Hostel.

Later that night, after everyone returned safely, T, U, and I hit up Circle K for snacks and watched a mindless movie. I was relieved, having feared that my lack of skill and ability would ostracize me from the group. The mind is a mean anxiety machine that would go on to feed me self-deprecating narratives and cause me unease and social anxiety throughout my trip (and still does, to this day). But then, comforted by the coziness of post-adventure friendship, my mind, heart, body, and soul were at peace.