Mount Bromo and Ijen Hike: What It’s Really Like for First-Time Hikers

Some people go to Indonesia for Bali’s beach clubs. I went to East Java to hike two volcanoes with no prior hiking experience and with a windbreaker that should’ve stayed in the shop. The plan? Watch the sunrise over Mount Bromo, then survive the night hike into Mount Ijen’s sulphur-spewing crater to catch a glimpse of the elusive blue fire.

It’s a pretty typical itinerary for anyone visiting Java. Just Google “Java volcano hike” and this two-part combo will pop up. But here’s the thing, after doing my research for this hike, I had a feeling that most of the people in those YouTube videos were not beginner hikers in the ‘city girl’ sense of the word. I, on the other hand, have been born and raised in Singapore all my life. Our highest point is Bukit Timah Hill (with its 164m elevation), and even that has a railing.

If you’re a beginner hiker wondering whether Bromo and Ijen are worth it (or survivable), here’s exactly what it felt like, from the perspective of someone who grew up with escalators, not elevation. Let’s start with the supposedly ‘easier’ one.

Also read: A Personal Recount of Hiking Mount Agung in Bali, Indonesia

Mount Bromo Sunrise: Worth Waking Up at 2AM For?

As I rattled around in the back of a jeep in the pitch black of a January morning, off-roading toward a volcanic crater, it occurred to me that my mom did not know I was gallivanting around Java’s active volcanoes in the middle of the night. Perhaps that was for the best.

Mount Bromo, the golden child of East Java’s tourist circuit, is famous for its sunrise, and it is beautiful. But what the travel posters don’t show is the prelude is the 2AM wake-up call and the jeep ride shaking your bones into dust (those with motion sickness take note). But hey, that’s part of the fun isn’t it?

I went during an off-peak season in January (which is a rainy season) so there was a chance we may not even be able to see Bromo if the weather did not permit it. That was something outside of my control so I was just hoping that all the good I have done in my life thus far would accumulate into good karma.

We reached the base of King Kong Hill and began the “hike” (I use that word generously because it was more akin to a 7 min up a steep hill). It was dark and kinda slippery, and I was decked out in a barely-there windbreaker because I hadn’t anticipated the cold. My friend and I wore our Serious Hiking Shoes™ and still kept sliding around, while our guide (in sneakers) calmly strolled ahead. People overtook us. We nodded back, winded and mildly ashamed.

At the top, we waited with a crowd of strangers, each of us clutching the hope of sunrise. Most of it was swallowed by clouds, but when the mist shifted just enough to reveal the crater and the Sea of Sand below, some were disappointed. Oops, maybe I didn’t accumulate enough good karma. Sorry, fellow travellers.

Anyways, even though it wasn’t a clear view, I quite liked the view the way it was. The fog and the mist gave it a dreamlike softness, like the mountain was only half-real. It was at this point that I wish I had brought my camera with me because I don’t think my phone did it enough justice.

After sunrise, we clambered back into the jeep and headed for the horse point (btw I love horses so I was super excited). The slope was steep, but my horse was steady, and it was about a half-hour ride up. Meanwhile, the guide leading the horse was in slippers, on his phone, leading the horse like it was a toy, and it really reminded me that we come from entirely different worlds.

We had to take a long flight of stairs to peer inside the crater. To me, it wasn’t mind-blowing, but it felt more like a personal accomplishment. I made it through all those stairs. A prelude to the real hike to come, perhaps.

Also read: 7 Best Volcano Hikes in Indonesia to Set Your Adventurous Heart Ablaze

Hiking Mount Ijen at Night: A Fever Dream of Sulphur and Survival

‘Focus on the journey, not the destination’. A very common logic that I have heard repeated many times ever since I was young. And with all repeated sayings, one would usually unconsciously internalise it. But not this time.

Not as I was trailing down this treacherous, rocky path in the middle of the night, with nothing but a headlamp, a prayer for survival, and a dream to see Mt. Ijen’s famous blue fires. ‘Easy hike,’ ‘beginner-friendly’… I scowled as I recalled the keywords that popped up when I first searched guides to this crater. My scowl deepened as I saw countless other hikers overtake me as if this hike was as normal to them as a walk to the nearest convenience store. Still, I could not stop. It wasn’t just the looming threat of being stuck on a crater (side note: the impetus of survival is truly convincing), but I had wanted to see those blue flames ever since I first saw it in passing on a documentary my sister was watching. Ah, the toils of fate. Imagine being led to a survival hazard because of a documentary.

I focused on one step after the next. My guide teased my city-girl upbringing, saying that Singapore was way too clean and pristine for its citizens to be used to any sort of bump in their path (metaphor intended). I could not argue against it. But to do myself justice, on the next time I looked up, I realised I’ve reached my goal. The strong smell of sulphur filled my gas mask, and my chest was heaving. But I made it.

I looked up, and lo and behold, it was like a scene straight out of a Lord of the Rings film. The glorious fire trickled down like molten sapphire, and I could do nothing but stare, entranced. Unlike what they say, sometimes the destination really does justify the journey… was what I wish I could have said.

But nope. All I saw was a puny flame. It rained the previous day.

Sike, guys. Life’s like that. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying my time at the peak.

My friend and I still had a great time dancing with a miner who was friends with our guide and throwing peanuts at each other while trying to catch them mid-air with our mouths. But soon, daylight was breaking, and the sky peeled itself open in slow motion. I turned back to look at the path I had taken — the sharp, winding trail down into the crater — and my jaw actually dropped. If I had seen it in daylight, I might’ve chickened out. I wouldn’t have dared to go down. But I already had, and that awareness that I had done something I didn’t think I could do left me in a rather dazed state for a while as we made our way back.

The return was a lot easier, physically, and we were done by 7 am. Hot, sweaty, but also feeling immensely rewarded, my friend and I returned to our driver in high spirits. But the physical strain of hiking overnight took its toll, and we ended up crashing at the back of the car.

Also read: 10 Cold Weather Destinations Near Singapore for a Refreshing Escape

Final thoughts

So, would I recommend the Bromo-Ijen combo? Well, I think the views are famous for a reason. When the clouds part and the light hits just right, Bromo looks like it was painted into the landscape, and Ijen’s crater lake glows an otherworldly turquoise that’s hard to believe even when you’re staring right at it. It’s beautiful. Surreal, even.

But if you’re mainly chasing the perfect photo, it’s worth planning your trip around the dry season (typically June to September) for the best odds of clear skies and blue flames. And come prepared with the right equipment. A proper jacket or just proper layers would have saved me from a lot of shivering and self-pity.

That said, there’s something about doing this trip slightly underprepared, half-asleep, and unsure of your limits that makes the experience stick. If you’re curious about what happens when you push yourself, this might just be your kind of adventure.

Hiking, I’ve come to realise, isn’t something I love because I’m a masochist or particularly disciplined. I’m not. I’m not someone who thrives in pain or who pushes through suffering just for fun. But hiking is one of the few things in life where you can’t give up halfway. When you’re halfway up a mountain, the only way is up. Or down. Either way, you keep moving. And when you do reach the top and look back at the route you just survived, something shifts.

For me, the reward isn’t the view. It’s the act of proving myself wrong. There’s something quite exhilarating about realising I did something I never thought I could do, and in the process of such an experience, I can feel a fundamental shift in my self-perception as well. It makes me feel like I can face things that would have made me quake in my boots with a little bit more assuredness and a little more belief that I can get through this.