Hell on Earth. Satan's Slaves
My journey to Hell began with a message on Telegram. On the evening of June 3, I received an email. I was invited to Ijen volcano. It is located on the neighboring island of Java, a total of 6-7 hours drive there. The thirst for adventure was stronger than impatience, so without hesitation I agreed.
Our traveling companions were my respects!
The team of arbtitrators, led by Lera, were arbitrating traffic across Latin America. They're fierce, rich travelers. Interested in crypto on a hobby level. Moved in the digital business. While driving, they were discussing the next country to go to - Argentina or the Czech Republic.
Also with us was Katya, an esoteric girl who practices yoga and meditation. In their religion, volcanoes are special places of power. Especially if at the bottom of the crater splashing sulfuric acid, which at times sprays in waves and buried beneath them gaping workers.
Bali is the kind of island that imbues you with relaxation and enjoyment of life. When we went to the neighboring island, we expected about the same. But a little harsher.
And this starting attitude threw us off our compass in the aftermath...
At 1:00 am we arrived at the start camp. It was a small square with benches where we could drink tea and eat cookies. The owners are locals, Muslims. Poor, but very kind and helpful.
The men gather here at night, drink tea, get dressed and get ready for the climb. The way up is not easy - about 3 km at an angle of 30 degrees with rare plateaus for a breather.
It's 2:00 in the morning. The gong strikes, the men get up, the wives hug them and we move forward.
Tourists who came from the neighboring towns of Java Island move with us. There are practically no Europeans. A white man in his right mind would not come here for pleasure.
So far it has been an interesting experience for us. To see how others work. To see their working conditions and compare them to what we have.
In the beginning we met cab drivers, who for $60 are ready to take the gentleman to the top of the volcano.
The affluent Indonesians quickly took over the carts and our column moved steadily upward.
The first 500 meters were relatively easy - an incline of 10 degrees. It was hard, but bearable. But then ULTRA_HARD began.
The incline increased. After 200 meters we came across the first group of hikers who were struggling with their shortness of breath, drinking water and gathering their spirits. After another 600 meters, the Indonesians were spitting out their lungs and begging the sky for a second breath.
It wasn't easy for us either. At the camp I rented a Tajik tiktok-shafler jacket, which was heavy and very warm
An hour later, we were feeling the lift. My legs were shaking, my ass was falling off. My head was dizzy, my lungs were clenching from lack of air, and sweat was pouring down like a hail. The guide reassured us that we were already halfway there. But these words only made it harder.
Somewhere in my mind's fog, a thought flashed through my mind that this was part of someone's daily work. It was the easiest part. Willy-nilly, I began to project this onto myself. I felt a little ashamed. It seemed that my problems were not worth a damn compared to theirs. That the apathy that occasionally overtook me was not worthy of attention. The grueling slave labor was what was really hard.
Thank God that my reasoning has allowed me to take my mind off the heavy lifting. Now I'm writing this and I'm thinking, maybe the workers are even philosophers? What do they think about when they go upstairs? What thoughts go through their heads? In what direction do they think?
So imperceptibly, but painfully, two hours flew by. When we arrived at the top, I FEELED the crater. It was in darkness, so I couldn't imagine the scale.
It smelled like sulfur. So far, unobtrusively - the workers were with us and had not yet started work.
Our guide (a miner who volunteered to be our tour guide) gave us respirators. He told us that they themselves walk around without masks, but that all tourists should wear them.
The moment of descent began. We walked down the steep cliff, lighting the way with flashlights. There was a chasm below us and an acid lake below. If you stumbled, you would first break your bones on the rocks and then dissolve into sulfuric acid. There was no right to make a mistake.
Look again at this photo. A thin path and a GAP below. The lights were lanterns and some moonlight, which was breaking through the mouth of the volcano.
We walked very carefully, checking our every step. Workers almost running between us - the job was not waiting! We had work to do. The guide explained that they were experienced, so we should not worry about them.
Few people will go there in the daytime. Many will forget how to breathe and everyone will be dizzy from the adrenaline produced by the sight of the abyss.
We made it down. At the bottom there was an infernal cauldron of toxic gas waiting for us.
The blue glow is the burning sulfur gas. It produces fumes that burn the eyes and throat. Many workers cough heavily because of scorched lungs. Their lives are shortened by 20-40 years.
Yet the profession is considered elite and respected. The pay by the standards of Indonesia is enormous! As much as $5 for lowering and lifting 90 kilograms of sulfur. Two mined sulfur - got $ 10. That takes all day.
There is a lake of sulfur and hydrochloric acid a couple of meters away. On the shore, workers collect sulfur, put it in baskets, breathe the fumes.
The way up is a separate song.
You climb the same small paths on the steep cliff. The workers have already ignited a spring that blows stinky winds.
We were lucky - a cloud of sulfuric fumes lay exactly on our ascent path. My eyes stung and my throat hurt even through my respirator. Sweat poured down in hail. My strength was running out. My lungs cramp up; I need air. There's nowhere to get it, no air. You are in a sulfur cloud.
After 50 minutes of hell, we made it to the top.
The workers were climbing without respirators. They had two baskets with 70-90 kilograms of sulfur on them. For one climb up the volcano, going down into the crater, extracting the sulfur, climbing out of the crater, and transporting down, the worker gets $5.
It struck me that these people continue to be cheerful and kind. They don't lose heart, they do their work with pride. You don't hear any whining from them.
This trip particularly emphasized to me the idea that we create our own reality. Some people whine endlessly, lament their fate, and blame others for everything. They sit in a warm office. Eating delicious food. They have the Internet at their fingertips, where there are endless possibilities.
Others eat rice and some vegetables/algae 3 times a day. To avoid eating bland, they add spices. They work in the mouth of a volcano in inhumane conditions. They enjoy life in every aspect of it. Proud of their work. Even this.