As someone who is accustomed to late nights of work with slow mornings to follow, I never thought I would catch myself in an attempt to climb an active volcano 2,000 meters above sea level at two in the morning. Nevertheless, despite all personal presumptions, I found myself facing an unlit trail head, shivering under my thin sweatshirt, with nothing but my backpack, a walking stick, and a dim headlamp. I envied the tropical sun, which would wait another 4 hours before it shared its warmth with the island. “Better get moving,” declared Leon as he started towards the hill. His step was calculated and intuitive. My friend, Maddy, and I followed behind, graceless and clumsy on the unfamiliar black sand. Bali, Indonesia was never a place I intended to visit. However, Maddy convinced me to give it a chance. Despite countless endorsements by various social media accounts and the undeniably staggering natural scenery, I regarded it in my mind as an over-toured destination for those who wanted not an authentic and thought-provoking experience, but rather, a perfect photo; A place where few true adventures were to be had, and local culture was diluted by its annual five million travelers. Little did I know, my mind would be changed entirely. Without much knowledge of Balinese culture, we decided to skim listings for guided tours. We fell upon a sunrise trek up Mount Batur, captivated by the images of orange and pink ribbons above a stunning cloud layer. We reserved our spots without a second thought. A 2:00 am wake-up call was both disorienting and invigorating. Adrenaline filled my body like a tap that wouldn’t turn off. After quietly packing a water bottle, band-aids, and a bag of granola, Maddy and I tip-toed past the intricate shrine of the family compound we stayed at to meet our driver. The road to the mountain was not new, but it was unfamiliar. Watching the dark silhouettes of village buildings and sleeping dogs that lay contentedly in front of them, I wondered what my hometown looked like in the small hours of the morning. The first fifteen minutes of the trek felt relatively easy, despite being in the dark. Without the advantage of sight, I painted a picture of my surroundings through the smell of wet soil from the onion farms nearby. The sniffing and complaining of hungry pigs in a nearby pen. The soft touch of unfamiliar plants reaching towards my ankles, making my hair stand on edge. Leon, our guide, was as nimble as an antelope, stepping with confidence up the path. I tried to keep up with his quick pace to learn some Indonesian. “Gunung berapi means volcano,” he said. “Gunung is mountain; berapi means fire.” Soon after expanding my Indonesian vocabulary to about six words, the trail began to steepen. The familiar touch of foliage around us was gone, and the sandy trail below us became much more difficult to navigate. It wasn’t until our descent about three hours later that I realized we were climbing between beds of pink, fossilized lava. With sand infiltrating my sneakers, I repeatedly pleaded my thighs to hold strong for just one more big step. My body began to struggle with the steep, winding trail. “We’re almost there,” shouted Leon, anticipating the question that danced on the tip of my tongue. Still colorless but beginning to lighten, the sky above us felt closer. Voices began to carry through the cold mountain air, and I felt a burst of energy, uplifted by the idea of accomplishment. “You can do this,” I whispered to myself. About five minutes later, we climbed over one last hill. We were greeted by a congregation of rosy-cheeked, exhilarated hikers. Together, we ate a Balinese mountain breakfast of volcano-boiled eggs, snake fruit, and bananas. From the top of a mountain, I learned pieces of a new language, and met countless people filled with kindness and joy. In the process, I achieved more physically than I ever thought I could. And most importantly, I became aware of generalizations that allowed me disregard an entire culture, and almost prevented me from having one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life.