Girl on the Mountain

by Amanda Chang (Singapore)

Making a local connection Indonesia

“Hello, hello!” Our guide motioned for us to huddle up with him near our vehicle. I pulled my friend Mabel along, and we sidled up to the other tourists in our group for a safety briefing. In the pre-dawn darkness, an energetic thrum cut through the air as other groups set off. They formed a trail of white flashlights that marked the way up the mountain. The rocks were slippery and sometimes precariously positioned, and once or twice, loose stones tumbled down the slopes. And yet it was exhilarating, the feeling of being so close to nature, at the brink of conquering something that challenged me in a purely physical way. Everything felt unreal. The craggy silhouettes of surrounding hills and mountains, the pitch-black darkness that brought the net of stars overhead into unmistakable focus. Mount Batur rose slowly from the gloom as red deepened on the edges of the horizon. When I looked back again, I could not find a familiar face. Deep breaths in, and out. I waited at a tiny clearing to the left of the path, keeping a lookout for Mabel and my guide, whose face was fading from memory with every passing minute. Fortunately, I soon spotted Mabel’s neon pink top from a distance. Shouting her name, I gestured wildly to catch her attention. She glanced up and gave me a quick wave, but with her other hand, clung to the arm of a stranger in a vise-like grip. As they approached slowly, I watched the sure-footed female trekker patiently guide Mabel up the path. In the dark, it was hard to tell how old she was or where she was from. The breaking daylight cast mysterious shadows across her open face. She had a petite but sturdy build, dressed in a blue hoodie and exercise shoes crumbed with dust. I was certain she must be a seasoned trekker, an avid outdoor enthusiast. “This is crazy!” Mabel wheezed as she smacked my arm, giving me a pointed “I’m only doing this because you wanted to” stare. I laughed and assured her she was doing a great job, and more importantly, that the peak was near. Catching my eye, the female trekker offered me a shy smile. Up close, I realised that she could not have been older than fifteen. “Hello, where are you from?” I asked her. “Here. Bali.” She tested the steadiness of a rock with her foot before stepping up. “You from Singapore too?” “Oh, yes. Same as my friend. You are very good at climbing the mountain.” “Yes,” she replied. Not with any hint of pride, but the mere acceptance of something as fact. Around us, the sky was lightening, settling into streaks of oranges and whites. I quickened my pace a little, eager to reach the top before sunrise. “Do you climb this mountain a lot?” I asked. “Yes. Every day.” I shot her a look of incredulity mid-step. She didn’t break her pace. “I sell drinks on mountain top,” she explained. At around 5am, Mabel and I heaved ourselves onto the summit of Mount Batur. Mellow beats were already droning from the speakers of tourists who had arrived before us and marked their spots with colourful rugs. The smells during the climb had been sweat and earth, but now, cigarette smoke and the aroma of breakfast wafted towards us. We were perhaps a hundred strangers who had climbed a mountain together, and were now waiting for the very same spectacle to unfold before our eyes. And yet, the scene I remember more vividly than the golden sunrise, is the 13-year-old girl in the blue hoodie who announced: “Bye, I’m going to school now!”, and hopped off merrily across the rocks. Later in the cab back to the city, an uncanny feeling sat with me. It was ten in the morning and the day had just begun for many, and yet we had already scaled a mountain. Bubbling with pride, I wondered if that much was obvious to the people we passed on the streets. Did they know I’d climbed a mountain while they were asleep? Did her friends know she’d climbed a mountain by the time she was in class?