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I wonder what possessed us. It's 1am and our driver, Made picks us up from our hotel in Legian. "Are you ready?" he asks, his eyes twinkling bemusedly. Lack of sleep drove Mount Batur far from my mind and instead I focused greedily on the pillows he provided. After a bumpy two hour drive and a fitful nap in the van, we arrive. Made takes us to our guide, a small woman with kind eyes and introduces us, "This is Made." My sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden brain doesn't think anything of it at the time. In Balinese culture, people are named one of four names according to birth order, regardless of gender, and Made is the second born name. What a way to simplify and complicate life at the same time! Made (our guide, not driver) hands us flashlights and simply says we must follow her. We plunge into the darkness, unable to see anything but the narrow glare of the flashlight on Made's sneakers. The start of the climb is pleasant with a slight incline and wide path. Made stops at a small shrine and makes an offering of Canang Sari to the gods. I feel oddly comforted by this but this was short-lived. What follows next is perhaps the most physically gruelling 5 hours of my life. I'm not a fit person but I workout regularly and thought the online descriptions of "moderate hike with average fitness required" meant it would be manageable. I failed to realise that we'll be climbing an actual volcano, not ambling on the Hennops hike. Mind you, the Hennops hike is a cracker also (told you I'm not fit). As we climb, it starts to pour with unrelenting rain and I feel tired and miserable. Made makes sure we take rest stops frequently. My breathing is so heavy and erratic, I think she's scared I'm going to have a heart attack. We reach the top and I've never felt such relief. Made finds a secluded spot with what I imagine is a fantastic view on a clear morning but the rain drives everyone into the makeshift shelters. We drink our hot coffee, grateful for the warmth and pick at the breakfast provided, eventually settling on the boiled eggs. The sun starts to rise and the light is welcomed but the rain and clouds prevent any Instagram-worthy pictures. Still, it's pretty spectacular standing up there knowing you just climbed an active volcano. The rain stops, the views of the neighbouring lake and fields are breathtaking and our spirits are lifted. We stop to feel the hot steam escaping from crevices in the mountain and marvel at the crater and rock formations. Mount Batur stands at 1717m in the Kintamani district of Bali and last erupted in 2000. Javanese mythology says that Antaboga, a serpentine god that existed before the beginning of time, lies underneath the volcano and when he shakes his head, the volcano violently rumbles. As we make our way down the path, we can now see where we were actually climbing up. The narrow rocky path ends in sheer drops on either side and you can't see the bottom. My childhood fear of heights kicks in and my heart remains firmly in my throat, my knees shaking relentlessly. I take a rather graceful fall and go sliding on my butt. Made grabs my hand and doesn't let go for the rest of the way down. She becomes the most important person in my life for those two hours. "You ok? You ok?" she asks me constantly. I love her dearly. I haven't been to many places around the world but for now, Bali is my favourite. The Island of the Gods is the perfect juxtaposition of the ancient mysticism of temples, the opulence and hedonism of parties and clubs, the unparalleled natural splendor of volcanoes, jungles and beaches, the chaos and noise of scooters and tourists and the quiet, kind and humble spirituality of its people. I can't wait to go back.