Tourist groups sit bleary-eyed around wooden tables, eating banana pancakes in the darkness and drinking weak coffee with eyelids half-shut. At three in the morning, food is neither welcome nor unwelcome to us. All that each early riser desires is more sleep; crêpes are an acceptable compromise, and provide us with at least a little energy for the climb ahead. This nocturnal breakfast is provided at a makeshift canteen in Toya Bungkah, a short drive from the base of Mount Batur. It’s a road well-travelled; approximately 200 tourists are driven to the hike’s starting point each day, with traveller numbers continuously increasing. For those seeking serenity - tranquil views over the volcano’s crater and a chance to experience the quintessential Balinese sunrise - reality may prove a little different. Soon, we are bundled back into the vehicles that will carry us the rest of the way. I’m struck by the remoteness of our destination. Driving down a dirt track cloaked in darkness, I start to feel as though this trek is in some way an invasion of privacy - an act of trespass to the primitive lands of the local people. Would they prefer a life without the influence of tourists, without crowds and cameras and commercialism? Arriving at our start point, we clamber out of the car and move tentatively towards the harsh lights of the car park bathrooms. A young Balinese woman, probably a little older than me, bounds over and introduces herself. ‘I’m Wayan, your guide for today’, she announces brightly, projecting her enthusiasm onto her slumberous charges. Later, Wayan tells me that she normally functions on little more than four hours of sleep each night - not that this is evident from her lively manner. ‘Ready?’ The trail’s path is clogged, a steady stream of humans causing blockages at regular intervals. Wayan climbs deftly around the other trekkers. ‘I can climb this mountain in my sleep,’ she tells me earnestly. Six days a week, 52 weeks a year, she rises in the middle of the night to guide thousands of international tourists up the rocky slopes of the island’s most famous volcano. Wayan has led trekking tours here for five years, taking only a brief hiatus whilst pregnant. Her baby boy, Satria, is now four months old, and Wayan has been back at work for two of those. Her husband, Ketut, looks after their son in the early hours of the morning, before he is left in the experienced arms of his grandmother. I ask if Ketut begins his day as early as Wayan does. ‘No, he sleeps like the baby,’ Wayan smiles. ‘He’s more tired than me...babies are hard work!’ Her laugh is infectious, and I smile too, admiring this woman for her resilience and indefatigable good humour. As we summit, the sun rising gently behind Mount Agung, I notice Wayan becoming agitated. Clouds have shrouded this mountain each morning for two weeks, thwarting the chances of many an Instagrammer. Capturing the perfect sunrise on camera doesn’t seem too likely this morning. ‘It’s cloudy today...I’m really sorry.’ Wayan looks upset, but her apprehension is unnecessary. Nobody in our group seems to mind too much that the weather has refused to cooperate. It’s not always easy, she explains - some tourists connect the unpredictable weather with Wayan, placing the blame on her and voicing their dissatisfactions over their mountaintop breakfasts. Monkeys wreak havoc on the volcano’s summit, stealing food and climbing fearlessly from human to human. ‘Monkeys and people...they are very alike,’ Wayan ruminates, more to herself than to us. ‘They take what they can.’ As our group tumbles back down the mountainside, waves of exhaustion now engulfing us all, I learn that Wayan’s work for the day is far from over. Cleaning, cooking and tending to her baby - the work never ceases, Wayan admits, but she is prepared to do what it takes in order to help her family survive. After a moment of silence, Wayan asks me about my own life back home. ‘Wow,’ she whispers softly as we run down our final path, having heard about my career aspirations and future travel plans. ‘I wish I could be as lucky as you.’