The Simplest Things

by Ella Morgan (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

We left camp at 2:15 am. Tianyar felt different at that time. It was the quiet in-between good nights shouted over sandy campfire songs and tired eyed, banana pancake good mornings. But that’s not to say it was too quiet. The crickets formed a hidden orchestra and the local dogs who’d been sleeping outside our room stirred and sauntered off, obviously unimpressed at the disturbance. Strangest of all was the lack of smell. Bali had become a colourful palette of scents in my mind, and I’d become accustomed to spices on the air and clouds of incense from religious offerings on doorsteps. We clambered into the car, our two joining another four. They were bleary-eyed, as were we, but the air was thick with excitement. We were off and we were racing. When we arrived we were ushered into a small blue room. The exposed light-bulb flickered, but provided a sanctuary from the darkness outside. We rented light coats and torches, and paid our fare. Then we were introduced to Buddha, our guide. He shifted from foot to foot, as if itching to get going, but smiled warmly as he asked our names and sharply stuck his hand out for each of us to shake. After which he swiftly returned his arms to hug his chest and sped off into the darkness. The clock had started ticking. The flat paths seemed to go on forever. So long that, in the dark, I began to question the volcano’s existence. And as the minutes ticked by, whether we’d make it in time. But, the ground eventually steepened and the distant lights became flowers dotted in a field below. Then we were in amongst the trees, pausing half an hour later in a clearing filled with others beginning the climb. Despite it being barely 3:30am, the energy there was electric. A hum of conversation filled the space. It was the energy I’d begun to associate with travellers - infectious, buzzing excitement. From there the hike became more difficult. Buddha had given us the choice between two paths and smiled eagerly when we’d chosen the more difficult. “Turn right - special hiking trail, quiet, rather difficult” read the sign, nailed wonkily to a tree. The sign’s red words spoke truth. It was pitch black here, so we shone torchlight where the moonlight didn’t puddle, but still we stumbled, slipped and slid. Sometimes in light conversation, but mostly in silence. We were holding our breath. We only had three hours left. We hiked for about two and a half hours more before we reached the top. We’d made it, but still we had to wait. We huddled around a bench, looking out at the view. The lights below were now boats on a dark, distant ocean. Buddha fetched us fried banana sandwiches, which I’d fail to recreate in the months after coming home. Then the veil began to lift. Like a cloth pulled from a table, the sun, blood orange in it’s waking moments, began to flow over the horizon. It followed our path, clambering up the mountain, as we had just minutes before. I looked over to Buddha, whose feet were no longer tapping, and saw the smile on his face. I understood immediately why he’d been so anxious to get up here. It was otherworldly. The light spilt over the horizon, warm and fiery, betraying the green landscape below. The mountains of Java appeared in the distance. Peaks and valleys of our own Mount Batur emerged from sleepy shadows. The clouds swarmed below us as if the world had been flipped upside down. Buddha took a deep breath in and as I copied, I felt a weight lift from my chest. The air was thick, sweet and moreish. And the gap it had left began to fill with the early morning light; warm and comforting. The Balinese put it better than I ever could. They have a saying, “We have no art. We do everything as beautifully as possible”. I took home the reminder that every day is full of wonder. That even the simplest things, like a sunrise, are an art form to be appreciated, if only one wakes early enough.