This Is What Sendiri Got Me: Hiking Merapi Alone

The culture in my community places a strong emphasis on togetherness. Locals, especially young women, find solitude uncomfortable. I felt it was my duty as a Peace Corps Volunteer to show my community that being alone is nothing to fear. I wanted my village to observe my confidence in solitude and adopt my behaviors. I jog alone, walk alone, and run errands alone.

When I first started doing this, I immediately received criticism from my neighbors. They would warn me “You should bring a friend.” “It’s not safe to go alone.” “It is very dangerous for a female to travel alone.” Over time, their words of concern slowly frustrated me. I soon became stubborn whenever I was told not to be alone.

Last month I was stressed from a heavy workload, and therefore I became very irritable. Every time someone told me not to go somewhere alone, I felt I have had to defend myself. I knew I needed a break, so I decided to hike Mount Merapi, the most active volcano in Indonesia. I thought about inviting some friends along, but I decided not to. I wanted to prove to my community (but really to myself) that being alone was nothing to fear.

A photo of Mount Merapi that I took on my way up to the summit. "Mount Merapi" literally translates to "Fire Mountain" 

I know hiking alone can be dangerous, so I took all the necessary precautions. I packed a med kit. I informed 5 other volunteers, the Peace Corps staff, and my siblings to let them know of my whereabouts. I researched various websites to get tips on hiking Merapi. I even hired a driver to get me to and from the city of Yogyakarta. Of course I had to pay extra for him to chauffeur me around, but in my mind the money was worth it. Even though he wasn’t hiking with me, I took comfort in the fact that someone was waiting for me at the end of my journey.

When I arrived at the Merapi National Park registration desk, the clerk asked me if I would like to hike with a guide or with other tourists. I confidently declined his offer informing him that I will set out at dawn the next morning, alone. “At dawn? Most people head out at 1am.” My ears perked up at this; my brain and my heart then battled over my next step.

Heart: “This sounds like an amazing adventure!”

Brain: “Don’t even think about it. You’re traveling alone.”

Heart: “But it’s a night hike…on a volcano. And I can watch the sunrise at the summit.”

Brain: “You’re going to get lost, fool.”

Heart: “My adventurous spirit shall guide me.”

Brain: “You adventurous spirit is going to guide you straight into the afterlife.”

My brain won the argument; I told my driver and the owner of my homestay that I would hike at dawn.

The next morning I set out at 5am like I had promised. The homestay owner told me the hike was 4 hours up and 3.5 hours down. I expected to be back around 2pm, 3 at the latest. 

There were posts like this along the way, so I was reassured I wasn't lost

The trail was clearly marked, so I had no problem navigating my way up the mountain. About 75% of the trail is on a lush, green mountain. That was the easy part. 

The hard part was getting up the summit. The volcanic crater is made up of sand, pebbles, and boulders. Walking became impossible, so I started crawling up the crater. I was pretty much falling up the crater. Eventually, I made it up to a place that large, but very loose rocks. Each step I took caused the rocks to shake. My brain and heart had another battle at the summit.

A photo of the (almost) top of Merapi's volcanic crater

Heart: “I’ve made it this far. I HAVE to get to the very top.”

Brain: “It’s dangerous. You’re the only one on this crater except for those campers down there.

Heart: “But will it be a victory if I don’t make it to the top?”

Brain: “It’ll be a victory for Death, yes. Plus, you’re an aunt. You have to be there for your niece and nephew.”

My brain won again and I started to make my way down. I hiked up with minimal issues and therefore felt reassured I could return safely. Little did I know it was downhill from there. As I walked down the crater, I saw a guide and two French tourists making their way up. The guide pointed to my left and said, “You should go down that way.” I was already falling down the slope and onto a path towards the right.

“Can I go down this way?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’ll just take a little longer.”

This video shows how difficult it is to walk on the crater. My feet dug into the stand and I frequently fell forward sending a mini avalanch of pebbles trailing near me

That’s fine, I thought. I just wanted to get off the terrifying crater and back onto lush, green ground. I refused to let my mind go into panic mode, so I thought of people saying comforting words to me.

“You got this, K!” said my sister, Priti

“Come on, Tuku. You can do it,” said my other sister, Mukti.

“Go, BEFF!” said my brother-in-law, Rahul (yes, my family has a lot of nicknames for me).

I walked down the crater for about thirty minutes until I slipped and sent a few pebbles tumbling forward. I watched one pebble fall off a rock in front of me, but I did not hear it hit the ground until a few seconds later.  I threw another pebble and counted the seconds until it hit the ground. Seven seconds. The comforting words in my head vanished and I started to worry. I knew I could not climb down it, but reversing my steps also seemed impossible. Large rocks crumbled into a thousand tiny pebbles when I tried to grab onto them. I was quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place.  

I decided that backtracking was the best option. I needed to get back up the crater and then walk across it to get to the base where I knew there were other people. I started to crawl back up the crater for the second time. I came to a rock about 3 feet tall. Part of the rock crumbled when I tried climbing it, sending me tumbling backwards with dirt and pebbles hitting my face. My mind went into survival mode.

I can’t let my mother bury her youngest child.

Adrenaline filled my veins as I pulled myself over this rock. Once I reached the top I looked down at my hands. I could see that they were scraped, but I couldn't feel the pain. I then willed myself to crawl on my hands and knees for an hour back up the steep volcanic slope. I know I was running out of water, so I told myself that I couldn’t waste energy. Every move I made had to be calculated; I refused to let my body flail.

The 5 campers who graciously let me hike with them 

Eventually, I crawled far enough to a campsite where I met five local campers. As soon as I saw them, my body realized how much pain it was in. My limbs ached and my lips were dry from dehydration. I was also bleeding from my hands, elbows, and knees. The campers offered to hike with me down the mountain after taking care of my immediate needs. At this moment, I feared being alone. I happily took their offer and the six of us hiked down the mountain together.

“How fast are we going to go down?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“As slow as you want,” one of the boys replied, trying to comfort me.

Both my driver and the homestay owner were anxiously waiting for me at the base camp. My watch read 6pm. Three hours late.  They helped me wobble back to the homestay and waited for me to shower and eat dinner. After I told my story, my homestay owner asked, “Oh! You took the path on the right side of the crater? Many people get lost there…about one person every month. It takes the rescue team 1-2 days to get them out!” He proceeded to congratulate me on crawling out of that dangerous place. “Not many people can do that.  That’s why we have the rescue team.” He also told me that he was going to call the rescue squad to come get me if I hadn't returned by 6:30pm. 

I was shocked at what he was telling me. I was kicking myself and patting myself on the back at the same time. Soon after, my driver packed my bags in the car and we headed back to the city. He made conversation with me in an attempt to get my mind off of my horrible hiking experience. After an hour of driving, we saw a beautiful view of Merapi as we reached the bottom of the mountain. My driver then asked, “You went up there to prove something. Did you?”

“No.” I said as I turned my face away from Merapi.

Maybe Indonesians are right: some things shouldn’t be done alone.