Bromo

Once I've seen lava lake of red hot magma bubbling below like an angry tomato soup, once I've witnessed an eruption catapulting half molten rocks and ash into the air, once I've held my breath in awe at the sheer power of the earth - refusing to let this moment of pure amazement and humility to end - it's become virtually impossible for me to stay indifferent to volcanoes for the rest of my life.

Bromo was another volcano, but it's never just another volcano. Every volcano is different and magnificent in its own way. When the planet decides to open up, literally, and allows me to take a peek inside, I mustn't decline the invitation – it would be almost impolite. I think of the earth as of my elder – it knows better.

Bromo didn't roar and didn't boil. At least not that we could see. It smoked quietly and seemingly calmly, surrounding us at times in white vinegary smoke, and then letting a gust of wind scoop it all up and reveal all the nooks and crannies of its crater. If I didn't know better I'd think its sole purpose was creating clouds. White puffy clouds.






Bromo Gallery