Contributing writer Dewi Aroha describes her adventure in exploring the majestic Mount Batur, Bali.
Our journey to Mount Batur in Bali began in the early hours of the morning. At 3:30 a.m., we climbed into the back of a truck and rattled our way across the old lava fields. The truck’s headlights illuminated the sandy volcanic track — a vivid reminder of the volcano’s fiery past. The open-air ride felt wild and raw, and our very enthusiastic group of six women were thrilled to have discovered this 30% shorter trekking route, away from the crowds.
Ganesh, our guide, explained that this path has only been open since 2020 and follows the traditional temple route still used by locals. It turned out to be the less touristy option indeed, as we encountered only one other group of local climbers on our 1.5-hour ascent.
By 4 a.m., we stood at the base of the mountain, switching on our headlamps and tightening our backpacks. The night sky was ablaze with an endless blanket of stars, wrapped in overwhelming silence. No birds, no noise — just the vast, luminous night sky. We began the trail — no crowds, no chatter — guided by Ganesh and Rama, our sprightly and steadfast trekking guides, and by the mountain itself.
The climb unfolded in four stages.
The first section consisted of soft volcanic sand and a steady incline that demanded more effort than expected, as we sank slightly with each step. The second section required some rock scrambling, where we used both hands and feet to pull ourselves upwards. The third levelled out into a steadier track — a welcome relief that allowed us to catch our breath. The final stretch was the hardest: a steep incline demanding focus and determination, though thankfully short and manageable.
I had anticipated a tougher climb and, just in case, strapped on my knee brace to handle any ‘poor me knee syndrome’ that sometimes appears when I strain my joints. To my delight, the Batur climb was no trouble at all. The whole experience felt meditative; I settled into a calm rhythm, guided by the steady beam of my headlamp, the glittering stars above, and the occasional comet streaking across the sky.
Up ahead was Ganesh, somehow managing to play the guitar while walking. The gentle tunes provided a soothing accompaniment to the still darkness. I marvelled at how he could navigate rocks, climb, and strum the guitar — all at once!
At my own snail’s pace (being 64, I am legally allowed to move as slowly as I please), I lost track of time, following the melody ahead.
Soon enough, we reached the lower summit — right on time at 5:45 a.m. While three of our group continued to the ultimate peak with our guitar-playing guide, the rest of us stayed on the lower ridge to watch the sunrise unfold.
The horizon began to glow as the darkness gave way to light. The sky unfurled in layers of soft orange, dusty pink, and vibrant gold. Below us, the jewel-toned Lake Batur shimmered, while wisps of mist drifted mystically from the east. A magical moment.
In the distance, Mount Abang stood tall, with Mount Agung — its majestic brother — rising proudly behind, its sharp outline cutting through the morning sky at 3,100 metres. Unlike the crowded ridge opposite, where around 500 tourists gathered on the commercial route, our spot was serene. We sat on the warm volcanic earth (yes, Mount Batur is active) in peaceful silence, simply breathing and taking it all in.
After soaking up the sunrise, it was time for our ‘mountain breakfast’, prepared in one of the most unusual kitchens I’ve ever seen. Fresh farm eggs, corn on the cob, and sweet potatoes were placed into the earth — inside a small fumarole vent where hot volcanic steam escaped. Within half an hour, our meal was ready.
We ate at the summit, 1,700 metres above sea level — piping-hot eggs, sweet potatoes rich in flavour, and succulent local corn baked in the earth — all served on a silver tray. It was the kind of meal that tasted better simply because of where we were, and how it was made: in the heart of the mountain itself.
During breakfast, Ganesh told us about local conservation projects, including a tree-planting initiative. His organisation has already planted 2,500 trees, and he presented our group with a baby banyan tree.
“Our gift to the mountain — in honour of nature, peace for the earth, and our respect as humans for the environment,” he said with heartfelt sincerity.
He then led us in a short Balinese blessing, with flowers and incense. His words were humble, not preachy, and reminded me that this climb was never just about reaching the top. It was about reconnecting — with nature, with stillness, and with the importance of being present in wild, elemental places.
The descent was easier in daylight. The path revealed its full form — sandy stretches, jagged rocks, and open ridges. Our less-travelled route made the mountain feel intimate, personal, not just another tourist destination. By mid-morning, after some slipping and sliding, we arrived back at the base, ready for the final part of our journey.
We chose the optional add-on: a soak in the natural hot springs by Lake Batur. Fifteen minutes later, we found ourselves in steaming thermal pools, almost too hot at first, until the warmth melted into bliss. I sank in up to my shoulders, letting my muscles relax as steam drifted into the cool morning air. From the edge of the pool, the mountain loomed above the lake’s glassy surface — a perfect, peaceful ending.
As I looked back at Mount Batur one last time, gratitude washed over me. The climb had not been merely a physical challenge; it had been an opportunity to connect — through blessings, earthy food, and quiet reflection.
Mount Batur gave me more than a view. It gave me a new perspective.
Writer’s note:
During her adventure, the writer used the services of a tour company called Jack and The Team Mount Batur Trekking and Guiding, which offers environmentally focused trips through mountains, waterfalls, and temples.
For more information, readers can contact them via WhatsApp +62 878-6336-2289 or on Instagram:
- Trekking Organisation: @bagawatafrombali
- Tree Planting Community: @mendakipohon