Never Climb Into the Volcano

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The bad news is that the best thing about Bandung is thirty kilometres away from it. The good news is that this thing is a live volcano: Tangkuban Perahu, a place infused with ancient myth. Granted, it's relatively poor story as they go: something about a man falling his love with his mother and kicking a boat over when he finds he can't marry her. Nothing in comparison to the excitement of an actual live volcano. That's what I'm here for, after all.

I'm not going to lie - I was hoping for a full-blown eruption on a Hollywood scale. In reality Tangkuban Perahu has been experiencing post-orgasmic lethargy since 1969. Yet there's still something to be seen: thick clouds of sulphurous gas breaking through the crust, and - when you get really close to the crater's edge - springs of boiling grey water, heated by the magma underneath. Tourists are advised to never climb into the volcano. No shit.

Eggs and not people, however, are routinely cooked in the scalding water, and sold to those stupid enough to buy them. The whole site stinks of sulphur, the same element that makes rotten eggs smell bad. It doesn't take a genius to work out that eggs cooked inside the volcano aren't going to impress. Yet this doesn't seem to stop people from indulging.

As the zombies nibble on their overpriced snacks, I continue to explore. The deadly toxicity of the sulphurous fumes is only too apparent: ahead is 'Death Valley', a barren, poison-soaked crust. Well worth a look. Nothing lives here. My throat begins to sting from inhaled fumes. I'm glad I didn't book the twelve hour tour.

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