1:30 am – middle of the night. In a simple wooden, mountain shelter we are getting ready for an expedition to the crater of Ijen volcano.

A petite, swarthy guide dressed in a windbreaker and rubber boots hands us masks with air filters. The post-nuclear world accessories cause mild heart palpitations. An expedition leader is trying to save the situation:

“No, no! Nothing to worry about! These are only in case you cannot breathe.”

Much better.

Throughout the three kilometres long track leading to the volcano summit, we can only see narrow stripes of light falling from the flashlights attached to our foreheads. Whatever surrounds us is shrouded in the impenetrable darkness. Blackness plays with imagination. Innocent during the daytime sounds now cause a nervous glancing around and an accelerated walking pace. The night does not help conversations. No visual stimuli result in no topics to talk about. Our full attention, however, concentrates on watching stripes of light which guide our feet on a gravel path. Occasionally, we hear a thud sound of tripping and muffled curses of those who do not concentrate hard enough.

Two hours later, we stand at the top of the volcano Ijen. At least, this is what our guides tell us. Pitch-black night does not allow to verify the facts. The smell of sulphur drifting in the cold air, however, seems to confirm their words.

Sunrise – the reason for our trip – is still two hours away. The idea to spend this time idle in the dark does not appear attractive. Plus, we rack our brains over masks. The smell of sulphur is, in fact, noticeable, but the mask is probably a small exaggeration. Guide emerging from darkness interrupts our chain of thoughts.

“If you rested enough, we could go further.”

Further? An intriguing turn of events leads us to the crater edge, invisible in the blacks of night. Dani – the same petit guide who has handed us masks, grabs my hand and leads down. Floundering fingers can feel the sharp rocks of the volcano. Unstable stones slip from under the feet filling the air with clouds of sulphurous dust, which begins to irritate the throat and eyes. Mask put on face stained with streaks of tears brings immediate relief. The black depth in front of us starts to shine with purple-blue fires of burning sulphur fumes. We inch closer to the bottom of the crater and poisonous spectacle that captivates with hypnotic colours.

In pale lights of flashlights, between the flames and thick clouds of sulphurous smoke, dark silhouettes of sulphur miners move around. Bent in half, with long metal rods, they break off pieces of mineral dried into gold streaks. Miners tightly cover faces with scarfs against the acid vapours and load the gold-orange rocks into wicker baskets connected with a bamboo stick. Up to ninety kilos of raw material will come up out on their shoulders the same way we came. Steep, uneven, dangerous and disappearing into the darkness. Two courses per day will bring about 200 000 Indonesian rupees – a small fortune, which will ensure the survival of their families. Dani – today our guide – will get the same amount of money for leading the trip. Another 200 000 he will get as a tip. Tomorrow, he will return to the back-breaking work in the mine.

Sunrise finds us in the volcano crater valley. Warm rays cast a golden thread on raw grey walls of the volcano. Dani points something in between clouds of sulphur. From behind their grey-yellow vapours emerges an indescribably beautiful emerald lake – as beautiful, as deadly – filled with sulphuric acid.

Hell of a place.