Another 6 hours in a bemo, pausing only for lunch, we continued our eastward path across Java, skirting the northern coast before turning south and back into Java's interior. The rains began and quickly turned from heavy to torrential, our little minibus labouring up what was once a road, but with all the pot holes and landslides now resembled nothing more than a dirt track under a foot or two of water. A little worried the van might roll on a couple of occasions we were grateful to reach the Army checkpoint at the top of the hill. The Army's presence soon became clear as we began to descend the other side. We had entered Javas coffee plantations with their berry laden squat shrubs.

We arrived at the village of Sempol and pulled into a rather bizarre hotel. Obviously an old Dutch mansion, converted into a hotel, surrounded by coffee processing machinery and the plantation workers' village. The village is a one dirt road town lined with neat little corrugated iron roofed houses, a mosque and a few little shops. The houses were paid for by the Government for the plantation workers. Luxurious working conditions compared to what we would see the next day at Ijen. We had a few Bintangs, some dinner and naturally some coffee before turning in, it was another 4am start the next day.

Ijen wasn't mentioned in our guide book, so we were a little clueless as to what to expect. Together with our guide, Amrul, we began the steep ascent. Around 45 minutes into the climb we came across bamboo baskets on the side of the path loaded with pillow sized chunks of sulphur Another 30 minutes or so on we met Salomon with his empty baskets on his way to the crater for his first run of the day. We had a chat with this man who seemed happy in his work and beamed from ear to ear when we asked to take his photo. A little further on we reached a ramshackle hut where half a dozen men and their sulphur laden baskets rested around some bamboo scales. Amrul explained to us that these guys walk the ½ km down from the rim into the crater on a path no wider than a few feet. They load their baskets, climb up out the crater and down to the weighing station where we now stood. They do this twice a morning before the winds change direction blowing the burning sulphur fumes across the path. Each load they carry is around 100 kilos, and one wrong step on the precarious path meant death or if they were lucky just serious injury. So for carrying 200 kilos a day and risking their lives they get paid US$5 by the Chinese company that owns the mine, disgusting. We loaded up on super strength cigarettes to give to the workers we passed who all seemed very grateful for the gift. In fact it was strange to see how cheerful they all were despite the awful working conditions.

We continued up the volcano, the sulphur fumes now burning our eyes and raking our throats, so much so it was necessary to pour water on our shirt sleeves and breath through them. No wonder most of the workers are asthmatic. We finally reached the top and were rewarded with stunning views. To the left the continuous bloom of yellow poisonous sulphur rich smoke and stretching away in front of us the huge glass like crater lake reflecting the crater cliffs and blue skies about them. But, it wasn't as idyllic as it sounds; the lake is nearly pure sulphuric acid.

We began to climb a little way down into the crater but our progress was halted by the sight of six men carrying an injured man up towards us. The sight brought tears to Emma's eyes, they didn't even have a stretcher to lay the man on. As they passed us we realised it was Salomen, the guy we had talked to earlier, he had stepped back to let someone pass him and fallen. Broken arm, leg and possibly back, he will never work the mines again. Amrul told us this was a fairly common sight, a regular occurrence, but there were always men eager to take his place.

Very carefully we inched our way down to a small plateau inside the crater. From here you could see the men working on the sulphur vents far below us. Jona decided he needed to know what it was like down there so continued down along the most rudimentary of paths. How these men walk up it with 100 kilos across their shoulders is mind boggling. Finally at the crater floor the heat from the sulphur venting at 400 degrees was immense, yet there were guys right in there with buckets of water trying to keep the pipes cool, lest they explode. In another part of the mine men with crowbars were attacking the sulphur deposits pulling our chunks for the waiting baskets. Not a gas mask in sight, any sort of protective gear in fact.

We climbed back to the crater rim, Amrul pointing out on the way where a French tourist had fallen to her death a few weeks previously. Looking back over the now horrendous looking views we asked Amrul why there were no gas masks, stretcher, or even a pulley system to bring the sulphur up to the rim. His answer was simple; "It all costs money and a mans life is cheaper to the Chinese owners".