Some volcanoes are beautiful.
Some are scientifically fascinating.
And then there’s Kawah Ijen, where somebody looked at an active volcano filled with toxic sulfur gas, an insanely acidic lake and fire literally coming out of the ground and thought:
We should let tourists climb down there. In the dark.
Indonesia agreed.
And thank God they did, because Kawah Ijen is easily one of the most badass things I’ve ever seen.
Located in East Java, Indonesia, Kawah Ijen is part of the enormous Ijen volcanic complex and famous for its turquoise acid lake and eerie blue flame.
I came for the blue flame.
It took me two trips to finally see the damn thing.
DESTINATION: KAWAH IJEN’s BLUE FLAME
GPS COORDINATES
-8.0620, 114.2470
CLOSEST AIRPORT
CURRENT WEATHER
scattered clouds (11 C / 52 F)
AIR QUALITY INDEX (AQI)
FIRST, LET’S RUIN INSTAGRAM
Despite what approximately nine billion photographs suggest, Kawah Ijen does not have blue lava.
The blue flame is burning sulfur.
Superheated sulfuric gases escape through cracks in the volcano and ignite when they hit oxygen. Some condense into liquid sulfur that continues burning as it moves across the ground, creating the illusion of electric-blue lava leaking from the Earth.
The catch?
You need darkness to really see it.
Which means your adventure begins at an hour normally reserved for airport departures, questionable life decisions and drunk people ordering pizza.
NOTHING SAYS VACATION LIKE A 2:00 AM ALARM
Depending on where you’re staying around Banyuwangi, expect your day to begin somewhere around 2:00 AM.
Nothing says relaxing Indonesian vacation quite like an alarm screaming at you while everyone else is unconscious.
You stumble out of bed, grab your camera gear and drive roughly an hour toward Paltuding, arriving in darkness alongside hundreds of other people who have apparently made the same terrible vacation decision.
And then you hike.
Up a volcano.
In the middle of the night.
It’s an unnecessarily shitty way to start your morning.
It’s also completely worth it.
MY FIRST ATTEMPT: IJEN 1, SEAN 0
My first trip to Kawah Ijen was in 2023.
The blue flame had been sitting on my bucket list for years because photographing burning sulfur inside an active volcano seemed like exactly the kind of questionable objective DESTINATIONS UNKNOWN exists to pursue.
Unfortunately, Ijen had other plans.
Volcanic unrest and elevated gas levels meant overnight access and descending into the crater were restricted.
Translation: I traveled all the way here to photograph the blue flame and couldn’t see the fucking blue flame.
Fantastic.
I could still hike to the crater rim, so that’s what I did.
There was another slight problem.
This was during what we’ll politely call my less athletic years.
The hike nearly killed me.
Not literally.
Probably.
THREE KILOMETERS OF POOR DECISIONS
The hike from Paltuding to the crater rim is only about three kilometers, climbing roughly 500 meters.
Three kilometers.
Cute.
Unfortunately, most of those kilometers go up.
Ijen has long sections that feel like an unpaved a ski slope and declared it a hiking trail, with inclines pushing roughly 30 to 40 degrees in places.
On my first visit, I was carrying a backpack full of camera equipment and possessed the cardiovascular conditioning of someone whose primary exercise involved walking between airport lounges.
It was brutal.
I’d hike.
Stop.
Question my life choices.
Hike again.
Consider abandoning several thousand dollars of camera equipment to save weight.
Repeat.
Eventually, through stubbornness and profanity, I reached the crater rim.
And it was spectacular.
Unfortunately, fog covered much of the caldera, winds pushed sulfur gas across the mountain and access into the crater remained closed.
No blue flame.
So I left Kawah Ijen with the exact thing I’d traveled there to see still sitting on my bucket list.
Naturally, that meant doing the whole stupid thing again.
ROUND TWO: APPARENTLY CARDIO WORKS
When I returned, things were different.
Mostly me.
By this point, traveling around Indonesia had turned walking into a full-time occupation. Fifteen thousand’ish steps a day had become normal, and apparently repeatedly forcing your body to move produces some sort of physical conditioning.
Who knew?
The climb was still strenuous, but this time it was completely manageable.
And here’s my biggest hiking tip: Do not stop at the first rest area.
Everyone stops there.
You’ve been climbing long enough that your legs are beginning negotiations with management, and suddenly there are benches, snacks and exhausted tourists everywhere.
Your brain immediately says: “Excellent. We live here now.”
Ignore it.
Power your ass through and continue to the second rest stop near the big switchback.
By then you’ve burned through a meaningful chunk of the ascent and actually need the energy.
Stop there.
Drink something.
Eat a quick snack.
Let your legs reconsider their resignation.
Then finish the climb.
CONGRATULATIONS. NOW CLIMB INTO THE VOLCANO.
Eventually you reach the crater rim.
On a normal hike, reaching the top means you’re done.
Kawah Ijen thinks that’s adorable.
If you’re here for the blue flame, you’ve merely reached the beginning of the really questionable part.
Now you descend into the crater.
Calling this thing a trail is extremely generous.
It’s basically a ridiculously steep collection of volcanic rocks dropping toward the acid lake below.
You’re scrambling over uneven stone, squeezing past people moving in both directions and occasionally looking down into the darkness thinking: There is absolutely no fucking way this would be legal in America.
Nobody installed a stainless-steel staircase.
There isn’t a glass observation platform where tourists can safely experience nature without actually experiencing any of it.
This isn’t Kelingking Beach, where the proposed cliffside elevator seems to alternate between “they’re building it,” “no they’re not,” and “actually, apparently we’re doing this shit again.”
At Ijen, gravity remains stubbornly analog.
You want to see what’s at the bottom?
Start climbing.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD’S LARGEST VOLCANIC FART
Eventually you reach the crater floor near the acid lake.
Let’s discuss the air.
Technically, I suppose it’s air.
But that feels generous.
Sulfur gases pour from vents around the crater, giving the place the delicate fragrance of approximately six million people simultaneously farting inside a poorly ventilated elevator.
Rotten eggs.
Sulfur.
Industrial-strength ass.
Fortunately, you’re wearing a gas mask.
Unfortunately, approximately 27 zillion other tourists have also arrived looking for the exact same blue flame.
Everyone knows roughly where it is.
Everyone wants the photograph.
And suddenly thousands of years of human civilization begin unraveling.
THEN THE EARTH TURNS BLUE
Somebody sees it.
Blue.
And all remaining common courtesy immediately leaves the crater.
Phones appear.
Selfie sticks materialize.
People squeeze forward.
People step directly in front of cameras.
Someone inevitably decides the narrowest possible location is perfect for an extended Instagram photoshoot.
Personal space disappears.
Couth packs its shit and leaves Java.
Because apparently when something sufficiently cool appears on Instagram, basic social etiquette becomes optional.
And yes, I was standing there with camera gear too.
I’m part of the problem.
But after traveling here twice, I was getting my damn photograph.
Then, through the people and sulfur gas, you finally see it.
Electric-blue flames crawling across the ground.
And holy shit.
For a moment, everything else disappears.
You’re standing inside an active volcanic crater in the middle of the night, wearing a gas mask while burning sulfur glows electric blue directly in front of you.
The wind changes and sulfur clouds roll through.
Everything disappears.
Your gas mask suddenly transitions from amusing tourist equipment to extremely important life-support accessory.
Then the gas clears.
The blue flame appears again.
This was exactly what I’d come for.
Twice.
Worth it.
MEANWHILE, THE LOCALS ARE CARRYING A MOUNTAIN
Then you notice the sulfur miners.
And whatever complaints you had about the hike immediately become embarrassing.
The sulfur pouring from the volcano isn’t merely something tourists photograph.
It’s harvested.
Workers use ceramic pipes around the vents to channel sulfur-rich gases. As the gas cools, sulfur condenses into liquid before solidifying into enormous bright-yellow deposits that look almost artificial against the gray volcanic rock.
The miners break those deposits apart by hand.
Then they load the chunks into baskets connected by a wooden or bamboo pole.
And pick the entire thing up.
ON THEIR SHOULDERS.
We’re not talking about carrying a cute little souvenir bag of sulfur back to the parking lot.
These loads can weigh dozens of kilograms.
Then the miners haul that shit out of the crater.
Remember that insanely steep trail you struggled to climb down?
They climb up it carrying sulfur on their shoulders.
Then, after reaching the crater rim, they continue hauling it down the mountain.
The same mountain that nearly killed me during my first visit while I was carrying a camera backpack and wearing actual hiking shoes.
Meanwhile, these guys are moving massive chunks of sulfur with a wooden pole digging into their shoulders and doing it up to four times a day.
Suddenly your Garmin congratulating you for completing a “vigorous activity” feels a little less impressive.
For us, Kawah Ijen is an adventure.
For them, it’s work.
Brutal, dangerous work performed inside an active volcanic crater filled with toxic gas.
It’s impossible to watch without gaining an entirely different perspective on the place.
NOW CLIMB THAT BISH BACK OUT
Eventually dawn approaches and it’s time to leave.
Unfortunately, remember that ridiculously steep route you descended?
Yeah.
You have to climb that bastard back up.
From below, it somehow looks even steeper.
The ascent to the crater rim is brutal.
Sections feel nearly vertical as you scramble over volcanic rock while tourists continue descending toward you.
Your legs burn.
Your lungs work overtime.
And somewhere during the climb you’ll probably reconsider the exact sequence of decisions that resulted in voluntarily climbing into a volcano before breakfast.
Then a sulfur miner passes carrying an enormous load on his shoulders.
Complaint withdrawn.
Eventually you reach the rim.
And suddenly Kawah Ijen completely transforms.
HOLY SHIT, THAT’S WHERE WE JUST WERE
Daylight reveals the enormous turquoise acid lake below.
Jagged volcanic walls surround the caldera. Brilliant yellow sulfur deposits cut through gray rock. Gas drifts across the crater while morning light spills over East Java.
And suddenly you can actually see where you just were.
We climbed down there?
Apparently.
In the dark.
Excellent decision-making.
The lake itself is spectacular, although its extreme acidity makes swimming one of the few ways you could make this adventure even stupider.
From above, though, it’s gorgeous.
Turquoise water.
Yellow sulfur.
Gray volcanic rock.
Toxic gas.
Basically Mother Nature reminding humans that some of her prettiest creations would also happily dissolve us.
GRAVITY FINALLY STOPS BEING AN ASSHOLE
From here, it’s mostly smooth sailing.
You hike back down the mountain while passing fresh groups heading uphill.
Some look enthusiastic.
Others have already discovered the incline and are staring into the distance questioning every decision they’ve made since birth.
You know exactly what’s waiting for them.
Good luck, assholes.
Most people eventually stumble back toward the entrance around 9:00 AM.
Which is one of my favorite parts of the entire experience.
Because elsewhere across East Java, normal tourists are just waking up.
They’re opening the curtains.
Ordering room service.
Pouring coffee.
Maybe deciding whether to spend the afternoon beside the pool.
Meanwhile, you’ve already driven across Java in darkness, climbed a volcano, descended into an active crater, stood inside Earth’s largest fart cloud, photographed electric-blue fire, watched men carry absurd amounts of sulfur up a crater wall on their shoulders, climbed back out and hiked down a mountain.
And it’s barely fucking breakfast.
Vacation!
WOULD I DO KAWAH IJEN AGAIN?
Absolutely.
Apparently I’ve already proven that.
The wake-up time sucks.
The hike is difficult.
The crater descent is sketchy as hell.
The sulfur smells like Earth’s digestive system has suffered a catastrophic failure.
The crowds around the blue flame demonstrate exactly how quickly civilization collapses when selfies are involved.
And weather, volcanic activity and gas levels can completely screw up your plans.
I know.
That’s exactly what happened on my first trip.
But my second visit gave me everything I’d originally come here to experience.
I climbed into the crater.
I watched the miners working among the sulfur vents.
I stood beside one of the most acidic lakes on Earth.
And after traveling to Kawah Ijen twice, I finally watched electric-blue sulfur flames crawl across the ground in front of me.
My first trip gave me the volcano.
My second gave me the blue flame.
And holy shit, was it worth coming back for.