Stairway to Heaven

In true southeast Asian style, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The silhouette of massive Mount Agung, Bali’s highest peak, was shrouded in the dark of night. It was one AM. Adrenaline pumping, face beaming under the beam of a headlamp, literally dancing in the moonlight listening to Dancing in the Moonlight with fellow Downingtowner Zach Fahrenholtz, we set off. The four hour climb that followed began up an oversized stone staircase which led to a wooded path which deteriorated into a narrow rocky trail which spit us out on the open face of the mountain with still farther to ascend. Ninety nine percent of the climb, I focused on my sneakers, tediously putting one foot in front of the other and willing my clumsy self to charge onward and upward, without tumbling backward and downward. The one percent during which we got to rest our bodies and feast our eyes was worth its weight in rupiah. The night lights of Bali were sprawled out below us, an earthly constellation separated from the magnificent heavens above. I hadn't known that such incredible visibility existed anywhere on earth. Falling stars played across the static sky, the cloudy Milky Way arched overhead like an enormous translucent brush stroke, a satellite stuck to its trajectory, moving too quickly for comprehension. I got to thinking that the means might be as good as the end.

Then I got to the end. Atop Mount Agung, at the edge of its mammoth central crater, we waited for sunrise. The horizon, a rainbow rising from the edge of the earth, arced gently before us. It seems hardly possible that this occurs every morning, a daily masterpiece available for those able-bodied, adventurous, and blessed enough to seek it. An hour of shivery anticipation preceded the dawn. Eventually that glowing orb peaked above the skyline, growing fuller as the minutes past and the shutters clicked. Just a speck before this spectacular view, I was appropriately humbled. I think even Alexander the Great would have reconsidered his moniker had he ever found himself on Mount Agung at sunrise.

The sunrise was as magnificent as the descent was tortuous; painstakingly slow, muscles perpetually tense, trying in vain to prevent the jolting slips and stumbles. Our guide led the way, having had my once-in-a-lifetime experience an untold number of times in his lifetime. He was virtually mute in his inability to speak English and astoundingly graceful in his ability to navigate the rocky terrain with ease. It was as though he was descending this clear cut staircase that was invisible to the untrained eye. I could see the steps so clearly as he led the way, but only for a moment after his feet left them. If I followed closely and carefully enough, I could descend the staircase too. But if my eyes left those steps unmemorized, they melded back into the treacherous ambiguity. During one of our crucial breaks, a wordless conversation had me extending my Zune to this Balinese trailblazer. Naturally, I selected my most “American” music, placing my Zune in the palm of his hand with the “COUNTRY” playlist on shuffle. He plugged the ear buds in, smiled, and handed me his walking stick. Whether it was a gesture of appreciation or the reassurance of collateral I’ll never know, but I accepted, smiled back and we both proceeded with a little more pep in our step. The walking stick was like an extra large magic wand. My confidence soared as my fall frequency plummeted. The benefit of having a third point of contact was well beyond my expectations. Zune in hand, he bounced along ahead, as adroit as ever, jammin’ to Taylor, Toby and the rest of the gang. Right on his heels, trying to keep an eye on that fickle invisible stairway, I reflected on how I’d lost the wonder in electronic devices. I no longer marveled at the fact that this palm-sized, intricately engineered hodge podge of metal holds 2976 songs for me to enjoy whenever and wherever I feel like it. That’s incredibly cool. I hope the ingenuity of humanity is something that I’ll cease to take for granted and I know the miracle of that sunrise is something I’ll never forget.