In the top of the inactive volcano there are three lakes. Each lake is a different color. Each lake changes color from time to time. People believe that spirits come to the lake when they die. The spirit of a male is thought to leave their own village and enter the lake forever. They visit the gatekeeper of the lake first, and enter one of the lakes, depending on their age and character while alive. The 3 lakes are high on a mountain in the less traveled island of Flores, Indonesia.

After a few days in Labuanbajo, I want to leave and go to Moni, Indonesia to visit Kelimutu Lake . To go by small bus will take 2 days but I can fly out of the small airport in Labuanbajo to Ende in a couple of hours. Ende is a few hours away from Moni and the 3 lakes.

Needing to spend less time traveling in this country before my visa expires, I decide to go to Ende by plane and then take a minibus the rest of the way into Moni.

The small plane ride was thankfully uneventful and landed me in the small town of Ende around 1:30 in the afternoon.

Outside the terminal there were motobike taxis vying for my business. I found out before leaving Labuanbajo that the going rate to the bus station from the airport should be about $3. The drivers startng quoting me outrageous prices, like $10 or $12. I thanked them and said only $3. When no one agreed I started walking until one of them caught up to me and agreed on $3.

I'm still not sure if I was taken to the right bus station . It didn't look like a bus station, but then that is often the case in the Asian countries. What I got to was a roadside fruit stand with someone that said he would take me on the van to Moni. I waited for 30 minutes and no one else showed up to get on the van. I started to walk across the street where some other vans were waiting. The guy started yelling for me to come back, but I just kept walking.

He followed me, then told me he could help me get on a van that would leave right away. We found one, no English spoken by anyone, and I got on.

Ten minutes later the van pulled out. I was glad to be on the way to Moni. As we pulled out a chicken with it's feet tied was flopping at my feet. Then, I heard a pig squeal but could not see where it was coming from.

Then the van stopped and made a U-turn and stopped on the side of the road. They then proceeded to take the rear tire off. Apparently it was going flat with a slow leak .

While the tire was being repaired I saw the hog that was tied to the top of the van. It was alive and had some bannana leaves covering it, to keep the sun away, I guess.

When the tire was put back on I noticed it didn't have a tread one on it. It was as slick as could be. Then, I looked at the spare and it was the same way. Both back tires were very bald. I walked to the front to look at the front tires. We would be traveling up some steep, narrow, winding, mountain roads. The front tires did have some decent looking tread on them, so I felt a little better. 

I climbed over the bags piled high in the aisle. I guess they were bags of rice or maybe seeds. A few chickens, with feet tied, were flopping around on the floor of the bus under the seats. 

The chickens flopped around and the pig squealed as we started up the winding mountain road . Now and then the chickens would move under the seats, sometimes flopping themselves up next to my leg. The pig squealed when we slowed or made sharp turns. The Indonesians lit up their cigarettes. 
 
Late in the day we arrived at the small settlement, Moni, surrounded by rice paddies at the foot of the volcanic Mount Kelimutu. The chickens had not flopped around in awhile and the pig no longer squealed, but the Indonesians still smoked!

I got the driver to let me off at a hilltop bungalow, The Bintang Bungalow. The little cabins dotted the hillside and the young guy that ran it spoke very good English. His name was Billy. At least that is what he let the English speaking foreigners call him. His family owns the bungalows and he is working to save money for when he is married. He wants to have money saved to take care of his children before he marries. He sounds like such a responsible 20 something (I think he said 27).

The children in this small village only have a school to attend until they reach 15 years old . The parents have to pay tuition each year for them to attend starting with the first year. When they turn 15, if they want to continue in school, they have to go to Ende (where I landed in the plane). They are boarded at school (53km away) and visit their families occasionally on weekends when they can.

I could see a Christian church across the road from the Bungalow as I sat on my deck. Singing was coming from the church late in the afternoon, so I walked over. It turned out a choir rehearsal was going on. They were rehearsing on the large porch outside the church. I didn't understand the words but the Indonesian music was really nice.

The electricity comes and goes here in the village. Some places only have generators for their power for a few hours a day. There is no internet here, but the mystic Mount Kalimutu Lake is.

 I was up at 4:30 a.m. with my jacket on and headlight ready . I would ride up the mountains to the trailhead that led to the crater lakes. My moto driver arrived and I paid the 150,000 rupiah ($12) for him to take me up the mountain and bring me back. Other people with several in their group were going up in bemos. They would have a warm ride but my 45 minute motorbike ride might be cool.

The moto driver let me off, in the darkness, at the beginning of the trail. The trail leading up to the volcano was long but not difficult. It was a gentle, sloping climb. Most of the difficult climbing getting to to trailhead to the volcano was done on the motorbike, and in the bemos (autos). I am trying to get to the summit of the volcano before sunrise, to see the sun come up over the lakes.

Once at the top of the volcano you can see the 3 lakes. Each is a different color. The lakes change colors, sometimes they change in a month and sometimes maybe it takes a few months or a year . There is no way to know when or how often they will change, or to what color. The minerals escaping from the volcano apparently is what causes the colors to change. But, the locals believe it is a spiritual lake where their dead ancestors go.

Today, one lake is brown, one is emerald green and the other is blue. The photos did not do a good job of showing the colors as I photographed them at sunrise. Standing on the rim of the crater and seeing three lakes of different colors is something to see. The sunrise was another one to remember. I have seen so many amazing sunrises on my journeys, and this is among the best. 

There is really nothing else to see in Moni except the waterfall and the lakes, so after a couple of days I had Billy to arrange me a ride back to Labaunbajo, but it will be a two day journey and I will stop in a place called Bajawa for a few days.

I am now traveling off the 'tourist' trail and I am the only foreigner on the small bus . Billy speaks to the driver in Indonesian and tells him to let me off in Bajawa at a certain motel he recommends. I double check with Billy to be sure the driver understands where I need to go. Yes, it is understood Billy assures me. It will take the entire day to reach Bajawa.

I get on the bus with the boxes, bags, livestock and who knows what else. I am getting accustomed to riding like this by now. 
 
We drive down the winding mountain road for maybe 20 minutes and stop at a wide place in the road, where we sit (for some reason) for an hour and a half. Then the van starts up, pulls halfway into the road and stops again. We sit like this, with traffic going around us for about 15 minutes. These journeys never make sense to a western thinking mind. The locals don't ever seem to think there is anything strange about it.

The long day's journey in the crowded little bus (with no one to speak English with) passed slowly . The Indonesians don't seem to drink alcohol as much as some other countries, but they love their cigarettes. They love them A LOT! A couple of men on the small bus would light up now and then. But, they were considerate enough to raise their window shut when they lit up. I think it was so the smoke could filter around the bus for the rest of us to enjoy. Then, when they finished smoking they would open the window again.

Around midday, we passed a Hindu Temple that seemed to be letting out from a prayer service or something. They were walking back to their homes and one spotted me, the only foreigner on the bus, and yelled to the others. They all started to wave and I put my camera outside the window and they smiled and waved for me to take their photo. It was the fun part of the trip in this long day.

Late in the day, just before dark, the bus stopped in a wide spot in the road. The driver motioned for me to get off. There was nothing here. He was suppossed to drop me at some motel or something that Billy told him to take me to. He unloaded my bag and motioned for me to get out. WHERE IS BAJAWA?