It's cold. VERY fucking cold. You're chuckling at me as I had totally miscalculated about the wind chill factor above the Batur volcano in the Kintamani district of the island of Bali. You're calling me a moron, saying that i look like a bedouin nomad with the hotel towel wrapped around me which i had before tied around my head to keep the cold away(what makes do when one underpacks )
Before us a magnificient sunrise births a panoramic wonderscape. The golden rays of the sun are now bouncing off the mists from the lake. The crowd around us are all in quiet murmurs. We're holding our packed breakfasts in our hands. a plastic cup with hot black Balinese coffee and a toasted banana sandwich and a full boiled egg are our comfort as we each munch quietly, each person on the volcano caught up in their own thoughts.
The same wind that is freezing my balls is the very same wind that is spreading the mists across the ancient crater. This world, this crazy beautiful magnificent world, that we walk on, breath in and steal, shoplift, save lives, forget to pay taxes (umm... yea you) just reaches out to us, you and I, sitting here on a barren volcano, it reaches us with a blanket of golden rays, streaming across the world, oceans, through jagged mountain tops and settling right in front of us, on temporary clouds of mist.
Hot coffee in a cheap plastic cup hasnt tasted this good in a long time.