🇮🇩 A Morning in Pronojiwo: Mountains, Cows, and Kindness

Sunrise with Chandra

February 6th, Pronojiwo. At five in the morning, Chandra called out to me with a bright voice: “Let’s go see the best spot at sunrise!” Still sleepy but curious, I followed him into the cool morning air.

We arrived at a lookout point just as the sky began to lighten. The view was breathtaking—rolling hills, soft morning mist, and the outline of Mount Bromo in the distance. Chandra smiled and said, “If you go further, there’s an even better view.” Of course, I couldn’t resist.

Soon we reached his favorite spot, where the reflection of Mount Bromo appeared perfectly in the water—like Japan’s famous Mount Fuji, only here it was the “upside-down Bromo.” To share this quiet beauty with a friend made the moment even more precious. I felt deeply thankful to Chandra for bringing me here.

Meeting a Farmer and His Cows

Nearby, a farmer who owned the rice fields waved us over. “Come see my cows,” he said proudly. We followed him, and I was surprised by how gentle they were.

During my cycling journey, I had often been told cows were timid, difficult to approach. Yet here, I was able to touch them easily. I thought about how the farmer’s kindness and care must have shaped their calm nature. It was a small moment, but one filled with warmth.

Family Bonds

After this, we returned home and set out again, this time with Chandra’s child. Walking behind them, I couldn’t help but notice their closeness. The sight of father and child together made me feel the quiet power of family bonds. I may not be ready to build a family myself just yet, but the image stayed with me.

On the way, we stopped for breakfast—fried fish, tempeh, and a bit of vegetables. Tempeh, a traditional dish made from fermented soybeans, seemed to be everywhere in Indonesia, and I had grown fond of it.

A Village Clinic

Chandra’s work was in the medical field, and today I accompanied him to his workplace—a small village clinic. At first glance, it hardly looked like what I imagined a medical facility to be. But once inside, I saw something important: the relief on people’s faces after receiving care.

No matter how simple the surroundings, the sense of safety and trust mattered more than appearance. I realized again how essential it is to be needed, to bring smiles to others’ lives. That, perhaps, is one of the deepest purposes in life.

During the visit, I was even offered a local dessert. Once again, their hospitality amazed me. These gestures, so natural and unspoken, were lessons in kindness.

Out of curiosity, I stepped on the clinic’s scale—69 kilograms, and my height was 181 cm. For years, I had believed I was 183 cm since high school. It was a small reminder that sometimes reality shifts quietly, and we only notice when we look closely.

Another Hidden Waterfall

On the way back, Chandra invited me again: “There’s another waterfall nearby, only locals know it. Want to see?” Of course, I said yes. These hidden invitations—seeing the world through the eyes of those who live here—felt like treasures no guidebook could offer.

Evening and Cassava

That evening, back at the house, we prepared dinner together. Cassava was on the menu, crushed and cooked in a traditional way. Since traveling through central Indonesia, I had noticed cassava appearing often, and I had grown to love its simple, hearty taste.

Chandra’s wife kindly prepared several dishes, and we all shared them together. The day ended in warmth—sunrise views, gentle cows, meaningful work, hidden waterfalls, and a family meal.

Every part of it reminded me how travel is not only about places, but about the kindness of people who welcome you into their lives.