Early in September, Anak Krakatau erupted in the Sunda Strait between Java and Sumatra in Indonesia. It sent large quantities of ash into the atmosphere and disrupted flights, including at Jakarta. The episode was a timely reminder that the volcanoes I had encountered in Indonesia and elsewhere were not merely part of history or scenery. They remain very much alive and dangerous.
Born in Punjab and having studied in Rajasthan, Kolkata, and New Delhi, I knew little about volcanoes beyond textbook theories. India has very few active volcanoes; Barren Island in the Andamans is the only confirmed active one. However, stories of volcanoes from across the world often entered my consciousness through legend, literature, and current events. I knew there were books written about volcanoes and their consequences, but I had never actually encountered one.
That changed in 1984, when I accompanied a team from the Japan Publishers Association to its annual events in Kagoshima, in southern Japan. On that occasion, we went to see Sakurajima, the famous active volcano in Kagoshima Bay, on Kyushu. It was a beautiful sight, with plumes of smoke rising from the crater.
At the time, I thought of it as largely dormant, and we were reassured there was no immediate danger. As we approached, the reality became more tangible. The smoke contained volcanic ash, and our dark suits, which were de rigueur for business meetings in Japan, were soon covered with a fine layer of grey ash.
That first experience was incredible. We took many pictures of what looked like a very pretty mountain. We then realised that Mount Fuji, near Hakone and one of Japan’s great symbols, was also a volcano. Fuji had been dormant since its last major eruption in 1707, and we did not really believe that it would erupt again, except perhaps in a novel.
Sakurajima, however, made us rethink our assumptions. It has continued to erupt frequently, most recently in August 2026, and remains one of Japan’s most closely watched volcanoes. Japan has 111 volcanoes, 50 of which are considered active because they have erupted at least once in the last 10000 years! The lesson I learnt was simple: a pretty picture can conceal a very destructive neighbourhood.
When I was posted in Italy, I encountered two other legendary volcanoes: Mount Etna and Mount Vesuvius. Both were deeply embedded in history and mythology. They are among Italy’s 13 active volcanoes. In my imagination, Mount Etna in Sicily was the home of the Cyclops whom Odysseus encountered during his return to Ithaca. The volcano belonged as much to Homer and Greek mythology as it did to geology. I remember going to Etna on Christmas Day 2004 and playing in the snow with my children, oblivious to Cyclops or eruptions, the last of which occurred in August 2026.
Vesuvius was different. It was far deadlier in historical memory because it destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum in AD 79. Pompeii became one of the world’s most famous archaeological sites, while Herculaneum, buried under volcanic material, preserved an extraordinary amount of detail about Roman life. The ash and volcanic material that destroyed these communities also protected many of their buildings, objects and even fragments of everyday life for nearly two thousand years.
Both Etna and Vesuvius remain active today, though in very different ways. Etna has erupted repeatedly and dramatically, while Vesuvius has been quiet since 1944. Their presence near densely populated areas reminds us that the great volcanic disasters of history are not necessarily confined to the past. I survived visits to both these sleeping giants.
My experience of volcanoes continued in Ethiopia, although there I encountered a different kind of volcanic landscape. Ethiopia lies along the East African Rift, where the African continent is gradually pulled apart—and 50 active volcanoes exist. Around Addis Ababa and further south towards the Rift Valley are numerous old volcanic formations and crater lakes. These extend into Djibouti, too.
The area around Bishoftu, formerly Debre Zeit, is of particular interest. It contains several crater lakes, including Lake Hora and Lake Bishoftu, formed in volcanic maars. Further west is Lake Wonchi and Enyo, spectacular crater lakes surrounded by old volcanic calderas.
Other Ethiopian volcanic and crater lakes include Dendi, Shalla, Zikwala and the lakes around the central Rift Valley. The Ethiopian Rift therefore gave me another perspective on volcanoes. Some are spectacular mountains that occasionally explode; others have long ceased to erupt and have become lakes, valleys or landscapes in which people live and farm. The geological forces that created them, however, remain visible. The Eta Ale in the Danakil Depression holds boiling lava in its pit craters.
Perhaps the most aggressive volcanoes I encountered were during my years in Indonesia, a country literally situated on the Pacific Ring of Fire. Here, volcanic eruptions are part of normal life. Indonesia has more active volcanoes—127—than any other country, and many of its great mountains are among its 500 volcanoes. Fortunately, many eruptions occur away from Jakarta and other major population centres, although they can cause considerable local damage and, occasionally, much further afield.
The most disruptive volcanoes for me were those around Bali and Lombok. Bali has 2 volcanoes, including the very impressive and photogenic Mount Agung. But volcanic eruptions in Lombok can have an extraordinary impact on Bali because of the wind. Volcanic ash can drift across the sea towards Bali, covering the airport and making air traffic impossible. Lombok as the Mt Rinjani, with its embedded Batujari Cone, from which most recent activity emanates.
I experienced this personally during Vice-President Hamid Ansari’s visit in 2015. We were stranded in Bali and had to stay for two additional days without a programme because the airport was closed by volcanic ash. The disruption is unpredictable. An eruption does not necessarily close an airport because everything depends on the direction and height of the ash cloud. Sometimes the wind blows the ash out toward the sea; other times it can bring an entire island’s air transport system to a standstill.
Mount Batur in Bali is another volcano that combines beauty, religion and danger. Its summit and slopes are dotted with temples, and volcanic activity has long been woven into the island’s religious life. Batur last erupted around 1999–2000. The sight of smoke and volcanic activity against the extraordinary Balinese landscape can be beautiful, but the history of eruptions reminds people to respect the mountain.
Perhaps the volcano that has left the most lasting impression on me is Krakatau, or more precisely the volcanic system that includes Anak Krakatau, in the Sunda Strait between Java and Sumatra. The catastrophic eruption of Krakatau in 1883 caused enormous destruction and generated tsunamis that killed tens of thousands of people. The eruption became one of the great volcanic events of modern history.
After the 1883 destruction, a new volcanic island, Anak Krakatau (“Child of Krakatau”), emerged from the sea in 1927. It continues to be active. I visited the area from Banten Port in Java, travelling by small boat to the volcanic island. The journey was extremely rough because the Sunda Strait is a vast and powerful stretch of sea, more like an ocean than what one might imagine from a map.
Mount Bromo, whose name is associated with Brahma, is another famous Indonesian volcano in East Java. Tourists go there in large numbers in the early morning to watch the spectacular sunrise over the volcanic landscape. But Bromo is not merely a picturesque destination. It is an active volcano and has erupted repeatedly, most recently in the early 2020s. The juxtaposition of tourism, religious significance and volcanic danger is characteristic of Indonesia.
Near Banyuwangi, on the eastern end of Java, lies the Ijen volcanic complex, famous for its crater lake and the remarkable blue flames produced by burning sulphur gases. Ijen is another reminder that volcanic landscapes are not simply mountains; they can contain craters, lakes, gases and mineral deposits, all interacting in ways that are sometimes beautiful and sometimes dangerous.
Looking back, I’ve always encountered volcanoes through travel. I began with Sakurajima in Japan, moved on to Etna and Vesuvius in Italy, saw the ancient volcanic formations of Ethiopia, and encountered the restless volcanic landscape of Indonesia; each place was different, but the lesson was the same.
Volcanoes are beautiful, productive and destructive. They create mountains and islands, fertile soils and spectacular landscapes. They also destroy cities, disrupt aviation, generate tsunamis and force people to abandon homes and livelihoods.
Perhaps that is what makes them so compelling. They remind us that beneath the apparently stable landscape on which we build our lives, the earth is constantly moving. A beautiful mountain may be sleeping; it may even have been sleeping for centuries. It is never wise to assume that sleep is permanent.
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