You’ve probably heard the saying, “Friends who study together, stay together”. I used to think it was just a sweet line — until I lived it myself.

Even now, scattered across different cities and time zones, my college friends and I still keep in touch. There’s a kind of unshakable bond that forms when you’ve fought the same academic battles side by side. Ours? A battlefield disguised as a department — German Literature. Yep, you read that right. People often assume literature is one of the “easier” majors. But in our faculty, German Literature was part of the infamous Bermuda Triangle Department — alongside Chinese and French Literature.

The nickname wasn’t just for show. Students entered with high hopes… and vanished by the dozens. In our fourth semester alone, out of 75 students, only half survived the storm. That’s when we knew we had to rely on each other—no more studying alone. No more silent suffering. We gathered in cramped dorm rooms, crowded cafés, or even sat cross-legged in campus hallways, pouring over textbooks and lecture notes. We didn’t care about grade competitions. We never cared who was in charge of the room. We just wanted to make it every day. And we did.

When we found out we had made it to semester 5 — on time, against all odds — we didn’t just celebrate. We escaped. Our dream? A trip around Yogyakarta. One of the highlights was visiting Goa Pindul, an underground cave with a river running through it.

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Floating Through Darkness: Our Goa Pindul Adventure

Goa Pindul is one of those hidden gems tucked away in Gunungkidul, Yogyakarta, Central Java — a cave unlike any other. What makes it famous isn't just the scenery, but the experience: cave tubing through an underground river, floating on giant inner tubes beneath ancient limestone ceilings.

The whole journey stretches about 350 meters and takes close to an hour — just enough time to forget the outside world and soak in the thrill of it all. Since we were traveling with a group of over ten people, we decided to rent a bus for the trip.

It was the best call — not only could we stick together, but getting around Yogyakarta as a group is way smoother by bus. We had booked our session at Cave Tubing Goa Pindul in advance, knowing that a guide would be required to navigate the darkness. Trust me, you want a guide in there — not just for safety, but for the local stories they tell along the way. The journey from the city center took about an hour, so we brought snacks and water for the road (and maybe a few sing-along playlists too).

When we arrived, the guide greeted us with a rundown of what to expect and then led us to change into our swimsuits and gear up. Helmets, life vests, knee and elbow pads, wrist guards — the full getup. I was glad I’d worn my swimsuit from home; changing there with a big group can take time, and convenience is key when adventure is waiting. Oh — and a pro tip?

Leave your sandals in the locker. There’s a good chance they’ll float away inside the cave if you don’t. Not to mention, there are a bunch of cheeky little fish in there that love to nibble at your toes. Seriously — no one warned us about that part!

To reach the cave, our adventure started not with a hike, but a bumpy ride on the back of a pickup truck — the kind of ride that makes you hold on tight and laugh through the dust. Once we arrived at the base of Goa Pindul, the guide pointed toward a pile of large inner tubes and casually said, “Grab your ride.” These weren’t just tires — they were our floating vehicles into the unknown.

From the outside, the cave already looked intimidating. The mouth yawned wide, dark, and damp, with cool air spilling out like a silent warning. Before we entered, our guide asked all 20 of us to hold hands — not just for safety, but to keep us close as we drifted into the shadows together.

And then... we began. The river gently carried us through the cave’s entrance, where we were welcomed by the eerie quiet and the unmistakable smell of wet stone. Bats hung overhead, wrapped in their dreams, their tiny claws gripping the ceilings as they rested in the darkness.

The air was colder inside, and the water even more so — a chill that made you gasp at first, but quickly turned into part of the thrill. As we floated deeper, the walls came alive with ancient stalactites and stalagmites, formed over thousands of years. The sunlight that had once followed us began to fade, leaving only soft echoes, our quiet voices, and the occasional drip of water from above. The darker it got, the quieter we became. Maybe we were afraid. Maybe we were just in awe. But in that stillness, connected by hands and floating silently through time-carved stone, it felt like the world outside had completely disappeared.

Just when the silence had settled thick around us, our guide suddenly raised his hand — the universal signal that something interesting (or possibly terrifying) was about to happen. “Do you want to hear a horror story?” he asked with a mischievous smile. Now, if there’s one thing Indonesians are rarely too tired for, it’s a good horror story. Naturally, no one said a word — not out of fear, but anticipation. We floated there, still and wide-eyed, the cold water clinging to our skin as we waited for the story to begin.

"Back in the day," the guide began, his voice echoing slightly off the damp cave walls, "people used to come deep into this cave in search of ilmu hitam — black magic.” He pointed to a narrow slit between the rocks, hidden behind a towering stalagmite. “They believed that this cave held great mystical energy. But back then, there was no road, no tour, no guides. To reach this place, they would float across the underground river on banana tree stems — alone, in complete darkness.” The image alone was enough to send a chill down my spine — not from the cold water this time, but from imagining someone drifting into this silent, pitch-black world with nothing but faith in the unseen.

“These spiritual seekers would isolate themselves inside that narrow cave,” he continued, “meditating for weeks, even months, without food, just water... hoping to gain supernatural power.” Whether we believed it or not didn’t matter. None of us spoke. The cave suddenly felt older, deeper, more alive with stories whispered into the walls. We continued floating — quieter than before — surrounded not just by darkness, but by the weight of the past.

But Goa Pindul isn’t just about eerie silence and ghost stories whispered in the dark — it’s also packed with moments that get your heart racing. At one point, our guide pointed upward toward a cliff about 10 meters high. “For the brave,” he said, grinning.

The platform was open to anyone daring enough to leap into the deep pool below. No ropes. No rails. Just nerves of steel and gravity waiting to catch you. Of course, my friends and I couldn’t resist the challenge. One by one, we climbed up, adrenaline pulsing louder with every step. The guide stood nearby, calm and ready. “Keep your legs straight when you jump,” he warned, “or the water will give you a smack you won’t forget.”

It was wild, freeing, and strangely addictive. That moment, floating in the water after the jump, we felt more alive than ever. But the thrills didn’t end there. Deeper inside the cave, there’s a spot of nature shaped into something like a natural water slide — slick rock, strong current, and zero man-made design. The river narrowed, the flow sped up, and suddenly we flew through it, bouncing gently on our inner tubes like kids on an invisible rollercoaster. It was equal parts fun and chaos — the kind of chaos that makes you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

Wet, Wild, and Worth It

Cave tubing here takes about 45 minutes to an hour — enough time to soak in the thrill (and the river). I came during the dry season, so the current wasn’t too strong. That meant more paddling with our own feet — exhausting, yes, but somehow we all ended up laughing more than complaining. Maybe it was the camaraderie, or maybe we were too tired to care.

As we neared the end of the ride, the guide suddenly raised his hand — the universal “stop” signal. We had reached a section of the cave rumored to be home to venomous snakes. No one wanted to test that legend, so we obediently halted. Just the right amount of fear to spice up the trip!

The journey back to camp was another mini-adventure. We piled into an open-back truck — legs dangling, wind in our faces — until we hit the final challenge: dozens of steep stairs. No tires allowed this time. We climbed on foot, soaked and breathless, like true warriors.

Back at camp, we peeled off our wet clothes and changed into something dry in the simple changing rooms. And then came the highlight of all highlights: a steaming bowl of Indomie kuah (noodle soup). After all that cold water and legwork, that bowl tasted like a five-star meal. AH, DELICIOUS!

Pro Tip: Avoid coming on weekends or public holidays unless you enjoy human traffic jams. Yogyakarta is a budget-friendly destination, which makes it a favorite for students looking for a quick escape. Great for vibes, not so great for personal space.

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