I’m standing barefoot on a warm dock in Bangsal Harbor, salt drying in my hair, and sweat soaking through the back of my shirt. It’s only 9 a.m. but already the sun is turning up the heat like it’s mad at something. I hear someone yelling my name — or something that sounds like it — and I laugh because nobody knows who I am here.
That’s kind of the point.
My month zigzagging across Indonesia has brought me to this island, Lombok. Not as flashy as Bali, not as remote as Flores — but it has its own heartbeat, and if you sit still long enough, you start to feel it pulsing under your skin.
First stop: Kuta ― but not the Bali one
Kuta, Lombok, is completely different from its overrun Balinese cousin. Peaceful mornings, empty beaches, and locals who actually make eye contact when they smile. I rolled in late after ditching a packed Gili T ferry and hopping on a clunky scooter I'd rented on the fly. The bike wobbled like a shopping cart with one bad wheel, especially on those comically potholed roads. But somehow, I made it to Pipes Hostel, where I was greeted with a colder-than-expected Bintang and a wood-fired pizza that tasted marginally better than my expectations.
What surprised me most about Kuta wasn’t the surfing or even the food — it was how undeveloped it still feels. It’s like everyone knows this is the next “it” place, but for now they’re pretending it’s not. I met Wayan, a local surf instructor who teaches kids during the week and tourists on weekends. He took me to Tanjung Aan beach before sunrise one morning — just me, him, and two boards strapped loosely to his motorbike. The sky turned orange behind Mount Rinjani, unwrapping the line of perfect little waves bumping gently toward shore. I caught maybe two decent rides, and he caught ten, but afterwards he handed me a freshly cracked coconut and said, “You surf better than yesterday. That is enough.”
Unexpected Detour: Tetebatu
Most tourists stick to the coast, but someone at the hostel mentioned Tetebatu — rice fields, waterfalls, no crowds. So I went. And honestly? I think it saved the trip from feeling too...curated.
Getting there was an adventure wrapped in a comedy sketch. I took the longer mountain road by accident, where the "road" turned into gravel and then forgot to be a road at all somewhere past Pringgasela. Chickens darted across switchbacks, my fuel gauge dipped dramatically low, and I narrowly missed riding straight into a cow.
But finally arriving in Tetebatu felt like breathing for the first time in days. My homestay overlooked undulating rice fields, green as neon and humming with life. I walked barefoot through muddy shoots guided by Pak Nur, a grandfatherly type with a half-dozen grandkids who all seem to function as trail scouts. He showed me a hidden waterfall that required ducking under banana leaves and sidestepping blood-red ants.
The air smelled like wet lemongrass and petrichor. Birds chirped like dial-up internet. There wasn’t another tourist for miles.
Hard Lessons in Senaru
I’d read that hiking Mount Rinjani was one of the top things on a Lombok Indonesia itinerary. So naturally, I decided to attempt the trek without preparing at all. No cardio. No altitude prep. Just pure, foolish optimism.
Senaru is the northern town where most people base themselves for the Rinjani trek. I stayed at Rudy Trekker's place, booked a two-day hike to the crater rim, and regretted every decision starting hour one. The ascent is brutal. Dusty switchbacks. Loose volcanic scree. And you're constantly watching tiny teenage porters carrying 20-kg baskets of eggs and rice on bamboo sticks pass you, barefoot and grinning.
At the top, though, everything stopped.
The Segara Anak crater lake unfurled below us, impossibly blue, cupped by the dormant volcano like some ancient offering bowl. I sat there wheezing and freezing, legs shaking from exhaustion, and suddenly started crying. Out of nowhere. It all came rushing in at once – the solitude, the beauty, the smallness of myself in a place this huge.
Pak Agus, our guide, noticed and said simply, “Beautiful, ya?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. Then we ate instant noodles and laughed until the stars came out.
Senggigi & Sate Surprises
After Rinjani wrecked my calves, I headed west to chill in Senggigi. Most travel blogs say it’s underwhelming, but I needed flat ground and hot showers.
What I didn’t expect was the best satay I've ever had. Just a tiny shack outside town called Warung Ikan Laut Pa’ Udin. You sit on plastic stools facing the ocean breeze while Mr. Udin throws skewers of marinated seafood onto a charcoal grill fanned by an electric fly swatter. The smoke curls heavy and sweet, laced with clove cigarettes and sea brine.
I ordered squid, which arrived charred, tender, and drenched in some kind of local kecap manis magic sauce. I moaned like a cartoon character.
There’s your practical advice: when in Senggigi, follow your nose, not TripAdvisor.
A Note on Getting Around
Rent a scooter. Period. It’s the only way to see Lombok unless you have infinite patience for unreliable bemos (minibuses) or overpriced taxis. But wear a helmet! Not the flimsy kind they hand you with a broken strap — I eventually bought one in Mataram after too many close calls.
Also — aside from the main coastal roads, GPS is often hilariously wrong. Locals helped me more than Google. Don’t be shy. Ask. Gesture wildly. They’ll usually laugh, then point you the right way.
A View From the Sky
Toward the end of my trip, I booked a scenic flight with FlyLombok.id. I figured I’d already seen so much of this island — on foot, by scooter, through rainstorms and dust clouds — what could I possibly be missing?
Turns out, a lot.
Seeing Lombok from above was like looking at someone you thought you knew — and realizing you’d never noticed their eyes before.
The volcano crest cut the horizon like a dark spine. Villages formed quilted patterns I couldn’t decipher but found beautiful anyway. Fields glinted in the sunlight. Bays curved into perfect crescent moons. The Gilis looked like specks of glitter in a wine-dark sea.
I pressed my forehead to the plane window and felt this quiet swell of emotion — a mix of gratitude, wonder, and something else I can’t name. Maybe it was just the full-circle moment. Maybe it was the altitude.
Lombok doesn’t show off. It just is. And if you're patient, if you let go of the idea of an itinerary and surrender to its rhythm, it might just give you something real back.
If you ever find yourself planning a Lombok Indonesia travel guide for 2025, forget pinning ten must-see spots on a map. Grab your helmet, eat the satay, and see where the road takes you.
I promise — it’s worth it.