I’m ankle-deep in seawater at Padang Bai harbor, sweating under my backpack and listening to the thick thwack of plastic sandals on wet cement. A Gili Air boat hawker shouts over a reggae beat from a nearby warung. It’s early August, high season, and everything feels just slightly... chaotic.
I hadn’t booked my fast boat from Bali to Lombok in advance, which—looking back—was my first rookie move.
The Boat Ride Debacle
When I rock up to the harbor the day before I want to leave, I’m met with grinning men holding laminated brochures and waving aggressively. "Fast boat! Gili? Lombok?" One pushes a flyer into my hand. Another offers a “special” price if I pay cash now.
I try to play it cool, but I’m overwhelmed. Prices vary widely and there’s no obvious ticket office; just a mishmash of huts and whiteboards.
In the end, I pay a bit too much (around 450k IDR) for a ride the next morning via a company that looked semi-official. The boat leaves late. It’s packed. The ocean is wild—someone throws up near me, and I cling to my seat as waves slam against the hull, trying not to think about whether 450k included life jackets.
So yes, definitely book your Bali to Lombok boat online in advance, especially in high season. Sites like 12Go or direct operators like Eka Jaya tend to be more trustworthy than random harbor agents.
First Taste of Lombok
When we dock at Bangsal, Lombok immediately feels different from Bali—quieter, less built-up, wilder. The air smells faintly smoky, like coconut husks burning somewhere nearby. A man helps me find a shared taxi; the vehicle is patched up with tape, the windows barely work—but the driver grins the whole way to Senggigi.
We chat a bit in broken Indonesian and English, and he insists I stop at his cousin’s warung for soto ayam. I’m glad I do.
The soup is bright yellow from turmeric, spicy and rich, full of soft chicken and herbs I can’t name. The sambal hits me like a slap. I tear up. Everyone laughs.
The Rinjani Question
I’d planned to hike Mt. Rinjani but hadn’t booked it yet. I thought, hey, I’ll just figure it out there.
Turns out, during the dry months—especially August—the number of hikers per day is limited. Up to 500 in total, but spots get snapped up quick.
I walk into a few trekking offices in Senaru and Sembalun. Some look like proper tour ops. Others feel... let’s say improvised. Prices range from IDR 2.5 million to 4 million for the 3-day trek, depending on group size and gear quality.
Eventually, I go with a mid-size local operator recommended by my homestay host. The guy running it, Pak Rafi, has a gentle, calming presence—and makes a mean Lombok coffee over an open fire in his garden. He tells me about his son, who wants to study tourism management in Mataram. We shake hands. Deal done.
If you’re planning this hike, book your Mt. Rinjani climb a couple weeks in advance online if it’s peak season. Especially for special routes or private treks. Permits can fill up.
The Climb and the Cold
Rinjani isn’t just a climb. It’s something personal. Grueling switchbacks. Loose volcanic gravel. Thin air.
By the second day, my legs scream with every step. The air gets colder—surprisingly cold. I’m freezing in a borrowed jacket, huddled in a tent at 2,600 meters, listening to the eerie silence of the crater rim.
Then the wind kicks up.
My headlamp dies halfway to the summit at 3AM. I’m fumbling in the dark, slipping, cursing under my breath. A porter—barefoot!—leans over and gently nudges me uphill, saying, “Pelan-pelan aja...” Just take it slow.
He hums softly. I focus on his voice.
Watching the sun rise from Rinjani’s summit is surreal. There’s Lake Segara Anak below, mist curling over it like steam from a forgotten cup of tea. The colors shift from inky purple to gold.
I cry. Not in that dramatic way Instagram people do for photos, but because I’m suddenly overwhelmed. After weeks of chaotic travel, this stillness... this altitude... it cracks me open.
An Unexpected Discovery
After Rinjani, I treat myself to a few days in Kuta (Lombok—not Bali). I had low expectations. But wow.
Kuta has grown, yes, there are smoothie bowls and yoga spots now—but it retains its soul. Mopeds buzz over dirt roads, and goats still wander onto beaches. I find a tiny beach—Tanjung Aan—that feels like it belongs in another universe. The sand here isn’t powder—it’s like soft, round pepper grains. It squeaks underfoot. Weirdly satisfying.
In the evening, I meet a local fisherman, Adi, who invites me to his home for grilled ikan bakar. His wife, Ika, serves sambal so ferociously spicy I have to down a coconut right after. They laugh themselves silly watching me sweat.
These people—I never expected such kindness from strangers. It’s humbling.
Adi asks if I’ve seen Lombok from above. I tell him no. He grins wide and says, “You have to fly. You miss half the magic when you only walk or drive.”
A New Perspective
Two days later, I take a scenic flight with FlyLombok.id. Tiny plane. Big windows.
From up there, Lombok stretches wide and wild. Rinjani’s crater yawns open like some alien universe. Rice paddies flash green-gold in the sun. The southern coastline looks like a lacework of cliffs and turquoise.
For the first time, I see how untamed Lombok really is. Bali feels curated. Lombok feels real.
Final Thoughts (and Tips for You)
Coming here in August? Yes, book in advance. Boats. Hikes. Even some accommodations.
Pack layers—even in the tropics, Rinjani is cold.
Don’t be afraid to chat with locals. Small smiles open big doors.
Also, give yourself buffer time. Things move slower here. Transport isn’t always on schedule. But that’s part of the charm.
If you’re crafting your own Lombok Indonesia itinerary, consider mixing the hard—including Rinjani—with the soft: empty beaches, coffee shops in Tetebatu, sunset surf sessions in Selong Belanak.
This isn’t a place that shows itself all at once. Lombok reveals herself slowly, in glimpses and gestures.
And from the sky, with FlyLombok.id, I finally understand her shape.
Open. Raw. Beautiful.
Just like the journey.