Damar, one of the best surf guides on the Indonesian island of Lombok, feels right at home taking tourists out to sea. With his fluent English and effortless banter, you would never guess what was his childhood fear: foreigners. 'When I was 10 or maybe seven, I used to cry - I used to just pee in my pants when I saw white people,' Damar, now 39, tells the BBC.
That diffidence waned as the laidback island he calls home slowly found its popularity among Western travellers. Just east of Bali, Lombok boasts the same azure beaches and stunning views as its famous neighbour, but without the exasperating crowds. Lombok's beaches are still a hidden gem among surfers, as is Mount Rinjani for hikers. Travel sites still liberally use the word 'untouched' to describe the island as they offer reasons to venture beyond Bali.
So it should come as little surprise that the Indonesian government has sensed the opportunity to create another lucrative tourist haven on the sprawling archipelago. The mission is to create more 'Balis' - and Lombok will be one of them.
For islanders, this promise of 'Balification' is a welcome opportunity but they are also wary of what it brings. And the change has already begun to hit home in more ways than one.
Mandalika in the south has been chosen as the heart of the 'new Bali'. Its rustic coastline has already given way to glitzy resorts, cafes and even a racetrack.
Earlier this month, nearly 150,000 spectators showed up to watch the motorcycle Grand Prix. Between 2019 and 2021, dozens of families were evicted from their village homes for the construction of the Mandalika circuit. Damar's was among them.
Confronted with what activists decried as a messy resettlement plan and unfair compensation, he and his neighbours were helpless, Damar recalls. 'I was angry, but I cannot do much. I cannot fight against the government,' he says.
Since the eviction, Damar has bought a plot of land and built his own house, something that many of his neighbours haven't been able to do.
A stone's throw away on the beach of Tanjung Aan, cafe owner Kartini Lumban Raja told the BBC that locals there 'don't want to be 'organised' like Kuta'. 'When beaches start to look like Kuta, they lose their charm. We lose opportunities. We lose natural beauty,' she said.
Months of uncertainty culminated in July when nearly 200 stalls were cleared on Tanjung Aan Beach to make way for new developments, displacing many small business owners without adequate notice or compensation. UN human rights experts have flagged over 2,000 individuals who 'lost their primary means of livelihood overnight' due to these actions.
Now, as Lombok stands on the brink of change, a balancing act between economic opportunity and the preservation of identity poses a unique challenge for the locals. Lombok must find its path without simply becoming a less crowded copy of Bali.
That diffidence waned as the laidback island he calls home slowly found its popularity among Western travellers. Just east of Bali, Lombok boasts the same azure beaches and stunning views as its famous neighbour, but without the exasperating crowds. Lombok's beaches are still a hidden gem among surfers, as is Mount Rinjani for hikers. Travel sites still liberally use the word 'untouched' to describe the island as they offer reasons to venture beyond Bali.
So it should come as little surprise that the Indonesian government has sensed the opportunity to create another lucrative tourist haven on the sprawling archipelago. The mission is to create more 'Balis' - and Lombok will be one of them.
For islanders, this promise of 'Balification' is a welcome opportunity but they are also wary of what it brings. And the change has already begun to hit home in more ways than one.
Mandalika in the south has been chosen as the heart of the 'new Bali'. Its rustic coastline has already given way to glitzy resorts, cafes and even a racetrack.
Earlier this month, nearly 150,000 spectators showed up to watch the motorcycle Grand Prix. Between 2019 and 2021, dozens of families were evicted from their village homes for the construction of the Mandalika circuit. Damar's was among them.
Confronted with what activists decried as a messy resettlement plan and unfair compensation, he and his neighbours were helpless, Damar recalls. 'I was angry, but I cannot do much. I cannot fight against the government,' he says.
Since the eviction, Damar has bought a plot of land and built his own house, something that many of his neighbours haven't been able to do.
A stone's throw away on the beach of Tanjung Aan, cafe owner Kartini Lumban Raja told the BBC that locals there 'don't want to be 'organised' like Kuta'. 'When beaches start to look like Kuta, they lose their charm. We lose opportunities. We lose natural beauty,' she said.
Months of uncertainty culminated in July when nearly 200 stalls were cleared on Tanjung Aan Beach to make way for new developments, displacing many small business owners without adequate notice or compensation. UN human rights experts have flagged over 2,000 individuals who 'lost their primary means of livelihood overnight' due to these actions.
Now, as Lombok stands on the brink of change, a balancing act between economic opportunity and the preservation of identity poses a unique challenge for the locals. Lombok must find its path without simply becoming a less crowded copy of Bali.
