On the Indonesian island of Lombok, surf guide Damar spends his days taking visitors out to sea, chatting with ease in fluent English. Yet the 39-year-old vividly recalls a time when the sight of foreigners terrified him as a child. “When I was seven or ten, I used to cry — I even peed my pants when I saw white people,” he says. Over the years, that fear faded as Lombok began drawing more Western travellers seeking a quieter alternative to its crowded neighbour, Bali.
Located just east of Bali, Lombok offers turquoise waters, white-sand beaches and dramatic landscapes — all the beauty, minus the bustle. Long called “untouched” by travel guides, it has now caught the attention of the Indonesian government, which aims to transform it into another major tourist hub as part of a plan to replicate Bali’s success. But for locals, this promise of development brings both hope and heartache.
Mandalika, in southern Lombok, has become the focal point of the government’s “new Bali” vision. Its once-rustic coastline is now lined with luxury resorts, trendy cafes and even a racetrack that hosted the international motorcycle Grand Prix earlier this month, drawing nearly 150,000 spectators. Behind this glamorous makeover, however, lies a story of forced evictions and displacement.
Between 2019 and 2021, dozens of families were removed from their homes to make way for the Mandalika circuit. Damar’s family was among them. “I was angry, but I couldn’t do much. I cannot fight against the government,” he recalls. Though he has since rebuilt his life and earns more as a surf guide than he once did as a fisherman, he remains bitter about the experience. “I’m not angry at the tourists,” he says. “I’m angry at my own government.”
Authorities say Lombok’s transformation is essential to reduce dependency on Bali, which accounts for nearly half of Indonesia’s foreign tourist arrivals despite covering less than 1% of its land area. Bali’s booming tourism industry has also brought traffic jams, pollution and overdevelopment — all the woes that officials now hope to avoid in Lombok. Yet critics warn the same mistakes are already being repeated.
In the nearby beach area of Tanjung Aan, cafe owner Kartini Lumban Raja laments the forced demolitions that recently flattened nearly 200 beach stalls, including hers. “When beaches start to look like Kuta, they lose their charm. We lose opportunities and natural beauty,” she says. Videos from the eviction show masked men tearing down makeshift shops as residents protest helplessly.
The state-owned InJourney Tourism Development Corporation, which is leading the Mandalika project, has secured about 2.1 trillion rupiah ($128 million) to build a luxury hotel in the area. Officials insist the project will boost local employment and the economy, but many displaced families have yet to receive fair compensation or viable alternatives. Human rights groups, including Just Finance International, have accused authorities of violations during the Mandalika expansion, claiming thousands of people have lost their livelihoods without notice or resettlement.
Beyond human rights concerns, Lombok’s rapid “Bali-fication” threatens to alter its unique cultural and environmental fabric. The island’s predominantly Muslim Sasak population observes modest traditions, and alcohol is not as freely available as in Bali. Locals fear that mass tourism could erode this identity.
Environmentalists are also worried. Last year’s Grand Prix generated 30 tonnes of trash, overwhelming waste disposal systems. “Before it reaches Bali’s level of overdevelopment, Lombok must learn from its neighbour’s mistakes,” says Bali-based resident Sekar Utami Setiastuti. “Tourism should bring welfare to local people, not just foreign investment.”
For now, Lombok stands at a crossroads — caught between progress and preservation. To travellers, it remains an idyllic escape. But to residents like Damar, the price of paradise is proving higher than expected.
