When winter comes to Hong Kong, chapping lips and penetrating homes with no insulation nor central heating, I dream of a faraway tropical island among a chain of more than 17,000 spread like jewels along the equator. It waits in the shadow of its famous sister, separated by nothing more than a deep sea strait.
Lombok is where I return when deadlines crease my forehead with worry – it keeps me focused and thankful for a week I cannot forget. To stand atop Indonesia’s second-highest volcano, piercing through the clouds, and then to descend through a misty rainforest into paddy fields and villages dotted with soaring coconut palms. To marvel at the brightness of the full moon, before the rising sun floods the earth with colour.
To perch on the back seat of a scooter with the breeze in my hair, winding past headland after headland marking off rugged, surf-beaten bays. To savor the rich, spicy flavours of ayam taliwang, and step onto a virgin beach where the Indian Ocean surges and ebbs, in glorious blue, from a shore of improbable pink sand.
I dream of all these moments, and soon I will be back in Indonesia, on a beach in eastern Bali where the mountains of Lombok greet me on the horizon.
The fertile Sembalun Valley, on the eastern flanks of Mt. Rinjani
Parting clouds, 2600 metres above sea level
Rinjani’s summit through the mist
Early morning descent
Clouds rolling into the caldera
Following the trail
Pink sand at Pantai Tangsi
Deserted at midday
Paddling out at Selong Belanak
Scouting for fish
Selong Belanak through the lens
Indian Ocean surf
Tranquility at Tanjung Aan
