After the bike rode down an empty road, my daughter and I jumped off a high wooden platform into a deep lagoon with white sand of salt, healthy corals, and there was no one else there.
As the Indian Ocean splattered, we swam, jumped off again and laughed. We lost track of time.
Maybe we were just lucky. The platform had to be built by someone for the fun of many people. But it wasn't the first or last time we felt practically alone in Sma.
Sumba, one of Indonesia's easternmost islands, is just an hour's flight from Bali. But Sumba is as quiet as Bali is banging. At sunset there are no digital nomads, DJ parties, or drones.
The island is twice the size of Bali and is one-fifth of its population. The airport was a matter of walking time with one luggage carousel and we were 40 minutes' drive to our hotel and we saw maybe a dozen people.
Whether Sumba can remain anti-bali is a question. Hotel development and word of mouth are beginning to reach a sufficient slope point, attracting more than surf-obsessed adventurers and celebrities with blank check budgets.
I've heard about it from my Sydney surfer friends, but when I planned my trip two months before my departure, most of the island's handful of hotels (from $180 a night to $1,300 for doubles at Suma Beach House, award-winning Nihi Sumba) were booked.
Some argue that it means going now. Others will say, like they told us, it's never going to be Bali for many reasons, from infrastructure to size and local culture.
“There aren't many here,” and eventually we stayed for four nights. “It's a very different place.”
A wide room
After coming from Bali, we quickly noticed the difference in the scenery. Geologically, Sumba is a fragment of the Australian continent, floating north. This means there are no volcanoes or towering cliffs. It is primarily a plain of grass and corn and serves as animal feed.
The space is part of the charm, and like other hotels spread across the island, Cap Caroso made the most of it. The two-year-old facility features 44 rooms and 20 villas on more than three acres of hilly tumbling towards Carososo Beach.
None of the major hotel chains have shops in Sumba, so Cap Karoso is big enough to get it.
The owner is a French couple. Evguenia and Fabrice Ivara were former luxury brand managers and entrepreneurs at digital advertising agency. Their aesthetics are minimalist, featuring modernist furniture and airy buildings, plants on the roof and lemongrass bushes lined with sidewalks. On our way to the lobby we passed the hotel's organic farm.
Upon arrival, General Manager David Garcia welcomed us and explained the spirit of the hotel.
After lunch around the world at the Beach Club (pork bowl, pizza, bao bread, club sandwich, about $50), my family – me, my wife and two teenagers were actively chosen. I went surfing on my hotel longboard. It was a bit paddle in the small waves, but the water was clear.
The next day we embarked on a snorkeling trip that was included in the room rate. Our guide was cold – they brought spear guns and caught a red snapper for dinner – and there were only other boats in the water. Underwater, we have seen a wider array of fish elsewhere, but in the age of climate change and coral bleaching, the colour and health of the reefs have provided a deep sense of security.
After that, I booked a half-day surf trip after a lagoon adventure. It sent a guide around the southwest tip of Sumba. We bouncing off dirt roads through traditional villages, with roofs standing in several high stories. Officially, Sumba is primarily Catholic, but in the ancient animist religion of the island, ancestors or “maraps” guide life from above, reaching connections by traditional homes (and several government buildings).
Our destination, Wainyapu, sat right next to the river mouth and the village. There was no one in the water. The waves were 4-5 feet, soft, clean, and a lot of fun for our man-in-the-middle. Perhaps the best place we surfed together as a family.
Our guide, Julianto, said he came to Sumba for just that experience after growing up in West Java and working in a more crowded place.
“There are a lot of people in Bali,” he said. “Suma is still natural so I love it.”
Garcia said 90% of hotel staff are Sambunny's. Many of them were trained through a partnership with the local nonprofit Sumba Hospitality Foundation. Perhaps the relationship between guests, staff and community felt warm and modest, as tourism still appears to be still new and bringing local benefits.
Children from nearby villages swam at the edge of the hotel beach, waving, smiling, and tried out a bit of English. When my daughter and I got lost on our way to the lagoon, locals pointed us in the right direction with a smile.
A place to relax
We managed to do nothing either. The sunset by the main pool, slightly higher than the villa, gave us great views of the sky, sea and the lighthouse in the distance.
One night my wife and I signed up for dinner at Julan. Cap Caroso's luxury options feature a guest chef serving guests at one long table in an open kitchen.
We only had six of us for the meals of Robby Noble, a British raised chef based in Melbourne, Australia. His menu is also known as chilled candies, grilled octopus and grilled mahi mahi dishes with tahini and shallots, leaning on local seafood, spinach in the morning.
We worked through everything, together with an American foreigner living in Amsterdam and a British couple who spoke to us about their courtship on a 30,000-mile motorcycle trip from Alaska to Patagonia.
Distance luxury can be costly. Julan's Prix Fixe Meal cost around $90 per person without wine. Double at Cap Karoso starts at $325, with a two-bedroom duplex of $750, and a three-bedroom costing as much as $4,000 per night.
Book early and you'll get more reasonable options in small boutique hotels and homes. With all of them, other developments are sparse so you could be on site for most meals and activities (though kitchen staff mentioned karaoke bars near the airport).
The current samba balance between nature, its staff and food like freshly baked pastries each morning feels luxurious and fragile. As always, the poor division of rich visitors risks distorting the culture of a place that has been largely unchanged for hundreds, if not thousands.
In the lagoon, for example, a handful of vendors set up stalls to sell local crafts, and when we left, a few men and boys competed to see that they should be paid a small parking fee.
But compared to Bali, or many other places, Sumba still feels like a secret vacation, a place to clean your mind and enjoy the breeze and the ocean.
“We don't have the infrastructure for the four seasons,” Desborough said. “And to be honest, we're fine with that.”
