Paradise island with a sting in the tail

Wandering around the island of Lombok you’ll encounter everything from sea turtles to black water buffalo. Among the less friendly fauna Damien met was a scorpion, which dealt him a vicious sting.

Lombok, just south of Bali, Indonesia, is a stunningly beautiful and still unspoiled island of jungled mountains, green river valleys and sugar-white beaches. Its roads, largely well-surfaced, give access to miles of rolling coastal and upland scenery.

Riding a motor scooter is the optimum way of enjoying the island, the countryside, the fresh air, the coolness under tall trees, and the vistas of green jungle, bright, blue sea and crescents of white sand.

Three things to watch out for when riding home in the dusk are small herds of black water-buffalo walking both sides of the road; doe-eyed, gazelle-like cattle wandering off the grass of the roadside long-acre; and armies of ducks, hundreds strong, led by men in conical straw hats and lunghis (sarongs), holding aloft a stick with a scrap of cloth attached. The ducks are taken to the paddy fields in the morning. The flag is planted in the earth, and at sunset they gather around it waiting it to be led home.

In Lombok, motorcycles are the transport of choice. Most riders don’t wear helmets, and helmets were not supplied with our rented bike. However, the country roads have little traffic. The main hazard is skidding on the dusty, rain rutted lanes down to remote beaches.

Last week, while snorkeling in six feet of water, a sea turtle swam amiably alongside me; I followed, but couldn’t keep up.

Other wildlife encounters include dawn wake-ups from what must be a very large gecko suddenly shattering the silence with a strident, deep-throated call. “Geck-caw, geck-caw”, it goes. Seven calls augurs good luck — after 17, I rustle the mosquito net and it shuts up. This morning, our lizard housemate woke us at seven.

All drowsiness was soon dispelled when, in the bathroom, I lifted a washcloth and received a vicious sting that made me yelp and jump.

Foolishly, I grabbed the cloth with my other hand and was stung again. The culprit was a scorpion; it sat on the cloth in the washbasin, barbed tail erect. “Call our host!” I yelled to my wife, hoping he would know an antidote to save me at death’s door. A bowl of scalding water arrived, with instructions to immerse my hands for five minutes. I did so. The pain reduced. Then, antihistamine ointment. Now, five hours later, the stinging is still there. One of my three precious typing finger-tips was a target, and is now twice its normal size. In 23 years, writing this column was never been painful before but, if one travels to these places, one must accept the consequences.

Our accommodation, a thatched ‘bungalow’ in gardens replete with trees, flowers, birds and exotic butterflies — frogs and bats at night — is truly beautiful, as is most Indonesian ‘home stay’. Our host, a young Swiss man and his pretty Sasak wife (Sasaks are the native people of Lombok) rent two bungalows, each beautifully designed in the style of a thatched Sasak house.

The hardwood roof beam is 30 feet above the bed with its canopy of mosquito net. Geometrical constructions of shining, golden-and-brown patterned bamboo, hand-tied, support the thatch. The porch, patterned in mosaics of tiny black, white and pink pebbles brought from the island of Flores, is furnished with bamboo tables and cushioned chairs; here we breakfast on freshly sliced papaya, banana, guava, apples and yogurt, black tea, toast and jam. The all-in price is €16 for us both.

We fled Bali: tourist Bali, ex-pat residents tell us, is ‘over’ — over-developed, overcrowded and polluted, its legendary beaches dirty and despoiled. Sadly, Lombok is next in line. Development is already making inroads. There is an international airport, and Australians and Europeans crowd the popular beaches in July and August. Aussie surfers and backpackers are here at all seasons.

The good news is that for a some years yet, Lombok will continue to be a paradise. Now, in March, the end of the wet season, the vast beaches of the south are all but empty. Horseshoe-shaped, jungle-backed, blue-sea-fronted, the mile-long stretches of white sand are the prototype for all beach dreams. Beyond and around, where azure sea meets green hills, pristine coves nestle like a string of white shells, and not a footprint on them.

One might say to the aspirant traveller: Go now, while stocks last!