After a ride on our motorbike down a quiet road, my daughter and I ended up leaping off a tall wooden platform into a deep lagoon filled with fine white sand, vibrant coral, and blissfully empty surroundings.
As the Indian Ocean danced around us, we swam, jumped again, and shared plenty of laughter, completely losing track of time.
We might have just been fortunate. Clearly, the platform was made for enjoyment, but this wasn’t the first or last time we experienced such solitude in Sumba.
Sumba, one of Indonesia’s easternmost islands, is only an hour’s flight from Bali. However, it possesses a tranquil atmosphere that Bali lacks. You won’t find digital nomads, DJ parties, or drones at sunset here.
The island is twice the size of Bali but has only one-fifth of its population. The small airport offers a simple experience with just one baggage carousel, and during the 40-minute drive to our hotel, we saw perhaps a dozen people.
Whether Sumba can continue being an alternative to Bali remains to be seen as it gradually receives more hotel developments and curious visitors beyond just surfers and wealthy celebrities.
Friends who are surfers from Sydney mentioned Sumba, and by the time we organized our trip just two months ahead, most hotels on the island (ranging from $180 per night at Sumba Beach House to $1,300 at the celebrated Nihi Sumba) were already fully booked.
Some suggest visiting now, while others contend, like they informed us, that Sumba will never reach Bali’s status due to factors such as its infrastructure, size, and the need for community trust and approvals before any projects can commence.
“There’s really not much here,” remarked Kiri Desborough, wellness director at Cap Karoso, the hotel where we stayed for four nights. It’s privately run, maintaining a cozy and intimate feel. “It’s a very different place.”
Room to Breathe
Coming from Bali, we instantly recognized the change in landscape. Sumba, a fragment of the Australian continent that moved north, lacks volcanoes or steep cliffs. Instead, it features vast grassy plains and cornfields used to feed animals.
The sense of space is part of Sumba’s allure. Cap Karoso, like many hotels on the island, takes full advantage of this. This two-year-old hotel boasts 44 rooms and 20 villas spread across over three acres of hilly terrain that slope down to Karoso beach.
No major hotel chains have established a presence in Sumba, making Cap Karoso the largest option available.
The hotel owners, a French couple named Evguenia and Fabrice Ivara, come from backgrounds in luxury goods and digital advertising. They embrace a minimalist aesthetic, incorporating modern furnishings and airy structures adorned with rooftop gardens and pathways lined with lemongrass. On our way to the lobby, we passed their organic farm.
Upon our arrival, general manager David Garcia welcomed us and shared the hotel’s philosophy: “There’s plenty to do, or this can be the ideal spot to simply relax.”
After enjoying a diverse lunch at the beach club (including poke bowls, pizza, bao buns, and club sandwiches for about $50), my family—my wife, two teenage children, and I—opted to stay active. We took advantage of the hotel’s longboards for surfing, which were available for free. Although it required some paddling to catch smaller waves, the water was beautifully clear.
The following day, we set out on a snorkeling trip included with our stay. Our calm guides even brought spear guns and caught a red snapper for dinner—there were only a couple of other boats in the water. While I’ve seen more diverse fish in other locations, the reefs’ vibrant colors and health provided a comforting sense of relief amid climate change challenges.
Following our lagoon adventure, we booked a half-day surf expedition with a guide around Sumba’s southwestern coast. We traveled along bumpy dirt roads through traditional villages with multi-story thatched homes. Although Catholicism is predominant in Sumba, the island’s ancient animist beliefs view ancestral spirits, or “marapu,” overseeing the living, reflected in the architecture of traditional homes and some government structures.
Our destination, Wainyapu, lay just past a river mouth and a village, and we found ourselves completely alone in the water. The waves were four to five feet high, gentle, pristine, and provided immense joy for us as intermediate surfers—truly the best surfing spot we had ever enjoyed together as a family.
Our guide, Julianto, noted that he sought out this kind of experience, having grown up in West Java amid much more crowded settings.
“Bali is packed with people,” he said. “I adore Sumba because it still feels like nature.”
Mr. Garcia informed me that 90 percent of the hotel staff is from Sumba. Many received training through the Sumba Hospitality Foundation, a local nonprofit. The relatively new nature of tourism here brings warmth and authenticity to the relationship among guests, staff, and the community.
Children from a nearby village swam by the hotel beach, waving and smiling while practicing their English. When my daughter and I wandered off track while heading to the lagoon, locals kindly guided us back with friendly gestures.
A Space for Relaxation
We managed to find some time to relax as well. Watching the sunset by the main pool, elevated above the villas, provided breathtaking views of the sky, sea, and a distant lighthouse.
One evening, my spouse and I made a reservation at Julang, the upscale dining venue at Cap Karoso where guest chefs prepare meals for diners at a communal table in an open kitchen setting.
Only six patrons were present for a meal crafted by Robbie Noble, a chef originally from Britain now residing in Melbourne, Australia. His menu focused on local seafood, featuring chilled crab tea, grilled octopus served with tahini and shallots, as well as a steamed mahi mahi dish accompanied by morning glory, also known as water spinach.
We shared the experience with a couple of American expats based in Amsterdam and a British duo who recounted their romance during an incredible 30,000-mile motorcycle journey from Alaska to Patagonia.
When it comes to luxury in a secluded location, the price tag can be steep: the fixed-price dinner at Julang costs roughly $90 per person, excluding wine. Accommodations at Cap Karoso start at $325 for doubles, $750 for two-bedroom duplexes, and can rise to $4,000 per night for three-bedroom units.
However, there are more affordable choices at smaller boutique hotels or private homes if you book in advance. In many cases, you’ll find yourself on-site for the majority of meals and activities since other establishments are limited (though the kitchen staff mentioned a nearby karaoke bar by the airport).
At this moment, Sumba strikes a delicate balance with its natural surroundings, attentive staff, and culinary delights like freshly baked pastries each morning, creating a sense of both luxury and vulnerability. As always, the wealth gap between visitors and locals threatens to distort a culture that has remained largely unchanged for centuries.
For instance, around the lagoon, a few vendors have set up small stalls to sell handmade crafts, and upon our departure, several men and boys were vying to collect a small parking fee.
Yet, compared to Bali—or much of Thailand, Fiji, and numerous other destinations—Sumba retains the charm of a hidden retreat, a place to unwind, relish the coastal breezes, and, above all, escape the hustle and bustle.
“We lack the infrastructure for a Four Seasons,” remarked Ms. Desborough, who recently introduced a week-long wellness program that immerses participants in the island’s nature, community, and shamanic traditions. “And to be honest, we’re fine with that.”
