From Bali to Lombok

Because I wanted to stay in Indonesia for two months, not just the one granted by the visa at the airport, I had to find an immigration office where, for a fee of 500,000 rupiah (24 Swiss francs or just under 25 euros), the extension could be arranged; this isn't possible online. These offices are located in the major cities, and I had no desire to drive back to Denpasar from my refuge on Bali's west coast along the notorious highway.

So I decided to go to the neighboring island of Lombok, where such an office exists in the capital, Mataram. And since I was already on Lombok, I added on a week on the south coast.

While the Gili Islands are better known for beach holidays, I wanted to continue east afterwards, to Labuan Bajo on the island of Flores and to Komoğdo National Park. Lombok's airport is in the south of the island, while the Gili Islands are in the northwest. I didn't want to drive up and down the island three times.

Chaos at the port

So, on July 14, 2026, I had myself driven to the Balinese ferry port of Padang Bai, about 90 km east of Balian Beach, where I had spent a week. This journey also took a good three hours, given Balinese traffic conditions. From Padang Bai, various ferries and speedboats operate to Penida Island, the three tourist-developed Gili Islands, and Bansal in northwestern Lombok.

Padang Bai is in complete chaos: Several hundred people are waiting for ferries about to depart; there's no information about when which ferry or speedboat will dock and be loaded, not to mention any electronic displays. So, impatient passengers stumble over strewn suitcases to the gate, and from there, told to wait until later, they head back again.

I had read a lot beforehand about the organizational talent of the Indonesians, which doesn't quite match our ideals, about delays and chaos – and here, finally, they are. Being transferred in the middle of the ocean from a comfortable speedboat to an open, rickety boat without proper seating, and without anyone informing us, only elicits a fatalistic shrug. When you have the image of sunken or burning Indonesian ferries and passengers fighting for their lives in mind, this is a minor inconvenience.

Upon arrival at Bangsal port on the island of Lombok, travelers (as in almost every port and airport) are immediately surrounded by people trying to sell them a taxi. In such cases, it's helpful to research fares beforehand to avoid being ripped off. I ended up paying 250,000 Indonesian rupiah for the hour-and-a-half ride to Mataram, the equivalent of twelve Swiss francs or just over twelve euros. The drivers had initially demanded half a million.

No tourists

Mataram is the capital of the province of West Nusa Tenggara; this includes Lombok, the three times larger Sumbawa (over 15,000 square kilometers), and around 400 smaller islands.

No, Mataram is not a tourist destination. The city, with its approximately 450,000 inhabitants, is far too rigid for that. The fact that Islam prevails here (though not comparable to the practice in the province of Aceh, see my posts "Banda Aceh – Sharia after the Tsunami" from May 22, 2026, and "Aceh – How Sharia is enforced" from May 24) becomes apparent at the latest in a restaurant: wine or beer with your meal – forget it!

Roemah Langko ("House on Langko Street") would be perfectly suited for a sophisticated dinner. This reconstructed Dutch mansion from the 1920s serves excellent Indonesian specialties. The waiter, Benedictus, a Catholic from the island of Flores, also doesn't understand why he can't offer me a glass of wine with my meal.

Trip saved

The same applies to the many international restaurants in the sprawling Lombok Epicentrum Mall. I made a pilgrimage there, firstly to enjoy sushi again instead of the local Indonesian food, and secondly to salvage my trip.

Because on the ferry from Bali, I discovered to my horror that my phone wouldn't charge anymore, and without a phone, a traveler is completely lost, since that flat thing in your back pocket is an instrument for everything: storing flight tickets and hotel bookings; paying in shops, restaurants, and hotels; checking emails; contacting the bank; 6,547 photos (as of July 14, 2026); 45 travel apps; half a dozen AI apps; Google Maps; the NZZ subscription; the New York Times subscription; and so on and so forth. (It's uncanny how vital this thing has become.)

There were two possible reasons for the problem: a simple one, that the charger was broken; a more serious one, that the charging issue lay with the phone itself. A friendly saleswoman in the Epicentrum Mall came to my rescue: it was just the charger. My relief must have been quite obvious.

Mosque and Hindu temple

With renewed optimism, I set out to explore Mataram. The Great Mosque in the city center, the Masjid Hubbul Wathan, also known as the Islamic Center Nusa Tenggara Barat, was opened in December 2013.

The voluminous prayer hall, diagonally opposite the immigration office, can accommodate more than 10,000 worshippers. Its domes are decorated with colorful batik patterns. The main minaret, standing alone next to the mosque, is an imposing 99 meters tall. Four slender towers, each 66 meters high, mark the corners of the building.

During a series of earthquakes in July and August 2018, which mainly affected northern Lombok and the Gili Islands, the Great Mosque, then only five years old, was also severely damaged: parts of the roof collapsed; the minarets cracked; the dome of one of them was tilted sharply and threatened to collapse.

I was pleasantly surprised by the immigration office, by the way: An officer in a black uniform and a female officer wearing a headscarf immediately attended to me, took my mobile phone, and carried out the rather complicated process for me – no paperwork; that's all moved to the virtual realm. Then I was photographed, and that was the end of the bureaucratic process.

Previously, I had expected conditions like those I knew from African or Arab authorities: waiting for hours in humid, hot rooms together with a hundred other petitioners; endless back and forth between different offices; filling out dozens of forms; queuing here to pay, there to be questioned; getting a stamp here, handing in a photograph there.

Sometimes pessimism has its advantages: you can be pleasantly surprised, like I was in Mataram.

When Bali ruled Lombok

Matram consists of four distinct districts; Cakranegara, once shaped by Balinese kings who ruled parts of Lombok in the 18th and 19th centuries, is the most historically significant. The 300-year-old Pura Meru in Cakranegara is particularly impressive.

The temple's three tall, multi-tiered shrines, which from a distance appear to be turned on a lathe, are dedicated to the Hindu deities Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Adjacent to Pura Meru lies the former royal garden with a large, artificial pond that reflects the blue of the sky, at the center of which is the Bale Kambang, a pavilion in the water that belonged to the royal palace complex.

Mataram will never be one of my favorite cities; it's too puritanical for my taste. But the two days I spent there offered some interesting insights, and I'll fondly remember the saleswoman in the Epicentrum Mall as well as the immigration officials.