The sun is setting and the bossa-nova beats are rising. Surfers are riding their last barrels into shore as bartenders shake ice-cold Jackfruit Coladas and Papaya Spritzes. Around me, young couples in techno-black swimwear are casting dancing shadows and sun-drunk families are squealing in the pool. It’s a familiar snapshot seen every few years. The kind of mythical beach town – Sayulita, Taghazout, Canggu – where the surf is steady and time drips like honey. This year, it’s Sumba in Indonesia. An off-grid island with a raw energy and knotted jungles, rock pools and reliable waves in the Indian Ocean on the edge of the Savu Sea, only 50 minutes from Bali by turboprop plane, but double the size.
People might say it’s the new Gili or Komodo Island with its staggering natural beauty and light-touch tourism where days waxto school, their shoes strung over their shoulders to keep them clean. It’s an island of sharp contrasts that casts a soul-stirring light, and as I sip my Sandalwood Negroni at the stylish hotel Cap Karoso, this scrappy island feels like a new-wave hotspot.
