Damar, one of the best surf guides on the Indonesian island of Lombok, feels right at home taking tourists out to sea. With his fluent English and effortless banter, you would never guess what was his childhood fear: foreigners.

When I was 10 or maybe seven, I used to cry - I used to just pee in my pants when I saw white people, Damar, now 39, tells the BBC.

That diffidence waned as the laidback island he calls home slowly found its popularity among Western travellers.

Just east of Bali, Lombok boasts the same azure beaches and stunning views as its famous neighbour, but without the exasperating crowds. Lombok's beaches are still a hidden gem among surfers, as is Mount Rinjani for hikers. Travel sites still liberally use the word untouched to describe the island as they offer reasons to venture beyond Bali.

So it should come as little surprise that the Indonesian government has sensed the opportunity to create another lucrative tourist haven on the sprawling archipelago. The mission is to create more Balis - and Lombok will be one of them.

For islanders, this promise of Balification is a welcome opportunity but they are also wary of what it brings. And the change has already begun to hit home in more ways than one.

Mandalika in the south has been chosen as the heart of the new Bali. Its rustic coastline has already given way to glitzy resorts, cafes, and even a racetrack. Earlier this month, nearly 150,000 spectators showed up to watch the motorcycle Grand Prix.

However, the rapid transformation comes with a cost. Families have been uprooted as land is cleared for development. Damar recounts the anger and helplessness following the eviction from his village home for the construction of the Mandalika circuit. Despite his anger at the situation, he states: I'm not angry at the tourists. I'm just angry at my own government.

The push to draw tourists away from Bali has become urgent as the island's allure dims under the burden of over-tourism and pollution. Lombok offers an alternative, yet many fear the charm and culture might soon be sacrificed to fuel commercial interests.

Locals like café owner Kartini Lumban Raja express concern that development will erase the island's natural beauty, stating, When beaches start to look like Kuta, they lose their charm. We lose opportunities. We lose natural beauty. With businesses being demolished amid rising tensions over land rights, the community grapples with its future.

While the government promotes the economic opportunities of the tourism boom, many are left without a means of livelihood. The challenges of preserving local culture, amid a saturated demands from tourists for similar attractions as Bali, pose a dilemma too great to ignore.

Andrew Irwin, a foreign investor in Lombok’s tourism, notes the need for a shift towards sustainable tourism practices that uplift rather than displace local communities. With locals now creating businesses to accommodate the influx of visitors, some hope for a balance between profit and cultural preservation.

In this evolving landscape, residents like Damar highlight the need for a thoughtful approach to tourism, one that respects their past while allowing for the prospect of a brighter economic future. Yet, as more developments arise, the question remains: Can Lombok be both a tourist magnet and a haven for its native culture?