Sembalun in a Single Breath

Junaidi stepped slowly through a cluster of orange chrysanthemum plants reflecting the glow of the afternoon sun in the agricultural fields of Sembalun Bumbung Village, Sembalun District, East Lombok Regency, West Nusa Tenggara. The 33-year-old occasionally paused, his fingers reaching for flowers beginning to wilt, then carefully plucking them so the newly blooming ones could develop perfectly. Amidst a stretch of green horticultural land as far as the eye could see, the 16-plot flower garden, covering about half a hectare, is an oasis that has now become an alternative attraction for travellers visiting Sembalun. Visitors pay an entrance fee of Rp30,000 for adults and Rp10,000 for children. From behind the expanse of multicoloured flowers, they can capture Sembalun’s distinctive panorama with a backdrop of hills and the towering Mount Rinjani. “We planted flowers little by little and sometimes bought flowers from villagers’ homes, bought and planted, bought and planted, and it turned out beautiful, attracting many visitors,” said Junaidi, recalling the formation of the Sembalun Flower Garden five years ago. Thousands of people from various regions and countries flock there daily, especially during the holiday season. The dry season fills the village roads with dust, often obscuring visibility. The presence of the flower garden is one marker of change for an area long identified as the gateway for climbing Mount Rinjani. The area, situated at an altitude of 1,100 to 1,300 metres above sea level, offers many attractions without requiring a three-day, two-night mountain trek. Sembalun has great potential to develop as an exotic highland destination in eastern Indonesia, offering a complete experience backed by natural wealth, agriculture, and culture. Nature is the enchanting main stage. Sembalun is not just a story about a mountain, but also a tale of every blooming petal and the hands that tend them with love. Morning always arrives gently in the foothills of Mount Rinjani. The cold temperature blown in by dry air from Australia bites the skin. Dew still clings to young leaves, while the dusty black volcanic soil, a result of the dry season, holds the remnants of the long night air. Two middle-aged female farmers crouched in one of the dry field plots amidst the more than 1,000 hectares of agricultural land in Sembalun, working without much talk. Woven bamboo hats covered their heads, wrapped in hijabs, providing extra protection from the sun’s rays slowly leaving the horizon. Their rough fingers moved gently, checking one by one the lettuce seedlings ready to be transplanted into the beds.