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.
Between 2019 and 2021, dozens of families were evicted from their village homes for the construction of the Mandalika circuit. Damar's was among them.
Confronted with what activists decried as a messy resettlement plan and unfair compensation, he and his neighbours were helpless, Damar recalls.
Since the eviction, Damar has bought a plot of land and built his own house, something that many of his neighbours haven't been able to do. As a surf guide, he estimates that he earns twice as much as a fisherman - a generational profession in his community.
I've never really been to school, so joining the tourism industry was one of the best choices that I have ever made, Damar says. Meeting a lot of people from many different countries… It has opened my mind.
Damar's indignation about his eviction even comes with a scrupulous caveat: I'm not angry at the tourists. I'm just angry at my own government.
The drive to transform Lombok is part of a wider effort to lure travellers away from Bali, which has for decades played an outsized role in Indonesia's tourism industry.
The island makes up less than 1% of the country's land area and less than 2% of its 280 million-plus population. Yet last year it accounted for nearly half of all visitors to Indonesia.
But increasingly Bali's unrelenting traffic and pollution - a direct result of its success as a top tourist pick- are leaving those very tourists disappointed with what has long been touted as the last paradise.
As it turns out, that elusive paradise lies just an hour's boat ride away.
However, the transformation is raising concerns. Rumours of evictions have spread, with locals feeling the push to abandon their small businesses as luxurious developments rise along the coast.
Despite the accompanying challenges, some local entrepreneurs are thriving in the new tourism economy, balancing their nostalgia for a quieter past with the economic opportunities presented by the current wave of tourism.
As Lombok navigates this delicate transformation, questions about identity, local culture, and environmental sustainability loom large.
