How I Accidentally Became a Villa Owner in Lombok

It started last year on a trip to the island next to Bali: Lombok.

I'd heard a lot about it. I'd even been once before, to Desert Point, a remote surf destination on the southwest tip. But I'd never been to Kuta Lombok, the main hub for expats and digital nomads on the south coast.

I'd been living in Bali for about two and a half years at that point. I loved it. But peak season was hitting different that year. The traffic. The lines. The constant low-grade chaos of an island that had become a little too popular for its own good.

I needed a break.

The Arrival

I remember the feeling when I first arrived in Kuta.

The town is flat, nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling green hills on all sides. The roads were wide, paved, and (here's the thing) open. Like, actually open. No gridlock. No scooters weaving between cars at a standstill.

My spine decompressed. I let out a few cracks as I exhaled deeply.

Bali was beautiful, but chaotic. This felt relaxed. Peaceful. The kind of place where your nervous system actually settles.

The Scroll That Changed Everything

Within an hour, we sat down for dinner. I pulled out my phone and started scrolling Facebook Marketplace, idly comparing the cost of living with Bali. Flirting with the idea of living in this young, quiet town.

Before long, I came across a listing for a long-term rental. A local-style house in a great location.

I sent over a message asking to set up a time. Figured, what the hell. Let me take a look.

The next day, I met with the owner. He spoke no English. My Indonesian was enough to get my point across and discuss basics like cost and terms. Then he dropped a number that made me pause.

He told me the rate per year, and offered me a ten-year contract.

I was taken aback. I realized what the listing had meant by "long-term rental."

Indonesian law prohibits non-citizens from owning land outright. So most foreign buyers do what's called a leasehold, leasing the rights to land for a long period, typically 25+ years. The owner wasn't just renting me a house. He was offering me the land.

I thanked everyone for their time. Said I'd think about it.

I went home, my mind racing with possibilities. I tried to distinguish between excitement and anxiety. Found it difficult.

I'd said for a long time that Lombok would be the best place to invest. But I'd never seen myself as an investor. I was a digital nomad building software products, traveling around the world. Not a property developer.

Running the Numbers

That night, I ran the numbers.

The purchase price. Construction estimates. Potential rental income. Operating costs. Exit scenarios.

All factors considered, it looked like a great opportunity, and pretty hard to lose money. I had the capital set aside. I decided to make an offer.

After about a week of negotiating, and some thorough market research via visiting 20+ other listings, we came to an agreement on price.

The Ferry

I returned to Bali to collect my things.

I loaded up my Honda NMAX scooter with everything I owned. My backpack carried an absurdly large amount of Indonesian currency for an all-cash deal.

I took a cargo ferry to transport my bike between the islands. I remember standing on the bow, watching Bali disappear behind me, facing the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The First Mistake

It wasn't long after I arrived before I made my first mistake.

I had a lawyer draft up a leasehold contract. Brought it to the landowner so we could finalize the deal. We both signed. I handed over the cash. I was ecstatic.

I sent a picture of us shaking hands, contract signed, to my lawyer.

She called me soon after.

The deal was invalid without the presence of a notary.

Shit.

I had already handed over the money for a contract that wouldn't hold up in court. I asked her what to do. She said she would come the next day to help sort things out.

Luckily, the family was trustworthy. They came back, re-signed everything with a notary present, and we moved forward. Crisis averted.

But I learned something important: in Indonesia, process matters. Cutting corners, even accidentally, can cost you everything.

Now What?

I didn't get long to celebrate. Because now I had land, and absolutely no idea what to do with it.

I had never built a house. I didn't know the first step, much less the twentieth.

To quote the Christmas classic It's a Wonderful Life: "No man is a failure who has friends."

And I leaned hard on mine. Late nights became crash courses on what to avoid, what to demand, how not to get screwed. I absorbed every bit of information I could.

The first several contractors I talked to failed my litmus test. A little prodding opened up failures in transparency and honesty. Hidden expenses. Numbers that didn't add up. Quotes that seemed designed to be revised upward later.

A month went by and I still hadn't broken ground.

Finding Fathir

One morning, I sent the architectural designs to a local contractor named Fathir. Alongside them, I gave him a fill-in-the-blank pricing sheet for the entire renovation.

He responded quickly. Said he was at his workshop if I could come discuss.

We spent six hours that day going over the project in detail. I cross-referenced all of his pricing. Nothing was off. We weighed different material options against cost and quality. Eventually settled into an agreement.

He was on-site the next day taking measurements. Within a couple days, we broke ground.

The Build

The next several months required daily decisions on aesthetics and design, areas where I was deeply out of my depth. But again, I used friends and my best judgment.

I'd heard stories of workers taking forever, needing constant supervision. I didn't have time for that. I was working full-time on my software business.

But I found that paying my team well and bringing them lunch, coffee, and cigarettes had an incredible payoff. The build moved fast. Genuinely fast.

One of the crew mentioned offhand that most owners never do this. Never check in, never bring anything.

I don't say this to pat myself on the back. I say it because it's a lesson: take care of your people and they take care of you. Simple as that.

Within five to six months of the purchase, the house was nearing completion.

I was blown away by the transformation.

The Airbnb Experiment

Again, I found myself unsure how to move forward.

With just a few finishing touches left, I was eager. I set up a profile on Airbnb, took some photos with my iPhone, and listed the house at what I believed was fair market value.

And then I waited.

And waited.

For two to three weeks, I didn't get a single booking.

I had no idea what was wrong. By all standards, the house was beautiful. The price was within market range. I asked friends who had just booked Airbnbs in the area. They said the price was just a bit higher than average.

The place also had no reviews. And iPhone photography courtesy of yours truly. After learning a bit about Airbnb's ranking algorithm, it became clear this combination of factors was really holding the house back.

I updated the pricing to cut just below market average. Had a professional photoshoot done.

Within a day, I got my first three bookings. Within two weeks, the house was completely booked out four months in advance.

I couldn't believe it.

Operations Mode

Having guests solved some problems but opened others.

I needed to train staff, set up systems, and make sure guests felt they were having the luxurious experience they were paying for.

I made a few big mistakes:

• I sent a guest's laundry to a small shop across the street. They turned all the white clothing blue.
• I hired a cleaner who couldn't speak English, which made it impossible for her to communicate with guests about timing.
• The pool cleaner was using way too many chemicals, leaving an unpleasant film on the surface of the water.

Each new problem required a system to be developed, installed, monitored, and updated before it could run independently.

Where Things Stand

Now, after three months of operating, all the systems are in place. The staff are hired and trained. Everything is legal and compliant.

The new system I'm building is marketing.

I'm looking to sell the villa as a turnkey managed property, and continue building on the adjacent parcel of the same land. My systems are in place, and repeating the process will be much cleaner the second time around. And even more so the third.

What I Learned

If I had to distill the experience into lessons:

1. Trust your intuition, but verify everything. My gut identified bad contractors early. A little digging revealed hidden expenses and numbers that didn't add up. The intuition was right, but I still needed the receipts.

2. The right partner is worth the wait. I spent over a month vetting contractors before finding someone I trusted. Don't rush the relationships that matter.

3. Take care of your people and they take care of you. Bringing coffee, lunch, and cigarettes. One of my crew mentioned most owners never do this. Small gestures build real loyalty.

4. Mistakes are tuition. I signed a contract without a notary present. I sent a guest's laundry out and it came back blue. Each failure became a system.

5. Don't wait for perfect. iPhone photos and no reviews meant zero bookings for weeks. A professional photoshoot and adjusted pricing got me fully booked four months out.

6. Every solution creates new problems. When bookings finally started rolling in, I thought I'd made it. Then came staffing, training, compliance, operations. You just graduate to the next level of problems.

7. Systems are freedom. It took three months of building processes, hiring, and training. Now it runs without me.

8. Leap before you're ready. I bought land with cash, no construction experience, and no clear plan. You'll never feel ready. You just start.

The Offer

For anyone interested in learning about Villa Ombak as an investment opportunity, you can find everything on the website: villaombak.com

And if you have recommendations for marketing an investment property, I'm all ears.

This is my story. I hope it helps someone else who's thinking about making the leap, whether to Lombok, to building, or just to doing something that scares them a little.

The fear doesn't go away. You just learn to move with it.