Wallace noticed the zoological differences between the neighbouring Indonesian islands when he explored the region a little over 150 years ago.

But we’re heading in the other direction, north from Lembar Port towards the volcanic sands of Pantai Ampenan, where Wallace made landfall.

His descriptions of well-irrigated rice and coffee plantations remain valid. Cows wander among the coconut trees and horse-drawn carts trundle down busy roads that link to the markets of Mataram, a “large village”, according to Wallace, although the island capital is more a chaotic amalgam of towns today.

A skyline of green onion domes has won Lombok the nickname “island of a thousand mosques”, but Mataram is a diverse place, as we learn at Harmosbrew, a coffee shop that wouldn’t look out of place in a cool borough of any national capital were it not for an elaborate Hindu shrine in the backyard.

In Wallace’s time the predominantly Hindu Balinese ruled over Lombok’s Muslim-Sasak majority, and there remains a sizeable Hindu quarter, beginning at Pura Meru, a red-brick temple dating back to 1720.

After exploring the crowd-free temple grounds, its thatched pagodas and gargoyle-like door guards, we head into the countryside in search of another place of worship, one that is even more out of the ordinary.

Parking outside a mosque in Lingsar Village, we walk down a lane to find Pura Lingsar, an imposing complex that dates back to 1714 and is hidden from view from the main road.

“I am Mr Sunrise,” says a guide, standing at the classical Javanese split gate. His name is Fajar, which more accurately translates as “dawn”, but a bit of creative embellishment goes hand in hand with the job of a tour guide.

“I’m an orthodox Muslim but this temple is for Christians, Buddhists, Hindus and Wetu Telu,” he says. The latter practise a blend of Islam and Animism, a faith unique to Lombok.

“Let me prove this to you,” he says, as we don sarongs to enter the temple grounds. “This woman is Hindu and her best friend is a Muslim,” he says, introducing a pair of elderly ladies sat in the shade making offerings out of flowers and banana leaves together.

Syncretic religious practices on Lombok resulted from Islam making landfall in the 16th century, its countless minarets erected on ancient Buddhist-Hindu and Animist foundations.

The island’s first mosque, Bayan Beleq, which commemorates Islam’s arrival, is 80km (50 miles) north of Mataram, in the foothills of Mount Rinjani, an enormous volcano that dominates the northern half of the island.

The road from the fading old tourist strip of Senggigi hugs an undulating coastline of black sandy beaches and remote fishing villages until the tarmac cuts inland and sharply rises, forging a passage between stepped rice fields sustained by nutrient-rich volcanic soil towards a skyline dominated by Mount Rinjani.

Bayan Beleq is tucked away in the jungle that still carpets much of the volcano’s slopes and its design – thatch roofing and bamboo walls – exhibits similarities with the traditional Sasak housing still seen in remote villages.

Dating back to 1634, the mosque has the aura of an ancient and special place.

“Inside you can see the drum that was used to call people to prayer,” explains a local guide. “We still use the mosque three times a year, for Eid, as well as two local festivals,” he adds, underlining the fact that faith in Lombok is both international and indigenous in nature.

There are a few rustic guest houses in the Bayan area catering to hikers who spend their evenings in local warungs drinking the local moonshine, brem, with the liberal local Wetu Telu.

About halfway up the volcano, Bayan Village functions as a way station for hikers going up or coming down, and is little more than a hillside car park for tour buses, some fly-plagued restaurants and a few mountaineering agencies, clustered on either side of the road.

However, for those not inclined to spend three days walking to an active volcano crater, there is much to experience beneath the cloud line. I’m keen to see a bit of the natural world Wallace waxed lyrical about.

He mentions other ecological concerns: the forest is being cleared for farmland in certain areas and unseasonable rains are troubling farmers.

“I think the world is getting old,” he says.

“Covid was worse,” says Mank, echoing sentiments I hear from just about everyone I talk to. “At least after the earthquake there were still some tourists. [In 2021], nobody came.”

The island’s main roads have been relaid since the earthquakes, which makes our journey to the Sembalun Valley an easy ride.

Lombok’s own Shangri-la is hemmed in between Mount Rinjani and the other six peaks of the East Lombok Regency.

Rice, carrots and cabbages are also cultivated, as well as strawberries, the fruit on sale on roadsides advertised with the easiest of Indonesian words, “Stroberi”.

The Sembalun Valley is best appreciated from staggered viewing points lining the mountain road, where we stop to take photos in the company of meddlesome macaques until rain clouds urge us to return to our homestay in Bayan, opposite the entrance gate to the Sendang Gile waterfall.

Like Wallace, who “hired a native boat with outriggers” to explore remoter parts of the island, I pay a captain-for-the-day, who arrives at my lodgings – the East Lombok Dive Hotel, one of a few waterfront guest houses on Lombok’s northeast coast – to take me island-hopping in a traditional boat.

The wooden houses and coconut plantations that dominate this little-visited corner of the island recede as we motor towards our first stop: Gili Petagan, an island covered in mangroves. We drop anchor offshore to snorkel in coral-rich waters, no other diver in sight.

We sail on to Gili Kapal, known as the “hidden island” by locals as the small sliver of sand all but disappears at high tide, then Gili Kondo, where I order a kopi Lombok – “Lombok coffee” – from an enterprising, friendly old lady who has established a store-in-a-shack on the atoll. Her husband manages a small island campsite.

The boat ride back to Lombok doesn’t begin until the captain has finished his rice and fish dinner.

From the returning outrigger, Lombok is golden-hued, as sunbeams pierce the volcano’s clouds, illuminating the closer hills, all green and largely uncultivated.

In the foreground, children play football on a palm-lined beach, a mosque calling the faithful to prayer – by loudspeaker rather than drum – and the occasional dog bark or cockerel call joining the evening chorus.

I suspect Wallace would recognise the scene.