Why don’t I ever listen to my mother? She’d have warned me not to go into the undergrowth alone with a strange man, one who at this very moment is grinning widely and brandishing a sword only inches from my face.

There’s not another soul in sight — just a few chickens and water buffalo to see him raise his blade to the sky.

Luckily I’m not about to fall victim to a farmyard mugging. And, anyway, he’s hardly dressed for attack, wrapped in a sarong so gorgeous it would make David Beckham jealous. In a flash his sword swoops down into the trees behind me and, a few minutes of furious thrashing later, he hands me my gift, a perfectly formed walking stick.

With its help I step through the thick trees, into a village so untouched that its inhabitants only recently stopped headhunting. This was shaping up to be a very strange day.

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• Here be dragons and dives

I’m on Sumba, an island only a 90-minute flight but a world away from bustling Bali. It is home to Nihiwatu, a resort that is attracting the world’s hip and helpful by blending luxury, sustainability and access to a rarely explored indigenous culture.

I know I’m not in Kansas any more when my 4x4 airport transfer bumps me merrily along Sumba’s only road. Beyond a scattering of local shops the island is untouched, a tropical paradise of rolling prehistoric landscape and distant ocean.

Our only companions are the barefoot children streaming from their homes to wave their welcome. “Here’s cellphone corner,” the driver announces merrily as we skid round a sharp bend 30 minutes from our destination, “the only place you’ll get reception.”

Remote barely covers it. Nihiwatu, set in 483 acres of lush rainforest, follows the Sumbanese “less is more” philosophy, housing just 30 guests in villas and bungalows. Beautiful weaving hangs as art on the walls and picture windows frame the perfect waves of the Indian Ocean.

The simplicity is charming. All meals and soft drinks are included and can be enjoyed anywhere, any time; there is no television, internet use is discouraged and guests don’t lock their doors. The result is acres of pure peace.

So far, so eco-chic. But I soon swap soft sands for something a bit more adventurous. Along with snorkelling trips and waterfall treks, every guest at Nihiwatu is given free tours of the local villages. In a burst of jetlagged enthusiasm I pick Sodan, one of the least visited and most remote.

A 30-minute drive later I’m starting to regret my decision. Standing in the baking hot basin of a lush green valley, Dato my guide points to some thatched roofs high in the hills. “That’s Sodan,” he says, “let’s go.”

Even with my walking stick I soon collapse, exhausted, on to an enormous grey gravestone. Dato entertains me with tales of animal sacrifice as I catch my breath. Like many Sumbanese he is an animist, enacting rituals to maintain a peaceful relationship with Marapu, the ancestral spirits.

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