The main plan in Komodo was a two-day, one-night liveaboard trip with island hopping. Before landing, the view from the plane revealed deep blue waters dotted with islands of varying sizes. From above, they seemed tiny and easily within reach, but once we sailed across the sea, they felt distant and unreachable. Upon setting foot on these seemingly small islands, it became clear that even after hours of walking, we had only explored their outer edges—a humbling reminder of the vastness of the world.
The itinerary was packed with activities: hiking, swimming, diving, bat-watching, sunrise viewing, and searching for Komodo dragons, each experience unique in its own way. July and August are Indonesia’s dry season and also peak season, making liveaboard trips highly sought after. I almost couldn’t secure my desired dates when booking.
There aren’t many liveaboard options, generally falling into two categories: private luxury charters or more affordable shared ones. Cabins are usually twin or multi-person (four-person) rooms, with the occasional family room (three-person) if you’re lucky. Bookings are arranged through third-party travel companies, and the final cabin allocation is often decided by the on-site tour leader.
This was my first time on a liveaboard, and while I was excited, I had some concerns about safety. Fortunately, everything went smoothly, but the room left a lasting impression. On standard boats, accommodations are basic—just a place to lie down. Our group leader allocated cabins based on the guests’ needs and gave the family room to a Chinese family of three traveling together.
The boat had three levels: two above deck and one below. The first deck was the working area, with equipment, bathrooms, the kitchen, and the crew’s rooms located in the middle. At the stern, there were a few bean bags, and you could also lie down directly on the deck.
The bow of the second deck was the main leisure area, with a large table surrounded by chairs, a smaller table with two armchairs, and railings where people could sit. It could accommodate around 20 people. The captain’s cabin was in the middle of the second deck, with a bunk bed room and a four-person room behind it.
Below deck, in the front part of the boat, were the main cabins. A central corridor ran through the middle, with two double rooms on each side. At the end of the corridor was the family room. Located under the bow, the family room was the largest because it couldn’t be further divided, and it was shaped like a triangle. The main feature was a trapezoid-shaped bed (or mattress on a wooden board) with a long pillow and two thin blankets. In front of the bed, there was a one-meter space, with a power outlet on one side and an air conditioner above. The door, leading to the corridor, was the only entryway. That was all the room had.
Our large luggage could only be half-opened, like a clam, and finding things on the swaying boat was disorienting. Since island hopping involved swimming, diving, and hiking, we had to return frequently to the room to change clothes, apply sunscreen, and organize our stuff, all while feeling dizzy—it was quite a challenge.
Still, we were lucky. The double rooms on both sides of the corridor had no space to move around. Each room was just a narrow double bed separated from the corridor by a curtain. Luggage either had to be placed in the public area or on the bed itself. At least we had a door that could lock. The curtains on the double rooms didn’t fully close, leaving large gaps that exposed the people inside, either lying down or sitting, along with their scattered belongings. After seeing the other rooms, we felt content—when you’re at sea, you really can’t ask for more.
Tourists on board came from all over the world: three Germans, two Israelis, two Malaysians, four Italians, two New Zealanders, and eight Chinese. Overall, the group was divided into two major camps: Europe and Asia. There were 10 white people, 10 Asians, and one black person. Due to cultural and language similarities, the European camp quickly banded together. In just a few minutes, they formed a lively Western circle in the leisure area at the bow, laughing loudly and clearly divided by nationality. A German couple kept to themselves, rarely joining the conversations, while a young German woman sat quietly next to the three of us.
Speaking of this German woman, she had already been on vacation for over a month, traveling from Australia to Fiji, and now Indonesia. Before this Komodo liveaboard, she had spent three days in Bali and planned to return there after the trip. Her travel schedule was completely flexible. Initially, she had a travel companion, but they parted ways, and she continued her journey alone, adjusting her plans freely without a fixed return date. It seemed like she was taking a break between jobs, planning to find another one when she returned. I asked her if, after so much time by the sea, she had grown tired of it. She seemed surprised and replied that each place had its unique beauty, and she hadn’t grown tired at all. That’s true—you don’t get tired of it, but you do feel the pinch on your wallet and the pressure to return to work.
In the Asian camp, the five other Chinese passengers were all young women. After boarding, they didn’t actively socialize. Three of them exchanged a few words before disappearing to the stern of the boat and were never seen again. This trio came from Xi’an, Shanghai, and Guangzhou—they might have been former classmates or perhaps online friends who had come to Indonesia for a trip. They kept to themselves, exuding a cool, aloof vibe with distinctive hairstyles, making me initially mistake them for Japanese. Whether due to seasickness or something else, they remained withdrawn, rarely participating in activities like swimming, hiking, or diving. Even at mealtimes, they didn’t seem very engaged.
The other two women were also from Guangzhou. One was quite talkative, though she didn’t start chatting until well into the day. She kept complaining about how the liveaboard conditions were far worse than what online reviews had led her to expect. They had been assigned a room next to ours, right along the corridor, and she expressed frustration that the room was nothing like what had been described. She had tried to negotiate with the tour leader upon boarding, but there was little the leader could do since all the rooms were already allocated. At one point, she mentioned that they had stayed in the same hotel as us the night before and had even seen us in the lobby that morning. I wondered how she managed not to say anything to us earlier. Now it made sense—when we were waiting for the pickup, I overheard the driver mentioning two more people, but they didn’t show up at the time. It turned out they hadn’t contacted the boat’s driver until midday, which explained why we waited so long on the boat before setting off. However, these two women also avoided the bow and were rarely seen during the trip.
The last members of the Asian camp were a Malaysian couple celebrating their first wedding anniversary. They hardly spoke to anyone on board, spending most of their time either at the stern or in their cabin, only appearing for meals and activities. The husband had a DJI drone, the same model as ours. After our first drone flight during a hike, we struck up a small friendship with him. From that point on, we often gathered to share footage and discuss previous videos, as well as talk about action cameras. Shared interests can bridge gaps, even when language isn’t fluent or the individuals aren’t naturally talkative—their eyes would light up as they discussed their hobbies. Still, the Malaysian couple rarely spent time at the bow.
After watching the bats return to their nests and finishing dinner, it was already late at night. We spent some time stargazing, and as the boat anchored, the small groups gradually dispersed, knowing that we had to set off at 4:30 AM the next morning to hike and watch the sunrise. While chatting in our room, we heard the commotion resume at the bow—many people were drinking and talking there. We didn’t know when it ended, but we eventually fell asleep to the sound of their laughter.
Of course, not all moments were harmonious. The Israeli couple had occupied two lounge chairs at the bow of the boat from the moment they boarded. Since the area was sunny and nobody else seemed interested, it became an unspoken rule that everyone would return to their usual spots after each activity, as if each person had their own territory.
However, on the second morning, a Chinese girl noticed one of the chairs was empty and decided to sit and enjoy the sun. She was quickly stopped by the Israeli woman, who told her that the chair was her husband’s. The Chinese girl, slightly embarrassed, quietly walked away. There were several people around at the time, and I witnessed the scene from nearby—it made me a bit angry.
What surprised me was what happened after the next activity. The German couple, without hesitation, took over the two lounge chairs. The Israeli woman could only stand awkwardly nearby before grudgingly moving to a different seat. The German couple, who usually kept to themselves and sat quietly along the boat’s sides or at the edge of the bow, had made a bold and silent protest. It was unexpected to see them act this way.
In just one short hour, the silent standoff came to a close.
The tour leader was likely the only Javanese crew member who spoke English. His English was fluent, with only a slight Indonesian accent. From the moment we boarded, he became the sole representative of the boat crew, handling multiple tasks. First, he assigned the cabins, then gave a detailed introduction to the itinerary at the bow in smooth, fast-paced English, explaining the attractions and the habits of Komodo dragons. If you weren’t paying close attention, it was easy to lose track of his speech. He efficiently facilitated group interactions, having everyone introduce themselves by name and nationality.
Before each excursion, he gave reminders, organized everyone into lines for boarding the small boats, and counted the group members. On each island, he closely monitored every group’s movements, especially during diving sessions, ensuring everyone’s safety and keeping track of their whereabouts. With the tight schedule, he had to call everyone back to the small boats on time and do another headcount. Afterward, he organized meals and drinks.
The accompanying crew members were young, agile, and always smiling, although communication was limited to friendly gestures. However, they were quick to respond when help was needed and could instinctively tell if anyone was in trouble. This seemed to be a common trait among Javanese people, as I noticed similar warmth and attentiveness in others I met later.
Out on the vast ocean, the boat was everything to us. While the vessel was simple, the supplies were plentiful. Every meal was different, with a variety of 6-7 dishes alongside various staples, and the food was quite tasty. The boat was stocked with a whole case of chilled drinks, including beer, soda, and mineral water. Snorkeling gear was also provided, making the arrangements quite thorough.
The two-day, one-night journey was comfortable overall, except for the basic accommodations and the return trip, during which the boat sped so fast that it made some people seasick to the point of vomiting. Before the trip ended, the tour leader collected everyone’s hotel information to arrange transportation for drop-offs.
While waiting for the transfer vehicles, deafening music blasted from the visitor center, creating a chaotic atmosphere. To my surprise, the usually quiet and withdrawn trio suddenly came to life, swaying to the music and shaking off their gloom from the past two days. It was a stark reminder—not just of the cultural differences between East and West but also of the differences in age and energy.
