A mystical sojourn that is Indonesia

The road to the Komodo Islands is long. I say road, but strictly speaking, it is a passage by air and sea, as well as land. I am travelling to one of the most remote places in the world, so I am expecting a remarkable adventure.

The first leg of my 10-day journey is a long haul flight to Bali, landing in the secluded foothills of Tabanan in the east—a relatively unknown part of the island, 30 minutes north of the village of Canggu. I stay at Nirjhara, an exquisite jungle resort with a cascading waterfall at its centre. A meandering river separates the retreat from the fertile rice paddies lining the entrance. Small black and yellow centipedes weave through the delicate carpet of frangipani covering the footpath. Outstretched banana tree leaves bow their heads, while bamboo stems and the lobster claws of red heliconias sway gently in the cooling breeze.

The 25-room resort has been designed with careful consideration for the natural landscape surrounding it. My accommodation here is the Residence, a two bedroom villa that opens out onto a tropical forest, a view I can also see from the private infinity pool. The walls are made from coconut shells, and the rooms are constructed with recycled wood and natural stone; traditional ironwood-shingled roofing complements the lush surroundings and the melodic soundtrack of the birds, while the gentle hum of insects is soothing and serene. A sugar glider—a type of possum—leaps across the palm fronds, entertaining me as it climbs at speed over the foliage.

The following afternoon, I fly to the island of Flores, then get on a speedboat to board Vela, a vessel that will take a small group of us on a five-day trip exploring Komodo National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site on the eastern side of the 17,500 islands that form the Indonesian archipelago. Vela is a magnificent modern incarnation of the wooden sailing ships, phinisi, that once plied Indonesian waters along the historic spice-trade routes. The boat is meticulously handcrafted, made with traditional tools by master builders from the Konjo tribe of South Sulawesi—a spider-shaped isle north of the Komodo Islands, and one of the main seafaring regions of the country—using centuries-old techniques passed down generations.

Fifty years ago, my father made a similar journey, emigrating from Kupang in West Timor—close to the place I am heading to now—and crossing the Timor Sea into Australia, where I grew up. The idea of visiting Indonesia when I was young was a distant dream which our family could not afford. Instead, I connected with his homeland through the tranquil melodies of keroncong (Indonesian folk music), the intricate batik dresses I was clothed in, and the meals that filled our table—cherished family recipes that were imprinted into my childhood. Later, I spent years exploring the country’s culinary identity. Each dish shortened the distance to the Indonesia I knew as a child; every bite brought me closer to family.

When I first set foot there as a young adult nearly two decades ago, I felt I had finally come home. I have since travelled extensively across Indonesia, but had not yet visited this remote part of the country. Traversing these waters had long been a dream of mine.

While on Vela, I am given a luxurious air-conditioned cabin, one of six that can accommodate up to 14 guests altogether. It is decorated with beautiful Indonesian art and craftsmanship: an exquisite woven ikat from Blahbatuh in east Bali adorns my king-size bed; teak furniture has been sustainably sourced and hand-carved in Java; tiles and ceramics are custom-made by the celebrated Gaya Ceramic in Ubud. At Vela’s helm is Captain Ferykok (Fery) Bonarate, born and raised in South Sulawesi. He has sailed these waters for more than 25 years, and his supporting crew are from the neighbouring islands of Bali and Flores, so I know I am in good hands.

The boat’s resident Javanese chef, Ferry Hermawan, has mastered recipes handed down through generations of villagers. I delight in my daily morning breakfast of mie goreng (stir-fried egg noodles with crispy fried egg) with rivers of gleaming kecap manis (a thick and syrupy fermented sweet soy sauce) pooling into every nook and cranny. For one dinner, I eat rawon, a dish from Surabaya consisting of tender beef swimming in a distinctly earthy broth fragrant with garlic, galangal, and coriander seeds. The soup is made from the black pulp of the mature kluwak nut, which is poisonous until simmered. It is near impossible to order this dish outside Indonesia, and I sip it with glee.

We sail towards Padar, the third largest island that sits inside Komodo National Park. We might as well be at the very centre of the ocean, for when I look at the horizon, ours is the only vessel in sight. The sun casts uninterrupted shades of gold upon a collage of ragged hills and mountains carpeted in variants of forest green. Volcanic land formations curve like
claws, and the jagged coastline is fringed with sandy bays overlooked by thorny vegetation, inhabited by Komodo dragons and at least 4,000 species of wild birds. Around us are coconut-palm-lined clifftops that fall dramatically into sapphire-blue water. The sheer scale of the place is a reminder of my smallness.

Padar is a dragon-free location, with underwater volcanoes and a spectacular summit. I hike to the top and soak in the view of the three bays surrounded by deep valleys, savannah woodlands, and green hills, admiring one of the few places in the world with different-coloured sands: one black, one pink, and another white. Later that afternoon, we swim in the jewel-like water. As the day turns into night, we go back to Vela by speedboat, and at last set sail towards Komodo.

We travel to Loh Liang, a nature reserve on the eastern coast of Komodo Island, and the boat’s cruise director Dean Noble—whose extensive knowledge of the region makes him a worthy guide—arranges for an early morning visit, where visitors can safely observe the dragons in their natural habitat. When we arrive, we are greeted by two park
rangers. “We must protect dragons. They are our ancestors,” says one of the rangers, as we walk over dirt tracks shaded by a montage of tamarind trees and wide-stretching palms. They each carry a six-foot wooden stick that forks at the end for our protection. The monstrous Komodo dragon, which can grow up to three metres long and weigh up to 90 kilos, is known for its aggressive behaviour, and can bite with venom potent enough to kill a water buffalo—though there hasn’t been a fatal attack for 13 years. Fossils indicate they first appeared on the islands a million years ago, but they are now classified as endangered; their numbers have dwindled by half in the past 25 years, with only 3,500 dragons left in the wild due to illegal hunting and the loss of their habitat to agriculture and urban development.

Our first encounter is with a sleeping adolescent, its scaled, chainmail-like armour camouflaged by the forest. At the beach, my guide brings me closer to a large adult male, a rope of drool dangling from his parted jaws beside his flickering forked tongue. Wary of the speed at which these prehistoric creatures can move—about 12 miles an hour, oras fast as a person running for their life—I move slowly, my breath held.

The next day, our guides take us snorkelling near Pulau Langkoi, a small island south of Komodo. Rare marine animals, including dugongs, whale sharks, and manta rays, are known to visit these parts. A hawksbill sea turtle glides elegantly through the water beneath me; schools of tropical fish swirl around; a white-tipped shark swims slowly above coral meadows; and sneaking along a stretch of sand is the faint outline of a stingray. Blue sea stars dot the reef below, and giant clams open and close their curled electric-blue and purple lips to the flow of the water’s currents.

Back on board Vela, in the evening, I watch white bats circle the water’s surface just metres from the deck, illuminated by the ship’s light...one swoops into the ocean and emerges with its claws latched around a small fish. A black-and-white banded sea snake wriggles across the surface of the water, its movement smooth and hypnotic. The sea glows in mesmerising shades of neon blue, and bioluminescent waves follow the foamy wake of our speedboat during an evening outing to watch flying foxes as they leave the safety of a mangrove forest in search of food.

I buy a small, delicate carving of a Komodo dragon, a souvenir made by local craftsmen that I found at a beachside market on Komodo Island. It is carved from the rain tree, or suar wood, known for its beautiful umbrella-shaped canopy whose leaves fold up before the rain.

There’s been a magic to this journey, which has brought me new and unexpected experiences, while also feeling like a long-awaited homecoming. It has been a voyage anchored in ancestry, taking me on a boat infused with culture and history, past the birthplace of my Indonesian father, and through the majesty of the ancient land formations and the
prehistoric creatures that inhabit them. I run my hands over the carving’s intricate detail; it’s a totem of this time spent in my forefathers’ country, and a reminder of my son back at home, who dreams of meeting dragons too.

This piece originally appeared in the March 2023 print version of Harper's Bazaar India