Dragons & Mermaids – An Adventure in Komodo National Park

May 9-12, 2024

It is difficult to not repeat the same phrases again and again.

So beautiful.

Stunning scenery.

Fun people.

A great time.

Spectacular…

The reality is that so many places are amazing and spectacular in such different ways, yet all I’m left with are the same inadequate words.

Instead, I will try to be literal. Try to be exact in my thoughts and impressions. Because while my trip to Komodo National Park was filled with beautiful and spectacular things, these things dawned on me incredibly slowly. Unlike many of my experiences in New Zealand where I felt like I was hit in the face by the incredibleness of my surroundings and my experiences, Komodo was, most often, a brief fear of disappointment, of tempering my expectations…and then a slow, pink, rosy dawn of awe.

It took me a little bit to understand that this would be the case. When I arrived in the port town of Labuan Bajo on the Indonesian island of Flores, I immediately fell in love. Walking from the tiny airport to my hostel was walking through real people’s lives. There wasn’t any of the shine and polish of Bali. that meant it wasn’t also beautiful. There were piles of trash in people’s yards. There were very few people on the streets. I thought that maybe I was off the tourist track.

Venturing into the main downtown area, I learned that wasn’t quite true. There were smoothie shops and vegan restaurants, a little mini stretch of Ubud. But the crowds of people ubiqituous throughout Bali were missing.

My sunset walk and my fish market visit, where locals thronged around outdoor stalls and sat at picnic tables to eat, were so different from Bali and Gili Air. There were still tourists–in fact, I bumped into some Americans at the fish market who invited me to eat with them–but not in the masses I was used to.

Well, the masses came out the next day.

By 9am, the port of Labuan Bajo was as crowded as a supermarket before a Christmas-eve snowstorm. Except it took place in an oven.

Sweat glided down the curve of my forehead, resting for a moment in the corner of my eye before dripping like tears. Everyone sported backpacks or roller bags, masses of people like ant colonies surging and pushing in the small lines of shade beside the main building. Elsewhere, piles of baggage as big as a bus lined the edges of the pier. A thousand colors, a thousand people, a thousand noises—all congregated in the small Muslim community of Labuan Bajo. The sun was a fiery hand on my skin.

Small boats bobbed around the pier, shoving to get forward, to get close enough to the pier that passengers could stumble aboard or that luggage could be tossed onto the deck. But there was no order, just who could squeeze into which sliver empty space.

And I knew—I knew from my usual hours of research–that every single little boat was carrying people to bigger boats which were going to follow the exact same three day itinerary as the boat that I had booked.

Never mind that I chose my boat because it was a “small group tour” with only 22 people. All four or five thousand of these people were essentially on my tour too.

After forty-five minutes, I’m finally ferried out to my boat along with the other stragglers. We climb onto the Kanha Citta (pronounced kan-na chi-ta) via the back deck, passing the small outdoor kitchen area, then single file down the dark wood hallway into the dining area.

Five booths are inserted on the outside edge with a large center table at counter height and a small bar tucked into the right-back corner. Every table seems full and a pile of bags fill the walkways. But at least we’re greeted with three swallows of watermelon juice. It was, frankly, delicious watermelon juice.

The ambiance is lovely. Dark wood, wide windows looking out onto blue ocean and a fleet of other ships. White macrame decorates the windows, blue cushions dot the benches, and fake flowers are displayed in the windowsills.

Room is made for the new arrivals and we crowd into the booths. The tour guide, Angelo, starts his spiel with introductions and safety and a thrice-repeated daily agenda (slowly repeated again and again even though it is only three activities—hike, snorkel, sunset views).

Finally, we are freed to take our bags to our rooms.

Here, I am impressed. Though I’m in the shared room with seven other people, the beds look cozy, the room is well laid-out, and the other people in my room seem kind. We’re all excited to be here on this three day adventure.

I explore the ship, find a place to sit and watch the coast glide by. The water is a brilliant blue and so calm. I took a ginger chew when I was in the room, but I doubt I really need it. Komodo National Park is a series of islands and the waterways between them, and Labuan Bajo is so sheltered by those islands and the reefs that ring them that I hardly feel any swell. Beyond the blue, and not that far away, I’m still looking at Flores Island. It rises in sweeping hillsides, often so steep that I fear they must be called mountains despite their diminutive height. It is a soft, spring-green–the land covered in fuzzy-looking Easter green.

Angelo summons us all to the dining area, where I realize that the masses of baggage had nothing to do with the lack of seating. There are, in fact, five tables that seat four people, and we have twenty-three people on our boat. Which is one more than there are supposed to be. But even if we didn’t have the one extra, we would still be two seats short. While the bedrooms are air-conditioned, the dining area isn’t so no one is keen to shove three people onto a bench meant for two, but kind souls make room.

It’s time for lunch. Here, I was apprehensive from the very beginning. You never know what food is going to be served on a tourist trip. But I was thrilled to find it absolutely delicious. However, the food was placed on the middle table and served up family style. There was no order to grabbing the food and there was not—not the first time and not any other time—enough.

Every serving plate got eaten, down to sauce scooped onto plain rice, and it seemed everyone was still hungry at the end. With the lack of food, there was also a lack of respect and dignity. Say, for example, that shrimp lay piled on a serving platter. If everyone took 2 pieces, there would be two pieces for everyone. Everyone would still be hungry because two pieces is not enough, but at least everyone would have gotten two pieces.

Instead, some folks took seven or eight pieces and thus the plate of shrimp was entirely empty before even half of the passengers had a single morsel of food on their plate. So, what I did eat was delicious, and I’m guessing that what I missed out on was equally delicious.

The lack of enough food was a huge shame because it also turned what I suspect are nice and respectful people into greedy and fearful monsters. I know this because I became one of them. For future meals, I would sit with my foot tapping as Angelo went over the next activities somewhere between four and seven times, and then when he finally said, “enjoy your meal,” I would leap to my feet along with the rest of the passengers and try to elbow my way to the front of whichever serving plate looked like it held the most delicious item in a simple bid to get just one morsel of said item. Food scarcity turned us all into hyenas.

Anyway, before our first lunch, Angelo took the time to inform us (four times) that he had changed the day’s schedule already. Because it seemed that every boat that had departed ahead of us was at Kelor Island, which was where we were supposed to go. So, he said, we were going to skip the hike at Kelor for now, go snorkel, and then return to do the hike later. I barely refrained from two very distinct actions. The first, rolling my eyes. Of course everyone was at Kelor Island. Every itinerary I could find listed a hike on Kelor Island as the first activity on day one. The second, raising my hands in a hallelujah praise that our guide was smart enough/flexible enough/self-aware enough to change the itinerary.

So we ate and got ready to snorkel.

Jumping in, I was immediately met with poor visibility and little but rock and stray bits of coral on the ocean floor. But the boat didn’t want to get too close to the reef, so it made sense to drop us here. We kicked over towards the reef and within moments I caught a glimpse of a turtle. My heart picked up. Everyone said the reefs in Komodo National Park were wonderful, but I’d withheld judgement. I had, after all, experienced the amazement of the Great Barrier Reef only a few weeks before.

We kicked around for an hour, other boats pulling up to join us. It wasn’t as serene as the Great Barrier Reef, but lots of fun fishies darted around and there were plenty of anemones full of clownfish to entice me to dive down to get close. I love the way clownfish swim aggressively out of their anemones and then stop, giving you the stare-down. But as soon as you get closer, they swim back to safety!

We loaded back onto the Kanha Citta and cruised toward Kelor Island. What a great decision Angelo had made because only a few boats floated around the small island. As the dinghy pulled a group of us into shore, baby reef sharks darted through the shallow turquoise water.

A short scramble up a root-laden hill brought us to a small viewpoint over this end of the national park.

Dinner was another tooth-baring incident where everyone ended up still slightly hungry, and then we watched bats emerge over Kalong Island as the sun set.

Day two burst onto the seen with the ringing of alarms at 5am. Emerging onto the deck, I got my first glimpse of the Trojan War.

Kidding.

But also, have you seen a thousand ships?

I didn’t have the inclination to count them all, lanterns floating on dark water against dark skies, but there were hundreds.

And the line of lights up the slope of Padar island could have lit a shopping mall.

The instagram photos of a people free Padar Island were clearly not taken on a weekend such as this one. When we landed on the shore, we joined the masses of people tearing up the sand in a charge equal to that of the Greeks before the walls of Troy. Funneled onto the a wide path, I stuck to the edges, weaving in and out around the hordes. One of my new friends from the boat followed me and we ended up near the summit, finding a spot on a massive rock that looked East without too many people in view. We waited for the sun to rise over the constellations of ships in the bay.

As the island lit up with the rays of the sun, it was like a game of whack-a-mole as people on the scattered rocks around us took turns standing and getting a video of the surroundings, then sitting back down so someone else could stand, trying to cut out as many people as possible.

It was not serene, but it was beautiful and the experience was full of eye rolls and quick jumps to our feet to take another photo. The people watching was perfection.

Padar Island met none of my expectations, but I don’t regret it. And I did get a decent photo or two.

The day continued, following the same pattern as all the other boats. We cruised over to Pink Beach, which is a lovely spot. The red coral in the reef around it has turned the sand pink, though it’s best viewed from above, so drones zipped and squealed through the air.

I walked to the end, finding a nice spot away from people. After a few minutes of simply taking in the view, an Indonesian guy approached asking if I wanted him to take pictures of me.

I didn’t need a photo. A nice French couple from the Kanha Citta had already taken a few, so my answer was no anyway. But normal interactions such as these had proven so different in some of my past interactions. For example, in Bali, Indonesian guys hang around places and offer to take photos of tourists, but then you’re expected to pay them.

So when this young Indonesian guy approached me, running through my head were all these thoughts of if he’d charge me money, or if he was waiting for me to go in for a swim and grab my phone or if he was simply looking for a good time from a blonde tourist (like that guy on Gili Air). I told him no and he sat down beside me. We talked a little bit and I waffled between feeling bad for having had all those thoughts and feeling justified when he kept coming back around to asking me if I wanted a photo.

Finally, he urged me to take a selfie of the both of us and I decided to walk back to the main area.

The beach is littered with trash–shoes, clothes, snack wrappers. Trash was all over Indonesia, but this was the worst I’d seen it, and it was in the National Park. It broke my heart a little bit.

If every tourist that came hauled out one piece of trash, the beach would probably be pristine. But none of the guides encouraged it and none of the boats had a place to dispose of so much trash and even once it got to Labuan Bajo, I’m not sure what would have been done. There isn’t much of a trash service in Indonesia.

As the boat motored away and we descended upon lunch like jackals, our next destination loomed large in my mind. Komodo Island–one of the few islands in the National Park that still has Komodo Dragons.

We arrived in the village of Komodo, which sat along the oceanfront like a tourist beach town, the structures built half on the water resting on stilts. Children jumped off the end of the rainbow-painted jetty, doggy paddling around to climb back up and do it again. The village, once we neared, was dusty buildings and dirt streets packed down by feet. Colorful clothes hung on lines and trinkets lay out in the sun along with bottles of water tucked in the shade, all for sale. Walking through the village, it seemed as though it could have been in a desert if I didn’t raise my eyes to the treed hillside beyond. Other than a few splashes of colorful paint, everything was dusty and brown.

We had one guide and two helpers escorting us through the village and beyond. Each held a stick about five feet long and forked at the end. This was our protection from the Komodo Dragons.

“Stay six feet away at all times,” our guide said. “Unless we take pictures. Then three feet.”

I nodded. Yup, that seems perfectly legit.

After only a few minutes of walking, the guide halted us only a few feet from the village and pointed to a pile of trash. “See there.”

And there one was–a Komodo Dragon tucked among the trash heap only a few feet from the edge of the village. “Sometimes they come into the village and eat dogs and kids.”

Imagine that.

I asked a thousand questions, so many that the guide took to turning to me after explaining something to the group and raising an eyebrow. Glad I could earn a reputation.

Komodo Dragons can reach 10 feet in length and weigh 300 pounds. They are the largest lizards on earth. They used to live in many islands in Indonesia, including on Flores, but they are now an endangered species and most of them reside within the National Park. However, they may still exist on Flores and other islands undetected.

Komodo Dragons eat deer, goats, other members of their species, and sometimes people. Rather than hunting, Komodo Dragons tend to stay still and wait until something walks past, then strike. Their bite is venomous and prevents blood clotting, so victims often bleed out. I asked the guide if any people had been attacked this year. He said 2. One survived. One didn’t.

We went on to spot seven total Komodo Dragons, only one of which our guide halted us in front of and told us to stand behind the dragon so he could take pictures. It was kind of wild.

When one of the dragons stood up and began to move toward us, it definitely got my heart pumping. His forked tongue snaked out, tasting the air, and every step was heavy. They’re massive beasts.

The day continued with attempts to spot Manta Rays (we saw one from afar) and snorkeling around an island no bigger than a strip of sand. The snorkeling was far better than the previous destination with swarms of colorful fish and coral gardens as bright as the Great Barrier Reef. One member of our group saw an octopus, which I really wish I could have seen!

Disappointment levels rose after dinner as the whole group retreated up to the top deck for a party. Angelo attempted to get people to sing karaoke, but a group of Indonesian tourists just wanted to dance. We all danced for a little while and I had fun, but I was ready for bed by 11. Unfortunately, the party went until 2:30am while I lay in my top bunk right beneath the floor of the dance floor. The jumping feet and loud music were not a balm for easy dreams.

Day three had another snorkel opportunity–supposedly the best one yet. We took the little boats to the reef, which had a steep drop into the channel so the current was strong. Angelo dropped our little group at the end so we could float the current down the reef. He went back for the second group of swimmers, leaving us there among the waves and the other groups of splashing tourists.

I quickly lost the other members of my group as the current whisked me along. It was stunning, as beautiful as the Great Barrier Reef, and I merely floated, carried by the current over shallow coral beds and among schools of swarming tropical fish. I felt like part of the reef, caught up in the swirling water and swimming easily as a mermaid among the bright colors and waving anemones.

While it was the best snorkel area in terms of the biodiversity and views, I managed not to get a single decent photo. Ah well!

Also, everyone who’d been on Padar Island was here and that made it a bit hectic. Most of the groups had been dropped off on the other end and made to swim against the current, so I was continuously dodging furiously kicking people.

I kept popping up, trying to locate other members of my group or the little dinghy speeding around the edges with the words Kanha Citta on it.

But as the crowds began to diminish, I finally caught sight of the Kanha Citta dinghy zooming away with a boat full of people. No worries, I thought. They have to take two trips, so they’ll be back. I just have to watch for the boat to return.

Well, the boat never returned and the crowds thinned further. Furiously, I kicked against the current, slowly making my way toward the small boat dock on the island. Thankfully, my panic wasn’t too great. This island sported a small dive resort, so it’s not like I was floating 90 miles from shores in the Outer Reef of Australia. But I was still nervous. None of my people were anywhere to be seen.

At the little dock, a small boat of divers was preparing to go out. I told them I thought I’d been left behind and they offered to drive me back to my boat. I was just hoping my boat hadn’t left already, heading back to the Labuan Bajo.

As they loaded me into the dive boat, several older British gentlemen joking around with me, one of the last few little boats cruised by. It said Kanha Loka.

I told the guys that boat was affiliated with the same company as my boat so they waved them over and the Kanha Loka delivered me safely back to the Kanha Citta, where Angelo was preparing the boat to return to Labuan Bajo having not realized I was missing for over half an hour.

So… Beautiful scenery. Hoards of people. Fantastic snorkeling. Not enough food. Forgotten passengers. Despite it all, the whole thing is a fond, fun memory.

A proper adventure, as the Brits in the boat said.

An adventure, indeed.