About La Dyana
The first morning light came soft and gold across the bow, warming the wooden deck under my bare feet. I remember standing at the rail with a mug of strong local coffee, watching the silhouette of Kelor Island sharpen in the haze. We’d arrived late the night before, sleepy from the transfer, but La Dyana felt instantly welcoming—polished wood, crisp linens, and the quiet hum of the boat settling in the bay. That first sunrise made it real: we were inside the park now, surrounded by islands that looked like they’d been dropped from a dream.
La Dyana is built for small groups—just one cabin for the two of us, but the boat comfortably hosts up to 14 across four cabins total. We had the master suite aft, which meant easy deck access and fewer steps to the dining area. The layout made sense after a day or two: dining up front with wraparound benches, the kitchen just behind, and a sun deck above with shaded loungers. It wasn’t massive at 25 metres, but it never felt crowded. The crew of six knew when to appear and when to fade, serving meals on time and rigging snorkel gear without being asked.
Day two started before sunrise with the approach to Padar. We hiked the switchbacks in the cool dark, reaching the top as the first light hit the three-bay vista—pink sand, turquoise water, volcanic ridges. After the climb, a long swim off Pink Beach washed away the sweat, the coral patches just below the surface alive with parrotfish and clowns. Later, at Manta Point, I floated above the cleaning stations, watching four mantas glide in slow circles beneath me, their mouths open, wings eclipsing the sun. The boat anchored nearby, ready with towels and warm tea when we climbed back aboard.
On the final morning, we motored to Taka Makassar—sometimes called the ‘sandbank in the middle of nowhere.’ At low tide, it’s a sliver of white coral sand, but when we arrived, it was half-submerged, perfect for swimming in all directions with nothing but blue on the horizon. We snorkeled the edge where the current brought in fusiliers and reef sharks, then drifted back to Kanawa for a last look at the black sand beach and the volcanic cone behind it. The return to Labuan Bajo felt inevitable, but not rushed—lunch was served en route, a final spread of grilled fish, sambal, and fresh mango.
What surprised me was how smoothly everything moved. No long waits, no confusion about gear or timing. The crew had a rhythm, and the boat’s size meant they could adjust when the wind changed or a snorkel spot was crowded. Yes, the cabin was compact, and the shared bathrooms required a quick rinse-and-go during peak times, but that’s Komodo. You’re not here for luxury linens. You’re here for the dragon tracks on Komodo Island, the sound of fruit bats taking flight at Kalong, and the way the water turns silver at sunset. La Dyana delivered that—quietly, reliably, without fuss.
