About Maheswari
The first evening told me everything. As we glided into Kelor’s crescent bay just before 18:00, the sky burned apricot behind the island’s spine. I stood on Maheswari’s rooftop leisure deck, barefoot, a cold Bintang in hand, watching the crew silently drop anchor without a word. No rush, no shouting—just timing. The boat held steady, 30 metres of teak and ironwood, long enough to feel substantial but nimble enough to slip between islands like a local kora-kora.
Maheswari sleeps up to 20 across 8 cabins, though on our 3D2N open-share trip, we sailed with 14. My cabin, one of two doubles on the lower deck, had solid teak joinery, a real reading lamp clipped to the bulkhead, and a ventilation grille that actually moved air—no need for the overhead fan unless it hit midday. The ensuite was compact but dry, with salt-resistant tiles and a shower head that delivered pressure, rare on boats this size. I noticed the towels were cotton, not terry, and they stayed dry all trip.
By 05:30 on Day Two, we were cutting toward Padar in the dark, engines idling low. The climb up to the viewpoint was lit by headlamps and then, suddenly, by a salmon-pink sunrise washing over the jagged coves. After breakfast back on board—banana pancakes, strong coffee, fresh papaya—we motored to Komodo Island. The ranger led our group through the savannah, eyes scanning for dragons. We saw three, one basking near a water hole, tongue flicking at the air. The heat by 10:00 was thick, but the breeze picked up as we approached Pink Beach, where the sand glowed coral underfoot.
Lunch was served open-air on the top deck: grilled fish with sambal matah, cucumber salad, and young coconut water drunk straight from the shell. By 14:00 we were snorkeling at Manta Point, and within minutes, a juvenile manta swept under me, wings rippling like silk. The crew had timed it right—slack current, clean visibility. That evening, we anchored at Kalong, a small island dense with fruit bats. As the sun dipped, thousands poured from the mangroves in spiralling waves, heading west to feed. No commentary, no music—just the natural show.
On the final day, we stopped at Taka Makassar, a sandbar that emerges at low tide. We waded out, laughing, taking photos in waist-deep water. Then Kanawa, where the reef slopes gently. I floated above clownfish in anemones, a hawksbill gliding past like clockwork. By 13:00, we were back on board, bags packed. The return to Labuan Bajo took two hours—enough time to rinse off, grab a final coffee, and watch Komodo recede into the haze.
