Rafida

The first morning on Rafida began with sunlight spilling across the teak deck just as we cleared the Labuan Bajo harbour. I sat cross-legged near the bow, bare feet on warm wood, watching the wake fan out behind us as the crew handed around thermoses of strong local coffee. We were heading toward Kelor Island, its green slopes rising from the water like something dreamed up by a mapmaker who’d never seen land. By mid-morning, we’d anchored in the shallows and swum over coral gardens so thick with life—parrotfish, clownfish darting through anemones—I barely noticed the current tugging me along.

Rafida’s layout felt intimate, not cramped. With only two cabins, the boat carried a maximum of four guests, though our group was just three, plus a couple on a separate booking. The common area was open-air, sheltered by a canvas awning that flapped gently in the breeze. Lunch appeared on long wooden platters—grilled mahi-mahi, papaya salad, and rice wrapped in banana leaf—served at a low table where we ate cross-legged. Afternoon brought us to Pink Beach, where the sand’s pink hue came alive under direct sun, flecked with crushed coral. We spent an hour wading and swimming, the water warm and still.

Day two started before dawn. We were up at 5:30, wrapped in sarongs, sipping sweet tea as Rafida approached Padar Island in near silence. The hike up the switchbacks was steep but short, and the view from the top—three bays fanning out in different colours of blue—made the climb worth every breath. Back on board, the crew had already laid out fruit and cold towels. Later, we snorkeled at Manta Point, drifting above two large mantas that circled below us, their wingspans wide enough to shade a small car. The water was slightly choppy, but the crew kept us grouped and oriented.

That evening, we anchored near Kalong Island, a mangrove islet famous for its bat colony. As the sun dipped, thousands of fruit bats poured out from the trees, swirling into the orange sky like smoke. Dinner was served on deck under string lights—chicken satay, stir-fried greens, and a rich coconut soup. The generator switched off at 9 PM, and we sat in near-total darkness, listening to the water slap against the hull. No music, no phones, just the occasional shout from the crew on night watch.

Our final morning took us to Taka Makassar, a sandbar that appears at low tide like a mirage in the middle of the sea. We walked across it barefoot, ankle-deep in water, while the crew anchored nearby and prepped a final snorkel at Kanawa. The coral there was patchier than at Kelor, but the reef slope held big schools of sweetlips and emperor fish. By noon, we were back on board, peeling off wetsuits for the last time. Rafida reached Labuan Bajo’s dock just after 1 PM. Stepping onto solid ground felt strange—my balance still searching for the gentle roll of the sea.