About Santemako
The first morning light hit the water just as I stepped onto the foredeck, coffee in hand. A thin line of gold spread across the calm sea between Kelor and Rinca, and the only sound was the soft creak of the teak hull settling. I hadn’t expected such quiet – we’d arrived late the night before, tired from the flight into Labuan Bajo, and the crew had already moored in a sheltered cove. Waking up on Santemako felt like being tucked into the archipelago, not just passing through.
We spent the first full day chasing sunrise on Padar. The hike started early, boots crunching on volcanic gravel, but the view from above – that curved white-sand bay framed by jagged hills – made the climb worth it. By mid-morning we were back on the boat, cruising toward Komodo Village. The ranger led our small group into the dry forest, pointing out dragons sunning on the path. One hissed near a rotting water buffalo carcass, jaws slightly open. Later, we swam off Pink Beach, where the sand really does glow a soft coral hue, especially when stirred by the tide.
Santemako’s single cabin setup meant it was just us – a couple celebrating a milestone – and the crew. The cabin, tucked aft, had thick wooden doors that sealed out noise, a proper double bed with a firm mattress, and a small reading light angled over the pillow. The ensuite shower had strong pressure, which mattered after a day of hiking and snorkeling. Meals were served on the upper deck: grilled fish with sambal, papaya salad, fried bananas. I remember sitting cross-legged on the mat, watching the sky turn orange as we anchored near Kalong Island, where thousands of fruit bats poured out of the mangroves at dusk.
Day three began with a slow drift over Taka Makassar’s sandbar. It looked like a mirage – a long finger of white sand emerging from deep blue. We waded out in knee-deep water, laughing at how vast and empty it felt. Then a quick stop at Kanawa, where the reef dropped sharply and we spotted a small blacktip reef shark near the coral heads. The boat’s tender ferried us back in stages as clouds gathered. By the time we reached Labuan Bajo harbour, the crew had packed our bags and had cold towels ready.
At 23 metres and built in 2022, Santemako isn’t the largest phinisi out there, but it didn’t need to be. The deck space felt generous, with shaded loungers forward and a fold-down bench at the stern. The crew moved quietly, anticipatory without hovering. One night, the captain pointed out Orion through the rigging. No music, no engine – just the boat rocking gently in a bay near Sebayur. I fell asleep to the sound of water slapping the hull, something I still hear when I close my eyes.
