About Mosalaki
The first light hadn’t yet touched the deck when I heard the soft clink of rigging and the faint hum of the engine easing us away from Kalong Island. It was 5:18 a.m., and the crew of Mosalaki were already moving in quiet sync, threading the 28-metre phinisi through the narrow channel between Rinca and Komodo without a single shout. By the time I stepped onto the upper deck, wrapped in a thin blanket, the horizon was bleeding into apricot and the silhouette of Padar’s ridgelines stood sharp against the glow. There was no rush, no forced wake-up call – just the boat knowing its rhythm, and ours.
Mosalaki isn’t built for spectacle. It’s built for pace. Its five cabins – two of them slightly larger, one clearly set apart at the stern – are finished in pale teak and matte fittings, with ventilation grilles positioned just above the bed level so the sea breeze circulates without noise. The Adonara Room, the only cabin priced individually at IDR 24 million, has twin portholes aligned with the waterline; at anchor in Taka Makassar, I watched parrotfish dart past like clockwork, five feet below. Showers drain quickly on deck, a small detail, but one that matters when you’ve been snorkeling since sunrise.
We followed the standard 3D2N route, but Mosalaki’s size meant we slipped into spots where larger boats couldn’t turn. While others anchored off Menjerite’s main beach, we drifted quietly to the northern cove, empty but for a single outrigger. At Manta Point, the crew timed our arrival for 10:30 a.m., when the current turned and the cleaning stations lit up. No one else was within sight. Later, as we approached Kanawa at dusk, someone had laid out stools along the starboard rail with chilled mangosteens and a bowl of salt for rinsing masks.
The meals were straightforward – grilled reef fish with turmeric, steamed jackfruit, fresh lontong – served on melamine plates that didn’t clatter. What stood out wasn’t the food itself, but the timing: coffee appeared on deck at 6 a.m. sharp each day, poured from a thermos kept warm in a wooden box near the helm. No one asked if you wanted it. They just knew. On the final morning, as we motored into Labuan Bajo under a haze of monsoon light, the first ferry was just docking. We’d returned an hour before the rush, having left Taka Makassar at 8:45 – early enough to avoid the diesel chop, late enough to let us swim one last time in the glassy calm.
