About Soe Besar Vanrei
Salt stuck to my lips the first morning I stepped onto Soe Besar Vanrei’s main deck. It was just after sunrise, and the crew were already coiling ropes near the bow, their voices low over the hum of the generator kicking in. I remember thinking how odd it felt to be on a 32-metre phinisi with only one private cabin listed – but then I saw the seven guest rooms tucked through the interior, each with its own AC unit and window to the sea. We’d arrived late the night before, drowsy from travel, and been shown to our room near the stern with a flashlight and a quiet ‘selamat malam’.
Our first stop was Kelor Island around 10:30, just as the tide pulled back from the coral flats. The hike up the hill took ten minutes, but the view – jagged islands rising from glassy water – made everyone stop mid-step. By late afternoon we’d anchored near Bidadari, where I snorkeled close to a reef edge and saw a juvenile batfish hover behind a brain coral. That evening, we tried the karaoke room after dinner. It wasn’t polished, but singing Queen under ceiling fans with a Bintang in hand felt exactly right – no pressure, just laughter and off-key choruses echoing across the lounge.
Padar Island at dawn was cold. We climbed in the dark with headlamps, the path loose with volcanic gravel. Reaching the top just before first light, we watched the sun split the horizon, turning the bay below from indigo to gold. After breakfast back on board, we motored to Komodo Village for the ranger-guided dragon walk. One lizard crossed the trail just ahead of me, tongue flicking, claws scraping on stone. The guide kept us five metres back, but even that close, its lizard breath was visible in the morning air.
Pink Beach came next – and yes, the sand really is tinged pink, though it’s easy to miss if you’re not looking. We swam in the cove where the current swirls the crushed coral into the shallows. Then Manta Point: mask down, fins kicking, and suddenly a shadow gliding beneath. Then another. One manta rolled slow, mouth open, scanning the surface. I stayed in the water until my fingers pruned, counting seven in total. As the sun dropped, we drifted near Kalong, a small island dense with fruit bats. At dusk, they poured out in spirals, thousands strong, heading east across the water.
On our final day, we stopped at Taka Makassar – a sandbar that appears at low tide like a mirage. We walked the full length, maybe 200 metres, with water on all sides. Then Kanawa, where I snorkeled near the drop-off and saw a pair of clownfish in a purple anemone. The engine restarted around noon, and we made the six-hour return to Labuan Bajo, most of us napping on the sundeck, watching clouds stretch into wisps.
Soe Besar Vanrei isn’t sleek or minimalist. It’s lived-in, with wooden doors that stick slightly and a karaoke machine that needs a coax. But it carried us quietly through the Komodos, fed us steaming mie goreng after each dive, and gave us a front-row seat to places most people only see in photos. The one master cabin suggests exclusivity, but the seven guest rooms tell a different story – this boat runs for groups, for friends, for those who want comfort without ceremony.
