About Zada Hela
The first thing I noticed was the smell of salt and grilled corn wafting up from the lower deck just after dawn. We’d anchored near Kelor Island, its green slope sharp against the pale morning sky. I grabbed a coffee and walked barefoot across the teak deck, still cool from the night, watching the crew lower the dinghy. There were maybe twenty of us in total—small enough that names started sticking by day two. Zada Hela, Zada Hela, felt like a converted trading vessel with its long profile and wide stern, more space than I expected for a two-cabin charter, though we later learned the rest of the guests were on shared arrangements in other sections.
By mid-morning we’d hiked Menjerite’s dry trail under a rising sun, the island quiet except for skinks darting between rocks. That afternoon, the real shift happened—snorkeling off Manta Point at around 3pm, when the light cut clean through the current. I saw my first manta that day, not just passing but circling, close enough to hear the quiet whoosh of its gills. Back on board, the open dining area filled with chatter and plates of tamarind fish curry. The entertainment room stayed quiet most nights; we preferred the top deck, sprawled on sunbeds watching stars emerge near Padar’s jagged ridge.
Day two began cold, shivering in the pre-dawn dark as we zipped toward Padar. The climb took about twenty minutes with a guide, and by sunrise, we were perched on the ridge overlooking the famous triple bays—pink, white, and gold sand fanning out below. The Komodo dragon walk later that morning felt surreal in the midday heat, two of the beasts lounging near the ranger post like overgrown lizards. We swam at Pink Beach by 2pm, the sand faintly rosy when the sun hit it just right, then drifted with reef sharks at Batu Bolong before heading to Kalong for the evening. The bat exodus from the mangrove island was louder than I imagined—wings flapping like loose sails as thousands took flight.
On the last day, we anchored at Taka Makassar around 9am. The sandbar appeared slowly as the tide dropped, a long stretch of white emerging from turquoise. Children from nearby Kanawa Island swam out to sell sea urchins and shells, laughing when we tried to match their dive skills. We snorkeled along Kanawa’s drop-off in the late morning, spotting a juvenile turtle tucked under a ledge. The return to Labuan Bajo took most of the afternoon, the boat moving steadily under a hazy sky. By the time we docked, the crew had packed leftover kue and fruit into small bags for the journey—small things, but they made it feel personal.
