About The Maj Oceanic
The first morning, I woke before sunrise to the quiet hum of the engine and the faint scent of ocean spray mixed with coffee drifting up from the deck below. I stepped out barefoot onto the cool teak of my cabin’s private balcony—small, just enough for two chairs—and watched the sky lighten over Wayag. The water shifted from ink black to deep indigo, then turquoise as the sun crested the limestone spikes. We’d anchored late the night before, and the silence was total except for the occasional plop of a jumping fish. It felt less like a boat and more like a floating base camp for exploring another planet.
We started diving at Cape Kri by 8:30, slipping into water so warm it felt like bathwater. The reef dropped fast, and within minutes, I was face to face with a school of hundreds of barracuda, their silver bodies forming a shifting wall in the current. The Maj Oceanic’s dive team knew the sites intimately—our guide pointed out a tiny blue-ringed octopus tucked under a ledge at South Ghost Wall, then later, a pair of wobbegong sharks curled beneath a coral overhang. Between dives, we ate fresh mango and grilled fish on the upper deck, where the golf putting green sat unused in the sun—most of us preferred the shaded loungers or the open-air spa for shoulder rubs after swimming.
One afternoon, we zipped by tender to a tiny sandbar near Arborek, where the village kids waved from the jetty. A few of us snorkeled the house reef, spotting pygmy seahorses on the drop-off. Back on board, the gym got some use—two guests did sunrise yoga on the foredeck, while others ran through quick HIIT sessions on the exercise mats. The dining area opened fully to the aft, so even at meals, we never lost sight of the water. One night, we dined under string lights with Wayag’s jagged peaks behind us, eating miso-glazed mahi-mahi and laughing about failed attempts at stand-up paddleboarding in calm coves.
The boat moved quietly between sites overnight, so we woke in a new bay every morning. At Manta Sandy, we suited up early and jumped in before breakfast. Three large mantas circled below us, feeding in the current, their mouths wide. The staff kept the hot chocolate and ginger tea coming between dives—little things, but they made the cold moments bearable. The cabins were compact but smartly laid out, with real airflow from the overhead fans and thick cabinetry that didn’t rattle. I appreciated the lack of unnecessary luxury—the focus was on access, not show.
On the last day, we stopped at a secluded lagoon near Fam Islands. No dives scheduled, just free time. I spent two hours in the water with a single turtle who seemed as curious as I was. Back on deck, the crew handed out cold towels and chilled lemongrass drinks. No one spoke much. The Maj Oceanic didn’t try to impress us with gimmicks. It just worked—well-designed, quietly efficient, and perfectly positioned in the heart of Raja Ampat.
