About Malaillo
The first thing I noticed was the smell of teak and salt as I stepped onto the deck just after dawn. The sun hadn’t crested Padar yet, but the sky was already streaked with coral, and the crew quietly handed out hot ginger tea in ceramic mugs. We were on Malaillo, a 45-metre phinisi with just two cabins, and already it felt like we had the whole of Komodo to ourselves. Unlike the larger boats packed with snorkellers, our small group of six had space to spread out across the sundeck, the indoor lounge with its polished wood tables, or the shaded stern where the kitchen staff were already prepping fresh papaya and banana for breakfast.
We spent that first morning hiking Padar at sunrise, the pink, white, and black sands visible from the ridge above. By midday, we’d anchored near Komodo Island, where the rangers led us on a dragon walk through the dry savannah. One juvenile Komodo dragon slithered across the path just ten metres ahead, its forked tongue flicking the air. After lunch back on Malaillo—grilled mahi-mahi with sambal and steamed rice—we snorkeled at Pink Beach, where the coral-fed sand glows rose in the afternoon light. The water was calm, and I stayed in for nearly an hour, watching parrotfish graze and clownfish dart between anemones.
Day two began at Manta Point. I’d seen mantas before, but never like this—three of them, each at least four metres across, circling the cleaning station just below the surface. I hung motionless in the current, heart pounding as one glided within arm’s reach, its gill plates pulsing. Later, as we approached Kalong Island, the sky darkened with thousands of fruit bats streaming from the mangroves. We watched from the bow with cold Bintangs, the sound of their wings a low hum over the water. That night, the crew set up speakers on the sundeck. We sang terrible renditions of 90s pop in the karaoke room, then moved outside to stargaze. No light pollution, just the Milky Way arching over the rigging.
On our final morning, we anchored at Taka Makassar, a sandbar that appears at low tide like a mirage in the middle of nowhere. We waded out and floated on our backs, laughing as the current tugged us gently in circles. From there, we sailed to Kanawa, where the reef slopes steeply and the water shifts from turquoise to deep blue. I saw a turtle surface just beyond the anchor line. Back on board, the captain served homemade coconut cake with coffee. We docked in Labuan Bajo by 3 PM, well before the evening ferries arrived. Malaillo didn’t feel like a cruise—it felt like borrowing a friend’s impossibly well-outfitted boat for a private island-hopping run.
