Ultra Marine
The Indonesian archipelago of Raja Ampat has scarcely changed since spice traders passed this way in the 18th century. But as Maria Shollenbarger sails among its hidden coves on a traditional wooden boat, she wonders if the pristine beaches and rich biodiversity of these remote islands will be able to resist the tourist tide much longer.
Becalmed. This is the word sailors have used for centuries to describe the kind of utterly placid sea that surrounds me. Smooth as a mirror, it reflects vast skies above, hides vaster mysteries below. It’s dawn, and I am at the far eastern edge of Indonesian waters, on the deck of a traditional phinisi sailing boat called the Alila Purnama. We rocked and rolled gently on the tides as we made our way north from the port town of Sorong, on the coast of West Papua, where I had boarded. But at around 5 a.m., we dropped anchor. Now, as light tints the air, all is still: the sea, the ship, the sky.
We’re 12 miles above the equator—which we crossed during the night—moored in one of the many bays of Wayag Island, surrounded by jagged lava peaks clad in dense green jungle. The view is prehistoric. Coco palms sprout in rough rows out of sheer cliff walls. Bright-white crested cockatiels perch in their fronds like a scattering of coarse sea salt. Eddies of mist drift in deep silent canyons. No houses, no other boats, no people visible in any direction, all the way to the horizon.
My six fellow travelers and I—all strangers when we boarded, we are quickly becoming friends—have just woken up on the second day of a six-day expedition in Raja Ampat, a chain of 1,500-odd islands strung like rough-cut emeralds across nearly 29,000 square miles off the west coast of West Papua. Bookended by the Pacific and Indian oceans, and anchored by four large islands (Raja Ampat means “Four Kings” in Bahasa, the official language of the country), it’s one of the most physically ravishing, historically intriguing, richly biodiverse places I’ve ever encountered. In the eighteenth century, it was the nexus of the lucrative spice trade over which the Dutch and English battled for control. In the mid-19th century, the Victorian explorer Alfred Russel Wallace identified and named hundreds of species of flora and fauna on his more than 70 expeditions. In 1860, he lived alone for three months in the jungles of Waigeo, the northernmost of the four main islands—a voluntary Crusoe observing in its natural habitat the flamboyantly plumed bird of paradise, then found only in this archipelago.
In more recent times, Raja Ampat has become a destination for divers, nature enthusiasts, and escapees from modern life. They’re drawn in part by its terrestrial beauty, but most come primarily for the marine life, said to be among the most diverse on earth. This abundance is a happy by-product of a confluence of oceans: The Pacific’s deep-sea currents deliver nutrients to Raja’s shallow, sun-warmed waters, setting up a complex food chain that ranges from microscopic organisms to giant hawksbill turtles, sperm whales, and mantas with ten-foot fin spans—with about 1,300 species of every colorful, delightful, and freakish coral-dwelling fish you can imagine in between. If Raja Ampat sometimes feels like the setting for Jurassic Park above water, below it’s pure Finding Nemo.
Despite its gorgeousness, Raja has remained relatively off the radar to all but a fairly intrepid lot, for this isn’t one of the easiest places in Southeast Asia to reach: The most direct route involves a flight from Jakarta to Sorong. Nor is there a surfeit of fine hotels here; in fact, there are hardly any.
Yet it is precisely the absence of tourist development that is the key to Raja Ampat’s appeal. All of these islands—very few of them inhabited—provide a seemingly endless bounty of inviting shoreline with powdery beaches to discover, inlets to kayak, bays in which to float, and black volcanic peaks to climb. Since most visitors have only a week, two at most, to explore it all, liveaboard boats provide the best mobility and access. Most are geared to serious scuba divers, with comfort being secondary to the number of dives per day. But over the past few years, several more luxurious boats have launched that cater to the adventure-seeker who also wants a 90-minute deep-tissue massage at the end of the day. Like the Alila Purnama, they have notable cuisine, a wine cellar, turndown service, and massage therapists. They also hire the most proficient captains and dive masters—locals or long-time residents who are deeply familiar with the topography of the archipelago both above and below the surface.
The charter fleet Silolona Sojourns, owned by Patti Seery, an American anthropologist who has been based in Indonesia for 25 years, was one of the first to offer this kind of well-considered service here. The_ Silolona_, a five-berth_ phinisi_ launched in 2004, was joined in 2012 by the three-berth Si Datu Bua. Both vessels are a beautiful reflection of Seery herself, outfitted with textiles and local crafts presented to her over the years by Indonesian tribes that have adopted her. Then there’s Amanresorts, which has run its liveaboard,_ Amanikan_, out of Amanwana, its tented camp on Moyo Island, near Lombok, since 2009. It is small, intimate, elegant, and, like Aman resorts everywhere, extraordinarily expensive (a five-night cruise starts at $33,500 per couple). A more accessibly priced boat, the Tiger Blue (owned by Malaysian and British entrepreneurs David Wilkinson and Nigel Foster), which first set sail in 2009, may have simpler berths but the crew are still first-rate.
The 151-foot teak beauty that I’m sailing on launched in 2012 and is operated by the Singapore-based company Alila Hotels and Resorts. As with the Tiger Blue, travelers can book individual cabins for just a few weeks each year—most high-end phinisi boats are taken over as private charters by families or groups of friends for the majority of the high season, which runs from November through April. The sailings so far tend to attract well-heeled expats based in Asia—Australians, Europeans, Americans. Like many of the better ships in these waters, the Alila Purnama was handcrafted in the boatyards of South Sulawesi by the renowned master builders of the Bugis tribe—legendary pirates and navigators who dominated eastern Indonesia’s waters for centuries and whose ruthlessness struck fear into the hearts of Dutch East India Company traders.
From the outside, the Alila Purnama is a traditional phinisi, but the interiors were designed with rigorous attention to aesthetics and sustainability. In the five cabins, white linens dress the king-size beds, mother-of-pearl tiles line the showers, and plush robes and pretty rattan totes for beach visits stock the closets. The master suite, on the second deck, has windows on three sides and its own private sun terrace. On the main deck, a spacious living/dining lounge is tended 24 hours a day, and on the second deck, there’s a small but lovely library featuring a well-curated collection of literary classics, some easy beach reading, and photography books on the region. In a discreet concession to modernity, the library also has a 42-inch flat-screen TV for watching movies in air-conditioned comfort on hot, sticky nights.
But scenery aside, it’s the 16-man crew that really distinguishes the Alila Purnama. On the third morning, Bagus, our gentle, drily funny majordomo, appears unbidden by my side with filtered coffee and watermelon juice, having figured out my favorite spot on the main deck, to which I’ve been making a beeline the moment I wake up (dawn here is not a time of day you want to miss). We want for little. One evening the chef sends out platters of spring rolls; another, wafer-thin pizzas just when passengers start feeling peckish. Glasses are never allowed to empty, wet towels disappear and warm dry ones are quietly draped over shoulders, and every return from an afternoon at the beach or a snorkeling session is met with jokes and fresh juices or iced tisanes.
Over breakfast—eggs flavored with Balinese sambal, nasi goreng (an Indonesian version of fried rice), and the sweetest mango imaginable— we parse the day’s agenda. The dive master, Mario, who trained as an architect, renders his dive plans on a whiteboard, each a minor masterpiece featuring grinning clown fish, gamboling turtles, and vast gardens of coral. The cruise director, Annalisa, a tiny, supremely competent Tuscan powerhouse, charts our course on maritime maps.
At each stage of the journey, there’s adventure for those who crave it and straight-up sybaritism for those who don’t. On the fourth day, we drop anchor just after first light at a reef known as Manta Sandy, where the massive rays swoop in by the dozen and hover over rock groupings while schools of angelfish clean them, gently nibbling parasites from their undersides. Our early arrival means we have the reef almost entirely to ourselves. Some of us dive, and some of us snorkel, watching the divers from above. By the time other boats arrive, we’re sunning on deck, sipping fresh fruit juices, ready to sail away once more. On the tiny, castaway-perfect island of Mios Kon, we lounge on a slim crescent of beach and, chilled beers in hand, watch the sun set from daybeds arranged in a neat line under a row of umbrellas—a temporary private beach club erected during our lunch.
Chris Court shares the highlights of his trip to Indonesia.
On our last afternoon at sea, we stop in the waters off the mountainous island of Gam and take the tenders to Yenbeser, a small village in a shallow cove surrounded by jungled cliffs. Dozens of children play-fight and frolic on the beach and in the water. “Good afternoon!” they shriek excitedly in Bahasa as we wade ashore. Noldi, our dive guide, chats at the dock with his brother, a fisherman who has just brought in a haul of Spanish mackerel; we buy one nearly three feet long for a little under a dollar to have as a sashimi starter with our supper.
We expect to enjoy that starter at the communal dining table on the_ Alila Purnama’s_ main deck, where we’ve eaten every night. But the crew have other plans for us. Just before twilight, we speed back to shore, into a hushed cove partially obscured by a ledge draped with vines. As we approach, we see the dim glow of firelight: Dozens of lanterns, dug into the sand across the beach, radiate an orange glow. A sand sculpture of a saltie—the enormous saltwater crocodiles that once upon a time lurked in Raja Ampat’s waters (but don’t anymore, Mario hastens to assure us, at least not this far north)—regards us with lantern eyes. A teak table, beautifully set with white linens and silver, sits beneath a bower of Balinese silk that has been strung between tree trunks. There are skewers of fish, grilled prawns, filet mignon, roasted spiced corn, fresh salads, and a sublime bebek betutu (Balinese stuffed duck), all cooked in a makeshift barbecue pit a few yards away. The mackerel sashimi is sweet and delicate, as only a fish that has been in the water just hours before can be. We eat and drink barefoot in the sand to a gentle sound track of waves lapping the beach a few feet away.
Later, back on the Alila Purnama, we have a final glass of wine on the bridge deck. The sea is once again still, as on the first morning. We speak of the busyness in the boatyards on Sulawesi, where more and more craft are launched into the waters; of the buzz surrounding these islands among our well-traveled friends; of ru- mors of luxury hotel companies eyeing sites on islands not so very far from where we’ve sailed. In the manifest quiet of the indigo sky, the tranquillity of the islands around us, all the talk of change seems abstract, insignificant. And no matter what happens, what changes are visited upon these islands, they’ll always be magical. Still: Get here soon, while becalmed moments remain to be had.
Getting There
Boats depart from the Indonesian city of Sorong. Booking agents can arrange the necessary domestic flights, including the one from Jakarta.
Boat Essentials
Alila Purnama 62-361-236-384; from $12,750 for six nights for two people.
Amanikan 94-11-203-5700; from $33,500 for five nights to charter the boat, which accommodates up to six people.
Silolona 62-361-286-682; from $2,820 per night for two people.
**Tiger Blue **44-207-792-8884; from $6,800 for seven nights for two people.