Surviving the Komodo Adventure

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Surviving the Komodo Adventure.

I flew to Labuan Bajo with the notoriously precarious Maparti Airline. While the staff were pleasant and the flight mostly smooth I couldn’t help feeling faintly anxious throughout much of the journey. This was until my attention was snatched away from their tainted flight record and onto the captivating sight below. As the plane neared its destination I was presented with one of the most glorious views I have ever seen from an aircraft window. Hundreds of lush, volcanic atolls girt by the most magnificent turquoise water. The visibility was so obviously clear I could make out the shapes of coral below, weaving its way around the islands.

Like almost all tourists visiting the area I was here to trek around the nearby islands of Komodo and Rinca. Both famous for being home to the colossal Komodo Dragons. It was during my ride into the city that the driver Roy, a strange man with dyed orange hair pushed information at me about the many options I had with his tour company. Once we arrived at the ramshackle heart of Labuan Bajo he proceeded to follow me around and tell me about various sites only he could offer. Once I found some cheap accommodation at Gardena Bungalows a popular backpacker hotel, I thought I could shake the increasingly annoying man. Instead however, after I’d showered and sorted my things I returned outside to find him waiting to continue the unwanted tour. It was at this point when I politely but firmly told him his services were not required. As an 18 year old kid I’m aware that I would most likely be seen as a more vulnerable target than most. The coming days were certainly evidence of this.

My room at Gardena was a basic raised wooden bungalow which boasted a pretty view into the harbour. I only stayed one night though for two reasons. The first was that stories of break-ins and theft were outrageously common. Whilst I didn’t experience this myself it seemed it was not a matter of if but when. The second and more pleasant reason for my departure however was to meet a tour I’d arranged on my first day. Not with Roy but a man by the name of William who had excellent English and a seemingly helpful and knowledgeable nature. He even took me to have dinner with his family the first night which while expectedly basic was a lovely experience. I met William at Komodo Tours, one of the smaller agencies along the main road. He took me down to the harbour to choose one of the many small boats which I’d live on during my 3 day tour. With the help of William I got a price of 2,100,000 rupea including food and water for one of the lesser run down and somewhat charming vessels. To me this seemed a reasonable price and for the experience I had over the following days I do not regret paying what I would later find was quite a bit more than the common rate.

On the first day of the tour we headed straight for Rinca Island. It seemed to me to be the most remote place in the world. As my boat arrived, the only one in the tiny harbour, I gazed in wonder across the ‘Jurassic Park’ like scene before me. Flourishing, precipitous mountains lie mighty at its centre, dense jungle at its base. I stepped off the boat and onto the makeshift jetty where after a few steps was greeted by my Ranger and then immediately pointed to where a mammoth dragon stood a few metres away. If this wasn’t an indication of the need for the keen eye of the Ranger, nothing was! Throughout the few years Komodo National Park has been open 15 people has been bitten by the dragons. 3 of which died. Contrary to first impression, it is not necessarily the size of the crushing jaws or tail of the Komodo Dragon that make it so dangerous. The saliva in its mouth is filled with deadly bacteria which gives a person roughly 24 hours to get medical assistance. Any longer and the limb must be amputated. This being the better alternative to death. As the Ranger reeled off these statistics I stuck increasing close to him and his weapon of choice; a long forked stick. It was to push the animal away as it ran at us at a speed I was told would be around 18kph. The sense of danger only added to the thrill of trekking alone in this ecological wonderland. We spied about a dozen dragons during our expedition. Some reaching sizes of 3 and a half metres.

Thoroughly satisfied with the morning I made my way back to the boat and then to a tiny island surrounded by as impressive a coral reef as I’d seen from the plane. Being an avid scuba diver I grabbed a mask and jumped into the water where William said it was safe from the notorious current that usually plagued the area. It was among the greatest sights I have seen underwater in all my life. Endless, vibrant corals rolling to a drop off where literally millions of intensely coloured fish clung. I was in awe for but a few seconds though as I began to feel tiny stings on my shoulders and neck. Then my back and finally my entire body. It wasn’t an intense pain but certainly uncomfortable and undoubtedly a sting of a jelly fish. I looked at the space of water just below the surface and sure enough tiny orange strings hung from what I now believe were Sea-wasp Jellyfish. I climbed out of the water concerned about the toxicity of their stings and asked for vinegar from William and the crew who neither knew what I meant or looked overly fazed by my plea for help. This was the beginning of my frustrations with William. While the stings eased I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I was seriously injured. William was by appearance simply another passenger aboard and offered very little in terms of guiding. He ate the food the crew prepared for me which I had paid for and took ownership of my sunglasses for the trip after I’d allowed him to wear them at some stage on the first day.

We finished the day with a second attempt at snorkelling. The location was at the deservedly well known Pink Beach. The underwater scenery there was excellent, perhaps not as breathtaking as the first place, but free of jellyfish. As the sun set the boat tied to a mooring before a stretch of mangroves where I experienced a show of flying foxes taking flight. They were making their way to the nearby Komodo Island, tomorrow’s destinations.

Equally as impressive as Rinca but slightly more developed in regard to its pier and information office, Komodo Island lived up to its name for supplying the famed dragons. Adding to the experience an unrelenting storm loomed as I trudged through the jungle. Similarly to the first day I saw about a dozen enormous monsters. The afternoon was spent snorkelling again at Pink Beach. It was at this visit that I made my way ashore and realized why a white sandy beach inherited such a name. Once I reached the sand at the water’s edge though it became clear. Pink coral crushed into a fine powder curtained the shore along the entire beach. Something I’ve never seen before anywhere in the world.

The second night the boat stopped at the tiny resort island Kanawa. This quaint little island boasts some of the best coral in the area I was told. If only I’d had time to see for myself! Instead of spending the day lazing about here the following day I was told abruptly that we had to go back to Labuan Bajo at 6 in the morning. Firstly, I was told this was due to a storm coming in, but later I found out that it was simply because they have new customers waiting. I didn’t take the news well. I demanded a cheaper price to compensate for my lost time and eventually settled for 1,800,000 rupea. It was at this time that William also asked me for extra money as he revealed that he wasn’t actually a guide and didn’t get a share from the price of the boat. Furious I refused and left the trip with a slightly negative recollection of it and the integrity of the people of Flores. This opinion was reinforced a few days later during an incident over some stolen laundry. The person who’d had their clothes taken was also Australian and after repeating the same questions for much of the day to the owners of Muteara, where I now stayed, he became increasingly loud and forceful with his approach. The local people began to argue amongst each other and then out of nowhere two men appeared with guns. I have no idea what their link to the argument was but before long I found myself, a bystander in the whole event, with one of these men pointing and shaking a gun in my face. I was stunned and it burns as one of the scariest moments in my life. A feeling of helplessness that is hard to describe. I went into my room, locked the door and sat stunned for some time. When the men left no one could explain to me or any of the other guests what had just happened but assured us they would not return. Sure enough though, about half an hour later then men strutted back to the hotel wearing full police uniform. It was seemingly the pinnacle of a corrupt police force.

Despite the previous days scare I continued with my plans to go scuba diving and then leave the following day. The diving was exceptional. I was a little nervous going into the day as I had heard a number of reports of dreadfully powerful currents. A minimum of 50 dives experience is even required at some dive organisations. The first dive was filled with vivacious coral and fish with a decent 20-30 metres visibility (high for the rainy part of the year, but low in terms of its potential during the dry season). The second, was not nearly as aesthetic but undertaken with one thing in mind. The site was called Manta Point and it delivered. I only saw one giant Manta but spent 24 minutes clutching the sea floor as it hovered in the current within reaching distance above my head. It was among the brightest highlights of my trip as yet and a lovely way to conclude my time in Flores.

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