As we traveled among islands in Indonesia’s remote Raja Ampat region in February and March, we felt like we were leading a strange existence, far removed from even our out-of-the-ordinary life.
In exchange for uncomfortable bathrooms, sweltering nights under mosquito nets, bumpy or tedious transport in motorboats, and little variety of food or drink, we got to swim every day with tropical fish, see beautiful healthy coral, gaze at water of every color blue and hills covered in lush green forest, hear cacophonies of bird song, and see night skies deep with stars—all with few or no electronic distractions.
We spent far more time swimming or riding in boats than walking on land. We went to bed early, fell asleep to the sound of waves, and woke up with the dawn. Time slowed down. With our lodging booked in advance and our meals included, there was little to plan and no to-do lists. When we weren’t snorkeling, we had lots of time for reading, lounging in hammocks, doing puzzles, sketching, watching birds, and collecting shells.
Where’s Raja Ampat and What’s There?
Raja Ampat is a collection of islands that sit just south of the equator, off the western tip of Indonesia’s half of Papua New Guinea. The islands range from minuscule to about the size of Rhode Island, the smallest U.S. state. Some are flat and sandy, but most consist of limestone hills or mountains covered in rainforest, with bits of beach at the edges and extensive coral reefs.
The region is sparsely populated and minimally developed. The islands where we stayed—Gam, Arborek, Pam, Batanta, and Wai—have no roads, only the occasional walking track between villages. Local settlements and tourist lodgings hug the coasts. The interiors of most islands are hard to access because of their steep terrain and thick jungle. With no land transport anywhere, the only way to get around is by boat: ferries between the major towns, and covered dive boats or long, narrow, open motorboats to get everywhere else.
What drew us to Raja Ampat were the vibrant coral reefs. Marine surveys suggest that the region, much of which is now a protected area, has the some of the greatest diversity of marine life on the planet—including three-quarters of the world’s known species of hard corals and some 1,700 species of reef fish. It’s a magical place for snorkelers and scuba divers.
Coral reefs around the world are suffering badly from the effects of coastal development and climate change, especially hotter oceans. Few of the places where we’ve snorkeled in the past 20 years (in the Caribbean, Australia, Thailand, or the Philippines) look like they did before. But Raja Ampat’s reefs seem healthier and more resilient than those elsewhere, in part because of the area’s remoteness and the deep upwelling currents that bring cool water to the reefs. The bright colors and large fields of coral, along with the numbers and diversity of tropical fish, remind us of the Great Barrier Reef two decades ago.
We and our housemate AJ Ferraro have wanted to visit Raja Ampat since 2014, when we saw an IMAX movie that was filmed there (inaccurately titled “Journey to the South Pacific”) and were blown away by the underwater photography. Thanks to a ton of planning on Melissa’s part, and the willingness of AJ’s family to help take care of the kids for a month, the three of us were finally able to make the trip happen.
In addition to all the colorful coral and fish, some highlights of our visit were seeing manta rays, sharks, and sea turtles; climbing to a viewpoint in Piaynemo to gaze over a beautiful vista of small green islands (a view so famous that it appears on Indonesian banknotes); gliding along the still turquoise water of a hidden lagoon and hearing nothing but forest sounds; watching local kids play in the village of Arborek; hearing the whoosh-whoosh of beating wings as big hornbill birds flew overhead; and seeing blue flashes of phosphorescence in the sea at night.
Basic Conditions in Beautiful Settings
Staying in Raja Ampat was a bit like camping: Our living conditions were basic, but we were close to nature. Having spent thousands of dollars to fly to this part of Indonesia, we chose the most economical way to see Raja Ampat: staying in small, family-run homestays for about US$35 per person per night. Homestays typically consist of a handful of wood and palm-thatch bungalows built on stilts next to or over the water on a small strip of beach or reef. (For hundreds of dollars per person per night, travelers also have the option to stay in resorts, with fancier bungalows and more amenities, or on live-aboard ships that typically accommodate 10 to 20 guests, plus staff and a dive master.)
We stayed at five homestays around Raja Ampat to get a feel for different islands. At each one, we had clean, generally sturdy bungalows with a bed and a mosquito net, a porch to lounge on, and a couple of chairs or a hammock. The homestays provided drinking water and all our meals. (There are no restaurants on these islands, and shops are few and far between.) Some of our homestays had dive shops attached or nearby, all had a boat or two to take us on day trips or to our next destination, and many had good snorkeling right in front of the bungalows.
The shared bathrooms, which resemble outhouses or some toilet facilities in backcountry parks, were typically on shore behind the bungalows. My two great worries about Raja Ampat were the bathroom conditions and the possibility of big spiders. Although both were a challenge sometimes, they turned out to be more manageable than I’d feared.
Most homestays only have electricity (powered by generators) for a few hours in the evening. Cell phone service and wifi range from spotty to nonexistent, which meant we couldn’t work even if we’d wanted to. There was no air conditioning, and only one homestay had fans, so we cherished every sea breeze that blew our way. When the wind died down, the best ways to deal with the tropical heat were to get in the ocean or pour buckets of cool water over our heads in the shower stalls.
Most of the other guests at our homestays were Europeans. In three weeks, we didn’t encounter another American—maybe because of the long trip (three plane flights and one or two boat rides) required to reach a Raja Ampat homestay from the United States. Most of our fellow guests spoke some English, so language barriers weren’t usually a problem. As English rapidly becomes one of the universal languages for international tourism, it’s getting easier and easier for Americans to travel overseas.
Even so, knowing a few words of Indonesian, and having Google Translate on our phones, helped with communication. Many of the family members who worked at the homestays could understand a few words of English (things like “Can I get a ride to that island tomorrow?” or “When is dinner?”). In some places, we needed to use Google Translate for more complicated things, such as asking whether we could pay to have laundry done. But at half of our lodgings, some staff members spoke enough English for conversations, and we relished getting to know them and learning about their lives and plans.
What We’ll Miss
By the fourth and fifth homestays, Melissa, AJ, and I were all starting to feel worn down by the relentless heat, the sand that got everywhere, the beating sun, bug bites, brackish water for washing in, monotonous food, and the lack of familiar comforts. But we’d wisely planned to spend our last few nights at one of Raja Ampat’s less expensive resorts (on Wai Island)—with fancy bungalows, fans, electricity, en suite bathrooms, a la carte dining, and ice! Those luxuries revived us enough that we would have been happy to stay in the islands a bit longer.
A few days before the end of our trip, I wrote this in my journal:
“As our time in Raja Ampat draws to a close . . . we all have things we’re eager to get back to and things we’ll miss. Besides the wonderful marine life and the beautiful scenery, I’ll miss living so close to nature: seeing (and being subject to) the weather and wind and tides; hearing the sea around the clock and bird song all through the day; hearing no mechanical noises other than the occasional boat engine or the evening generator. I’ll miss having so much time unfilled and uncommitted, to do with as I please, with no burdens of work or website or electronic communication. I’ll miss going for weeks with no to-do list. This has truly been a time apart. I want to do it again!”
