I’m a planner of all things. I like to be prepared, to know what’s in store. So, when I set off for my first true solo travel, I did my research. I scheduled as many of my excursions as possible to ensure I saw it all and that nothing would go wrong.
Wanting to find the elusive Komodo Dragons, I arranged a three day stay on the island of Flores, in the town of Labuan Bajo. Because thousands of other tourists also flock to the island for these reptiles, it proved relatively easy to coordinate a tour. With a few quick google searches and the help of TripAdvisor, I found the best option for my time frame. An email or two back and forth and it was booked (I’ll recount my adventure with Flores XP in another post).
Since this tour lasted only two days, I knew I had a third day to schedule. While researching the Komodo Dragons, I also stumbled upon Pulau Padar. Previously unknown to me, the pictures were absolutely breathtaking. List after list named it as a must-see while in Indonesia. With this extra day to spare, I figured I could find a way to get myself out there. It certainly took far more investigating, days rather than hours, but I eventually discovered a company and set up a trip, just me, for my final full day in Labuan Bajo.
All seemed to go according to plan. I confirmed with the operator a few days prior to my departure from the States. Upon arrival, via WhatsApp, I requested a female guide which seemed no problem. We coordinated a pick up time at my hotel. I even met two people on my 2-day Komodo trip who wanted to join, making me feel far more comfortable about my full-day adventure to Padar. Everything was in place. Or so I thought.
Little did I know that anything that could go wrong would. Getting picked up at 5am, on a motorcycle that appeared as if from nowhere, I arrived alone at an unfamiliar harbor. I found no boat with the company’s logo and after a bit of wandering, a man appeared, ushering me onto his. My apprehension bubbled despite his assurances that this was the one I’d booked. Climbing aboard, ducking down below the roof, and seeing nothing but men, I immediately inquired about the presence of my female guide. Turns out, instead I’d been assigned a guy from a completely different Indonesian island. He knew nothing about Flores, Padar or the Pink Beach to which we were venturing.
Before I could ask any follow up questions, a crew member removed the rope securing us to the dock. The boat started pulling away, without my friends Kate and Declan on board. With some gesturing and simple English phrases, I explained that I’d added two more guests to the trip, two guests who were patiently waiting back at the hotel. Apparently no one had informed them of the changes but they kindly re-tied the boat and dispatched a colleague to collect my friends (and two additional lunches). Needless to say they’d spent the last thirty minutes thinking I’d been kidnapped.
Once all on board, we ventured out into the bay, the sun rising above the town, coloring the water pink. I sighed in relief, thinking disaster more-or-less averted. Almost at that exact moment, as if some cruel joke, the engine broke down. Drifting around every which-way, we sat and waited for the mechanic to fixed it (thank goodness we had a handy crew member). Eventually, we continued on, once again trying to settle into the trip.
We had made it about halfway to the island, the three of us finally starting to relax when, wouldn’t you know it, the engine broke down again. They managed to get it running but could only utilized it at half speed, substantially slowing down our already 3.5 hour trip to the island. What’s more, whatever they managed to do to the machine increased its volume ten-fold, the roar droning out any and all conversation. We ended up plugging our ears, hoping to muffle the noise enough to take mid-morning nap on the top deck.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, with a headache slowly building, we arriving at Padar. Tying up to another boat, we received no guidance in hiking to the top. Someone, not our supposed guide, pointed to some stairs and off we went. Periodically, side paths veered off our trail but not quite sure where they led we simply carried on upward. The punishing heat left us dripping with sweat but knowing what awaited kept us going. We saw the crew coming up behind, their own go-pros in hand, excited for their first glimpse of Padar too. Just as we consumed the last of our water, we reached the path’s end. Turning 360 degrees, the view left us all speechless. The island, shaped almost like a giant X, had golden beaches tucked into each corner. The jagged terrain, dotted with green, made the turquoise water all the more vibrant. We’d gotten no history and no guidance but the sight caused us to somewhat forget the earlier issues.
Needing to make up some time, we then set off to pink beach. We arrived with little to no difficulty, a small miracle considering the day’s events. We anchored next to about ten other boats and the guides dropped snorkel gear at our feet. Warned about the current, they directed us toward the water. Apparently we were meant to swim ashore. From the boat, it definitely didn’t look very pink but giving it the benefit of the doubt, we went to check it out. On land it wasn’t very pink either. At least we could enjoy the sunshine.
But, as if on cue, as if some larger force had a plan for us and our trip, we watched the back of our boat fall off. Literally. As a boat that was roped to us rocked in a wave, the motion exerted just enough force to tear the wood paneling completely off. The broken slats, nails and all, joined us on the top deck for the otherwise uneventful ride home. Once back in town, a solid two hours after we’d intended, thinking our adventure must have ended, our guide took us through someone’s house and left us in an alley. No ride home for us, so we trudged back up the hill, officially and completely exhausted. Our thirteen hour day certainly had not gone according to plan.
Despite the somewhat epic disaster that was my trip to Padar, I must admit it stands out among all my Indonesian experiences. Thinking about why, a few reasons came to mind.
For starters, it served to remind me, not so subtly, that when traveling, you can only plan so much. Sure you can select a city or choose the tour. But not even the most diligent researcher can account for the problems that arise en route. You might know your destination but the journey? That’s another story. It’s simply impossible to know how that will unfold. Additionally, for better or worse, it’s the epic fails that make for the best stories. While I wouldn’t wish a disaster on anyone, they’re actually the most unforgettable. Undoubtedly frustrating in the moment, the interruptions and unforeseen problems make experiences more memorable.
And then there’s Padar itself. Sure we didn’t learn much about the island. Yes, the heat pummeled us as we hiked up. Clearly, we didn’t quite know where we were going. But at the top everything faded away. I stood, taking in a view unlike any I’d ever seen, a view I’ll struggle to top throughout the rest of my travels. There’s no doubt that Padar is well worth the cost and the journey. But promise me you’ll do it as part of a 4-5 day liveaboard. Just to be safe. My disaster is most certainly one you don’t have to repeat!
