Lauded as the “last snorkelling paradise on earth,” Raja Ampat is some 1,200 kilometres north of Darwin and sets a high bar, one that feels even higher at 4 a.m. when the alarm sounds for a flight from Bali to Sorong. Not a morning person at the best of times, three hours on a small plane is not an obvious way to begin a luxury cruise.
But this is different. Swan Hellenic has specially chartered a Garuda Indonesia 737. It’s only a third full, leaving space to stretch out in unexpected comfort. The cabin is blissfully quiet with everyone equally sleep-deprived and beyond conversation until we land.
We arrive in Sorong to a light drizzle and a stream of vehicles carries us on a thirty-minute drive to the port, where embarkation begins aboard SH Minerva, a 6-cabin expedition vessel. A cool drink and chilled towel take the edge off travel fatigue before the inevitable safety briefing on day one of any journey. It's a familiar blend of anticipation and administration.
There’s a quiet competence to the operation. In a region where logistics might reasonably unravel, everything runs smoothly. My luggage appears, the safety drill proceeds, and details are handled with the ease of a seasoned cruise company, even though Swan Hellenic is relatively new in its current form.
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| SH Minerva in Raja Ampat (Swan Hellenic / Dario Ottonello) |
The following morning, lifejackets on, we board Zodiacs bound for one of the 1,500 islands scattered across this 4.5-million-hectare marine park, renowned for its extraordinary coral and fish diversity. Yefkabu Island, (Pulau Yefkabu) is a tiny, flat sand cay appearing as a simple cluster of straw-hut homestays, its tiny population briefly increased at least tenfold by our arrival.
The first snorkel is cut short as the low tide raises concerns about damaging coral or scraping skin. If truth be told, the initial impression doesn’t quite match the marketing superlatives. Living beside a marine park in Australia perhaps spoils me, and comparison can quietly dull wonder. Still, the water is crystal-clear and warm, with royal-blue starfish visible even without a mask.
What shifts everything is not the reef, but a fellow passenger. An elderly woman, the wife of a retired Stanford professor, is attempting her first snorkel. Clad in a bright orange vest and buoyed by a lime-green noodle, she is gently guided by Larissa, our Russian snorkel leader. When she lifts her head from the water, her face is transformed with eyes wide, laughter bubbling, the unfiltered delight of a child discovering something for the first time.
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| Snorkeling at Raja Ampat (Swan Hellenic) |
Below her, thousands of fish flicker in yellow and blue, coral glows in pinks, purples and golds, and giant clams rest like living sculptures. As others tease that she is “no longer a snorkelling virgin,” her joy becomes quietly contagious and a reminder that travel is less about comparison and more about perspective.
The afternoon snorkel, in deeper water, turns the tide of my first impressions. Here, the density and movement of marine life reveal themselves more fully in a fluid, immersive, almost theatrical motion. It feels, unmistakably, like swimming through an aquarium.
Later, showered and restored, the captain’s welcome and dinner unfold with understated ease, as the day settles into something simpler: not perfection, but perspective, served, like the meal that follows.
Day three finds us at Penemu Island, although Pyainemo is the preferred name. “Will we find Nemo?” someone asks. Highly unlikely, given we’re not slipping on snorkels this time but tackling nearly 300 wooden steps instead. The reward? An almost heavenly panorama, the iconic Raja Ampat view splashed across countless brochures and Instagram feeds.
Slowly, and with plenty of pauses, guests catch their breath both literally and figuratively, as hundreds of green limestone islands scatter across luminous water below. Zodiac tenders weave their way from the ship through shifting hues of blue, skirting mangroves that are as vital to the ecosystem as they are photogenic.
On the return journey, schools of fish skim the surface in synchronised leaps, and then right on cue, a lone dugong makes a fleeting appearance, much to the delight of one passenger still holding out for a “big fish.”
By afternoon, we’re welcomed at Yenbuba by painted villagers with a traditional drumming dance. Children eagerly pose for photos as we wander through the village. It feels, at moments, a little voyeuristic although some of the adults good-naturedly turn their own phones on us. Fair’s fair. Smiles all round.
Back on board, the day continues with lectures from geologists and naturalists hailing from around the world—covering everything from limestone and mangroves to nickel deposits, birds and coral. Their enthusiasm is infectious. One khaki-clad expert from Costa Rica reassures us that naturalists do, in fact, wear clothes. And while it may seem surprising that someone could be quite so animated about limestone, his passion brings the subject vividly to life.
Lectures on board Swan Hellenic Minerva. School of fish below…lots to learn about our fragile intertwined ecosystem. And as the excellent guest speaker and world-renowned anthropologist, Dr Wade Davis reminds us: ’We humans are all cut from the same cloth’
Day four brings us to Pulau Mansuar and the village of Sauwandarek, reached via a long wooden jetty that stretches toward a wide sandy “main street” lined with palms and leading to the Christian church. It’s a leisurely wander in the humidity. From a nearby school come the rhythmic sounds of children reciting lessons, while younger ones scamper around traditionally built homes with natural leaf roofs, all set against a lush tropical forest backdrop.
Snorkelling straight off the jetty, the water reveals itself as an opalescent jewel, with layers of blue and green shifting with the light. Fish are plentiful, swarming around the wooden poles beneath us. Visibility is excellent, with the occasional larger fish gliding past. We’re not quite as lucky as passengers on the previous Swan Hellenic cruise, who encountered whale sharks as visitor numbers are now strictly controlled for environmental reasons.
Floating on the surface, it’s easy to drift into another world. No checklist of species, no urgent hunt for Nemo, just the quiet pleasure of being suspended in the moment. That is, until a white jellyfish-like shape suddenly tangles in my snorkel. A moment of alarm. Is it poisonous? dangerous? Yes and no. Alas, it is only a plastic bag; harmless to me but dangerous to the fragile, biodiverse ecosystem.
Why do people come to such pristine wilderness only to leave it a little less so? We’re told that some of the debris travels vast distances on ocean currents, but it still jars. A few of us join the crew in retrieving what we can to bring back to the ship.
The divers return brimming with stories of what lies beneath, but for most of us, simply skimming the surface feels like privilege enough as we glide through Raja Ampat, island-hopping past just a handful of its roughly 1,500 islands as they slip quietly by…until my next Swan Hellenic cruise.
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