The morning broke gently in Riung, a small, sleepy coastal village tucked into the northern shores of Flores, Indonesia. Mist still clung to the hills as the sun began to rise, casting a golden veil over the ocean. The waves lapped softly against the wooden dock, where a small boat bobbed patiently—waiting to carry us into the unknown.
We were headed to Tujuh Belas Pulau, the “Seventeen Islands” of Riung. A name that doesn’t count the islands so much as it honors something deeper: the spirit of independence, the date of Indonesia’s freedom—August 17th. It felt fitting, then, to begin this journey with a sense of quiet reverence.
A Sea Painted in Blue and Silence
As the boat pulled away from the shore, the mainland slowly faded into a haze of green hills. The sea stretched endlessly ahead, clear and impossibly blue. One by one, the islands began to appear—floating like emeralds scattered across a sapphire canvas.
There were no resorts here, no beach clubs or souvenir stands. Only untouched beaches, whispering mangroves, and the occasional flicker of birds dancing across the sky. It felt like sailing into a time before noise, before the world became busy.
The Dance of Bats – Ontoloe Island
By late afternoon, we arrived at Ontoloe Island, a sanctuary for giant fruit bats—"kalongs" as the locals call them. The trees were dark with their silhouettes, hanging upside down like strange fruit waiting for dusk.
And then, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, they moved.
Thousands of bats erupted from the treetops, swirling into the sky in great black waves. The sound of their wings and the sight of their numbers filled the air with wonder. They danced against a sky painted in orange and violet, a natural spectacle more powerful than any fireworks.
Beneath the Surface – Rutong and Meja Island
The next day, we snorkeled off the coast of Pulau Rutong, where the real magic lay beneath the waves.
The water was so clear you could see straight to the ocean floor. Coral gardens bloomed in every direction—pinks, purples, and oranges—and shoals of fish sparkled in the sunlight like moving jewels. I floated in silence, wrapped in water and color, and thought, "This must be what dreaming feels like."
Later, we landed on Pulau Meja—a flat, lonely island with nothing but soft white sand and a few shady trees. We ate grilled fish with our hands, sipped strong Flores coffee, and watched the waves curl gently onto the shore.
There was no Wi-Fi. No music. Only the sound of laughter, the wind in the trees, and the rhythm of the tide.
A Farewell at Sunset – Pulau Tiga
Our last stop was Pulau Tiga, one of the larger islands. Here, we hiked up a short trail to a viewpoint, where the sea opened wide before us, dotted with all the islands we had visited—and many we hadn't.
As the sun set, everything turned gold. The ocean reflected the sky, and for a moment, it was hard to tell where the sea ended and the heavens began. It was there, sitting on warm rocks with sand still between my toes, that I realized: Riung isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling.
The Story That Stays With You
Back on the mainland, the journey felt like a dream we were slowly waking from. The boat docked. The stars came out. Life returned to its usual rhythm—but we were different now.
We had seen wildness and beauty, silence and freedom. We had drifted between seventeen islands, each one holding a piece of something we’d lost in the rush of the everyday.
0 comments:
Post a Comment