'Two whales breached in front of me and I laughed at the idyllic absurdity of it all': Sailing through Indonesia’s Ring of Fire

Much is made of the art of switching off these days — with very good reason — but I can only claim to have done it once, really, truly, properly, and it took four flights and the best part of two days to be able to do so.

It happened when I was sitting at the prow of Si Datu Bua, a regal wooden trading vessel called a phinisi, as we set sail on eastern Indonesia’s Flores Sea at golden hour. There was a bottle of wine in an ice bucket to my left and a magazine crossword I’d started in some previous time zone or other to my right, but I was just gazing out to the orange-pink horizon when I felt the all-too-rare sensation of being completely untethered from, well, everything else.

Then two whales breached in front of me and I laughed at the idyllic absurdity of it all.

It was my welcome to a barefoot, six-day adventure sailing west along the archipelago from Alor to Flores through Indonesia’s Ring of Fire, where a string of 120 active volcanoes provide regular reminders of their elemental power.

Phinisi boats have been common sights on these ancient spice routes for centuries, being used for fishing and carrying cargo. Si Datu Bua, and her big sister, Silolona, sailing alongside us, are altogether more luxurious, however, with polished teak surfaces, roomy cabins with huge beds and en-suite bathrooms, even an on-board masseuse.

Silolona was built in 2004 and named after the local island legend of Atuf, who built a boat to sail to the sun in memory of his beloved wife, Silolona. Si Datu Bua (‘beloved princess’) followed in 2012, both constructed by the Konjo boatbuilders of Ara in south Sulawesi who have long crafted phinisi by hand.

They select and remove individual ironwood trees from the dense jungle before bending the timbers and assembling the boats almost entirely by sight (and, remarkably, to strict Germanischer Lloyd’s shipbuilding standards). The man who built both, the irrepressible and seemingly ageless Nasir, remains part of the crew to this day.

It helps that each vessel is a thing of beauty, because what surrounds them is as breathtaking as it gets. The verdant islands and jungly coastlines pass in shades of rich, ripe green with the occasional flash of a white-sand beach. The waters — thrillingly quiet save for a few chugging jukung fishing boats — seem to change colour by the hour: glassy blues, dark indigo depths, gleaming turquoise shallows.

We frequently spot flying fish and dolphins leaping above the surface. Beneath the waves a whole kingdom thrives: bright, untainted coral reefs and marine life, from pygmy seahorses to whale sharks (and the occasional free-diving Bajau fisherman). As such, the diving is some of the best in the world and, whether you’re a PADI-certified pro or a casual snorkeler, the crew will arrange excursions to suit.

The sheer enthusiasm of trip leader and dive master Goris is infectious, to say the least. One morning before sunrise, he takes us fishing as Mount Ile Lewotolok spews lava behind us — it leaves me awestruck.

Goris and Nasir were the first employees of what became Silolona Sojourns, founded by Patti Seery, an American expat who became so beguiled by the region she led an explorers’ club, befriending indigenous tribes and charting remote waters along the way. ‘She kept the tradition going, but also helped the conservation,’ Goris says with affection.

After Seery died in 2020, her son, Tresno (Javanese for ‘love’), took the helm — he and partner Sarah are our hosts, proudly continuing Seery’s legacy. It’s most keenly felt when we venture onto dry land, where relationships forged by Seery and nurtured by her son make for some profound experiences.

On Alor, we’re welcomed to a remote village to witness the blessing of a new house where the residents, clad in ceremonial clothing made from tree bark, lead us in a drum-led dance of togetherness. We meet ikat weavers and dye-makers whose methods have not changed in thousands of years. We spectate at a local volleyball match. We have the most extraordinary beach-barbecue evening on a remote spit of sand that Seery and Goris stumbled on by chance years earlier. ‘We go to places and make connections,’ explains Tresno. ‘Not only with the people, but with the places that we visit, too.’

For our last trip ashore in Flores, we head high into the jungle in the shadow of Mount Egon, where we’re welcomed like old friends for a ceremony to remember the village ancestors — a framed photo of Seery in her finest ikat sits at the front — before the mood turns celebratory and the dancing begins. We get whirled around and spun by elders and children alike. It’s joyous, trance-like and real, to the point that leaving is a wrench.

As we descend, we passed a clearing that frames our two boats perfectly as they bob gently against the pastel-pink sunset and all was quiet again. Not that it lasted. In our absence, the crew had adorned the boat with decorative bamboo hangings and prepared a final-night feast of local favourites, including a plate of fragrant rice in the shape of a volcano, the top of which has to be ritually cut off and passed to someone important, in this case Tresno, before the meal can begin.

As the crew start up the music, we all trade stories of the trip and tuck in to fresh prawns, fiery sambal and plenty of volcano rice. I ask Tresno if he could ever tire of sailing this stretch of sea. He smiles and shakes his head: ‘There’s so much to explore, every time it’s different. One of the beauties is we get off the beaten path and do whatever we want on the day.’

A note from Goris and the crew when I arrived said: ‘May this experience stay with you long after the journey ends.’ Initially I thought this might refer to the gentle swaying motion I felt when I reluctantly returned to land full time and made my way to the airport, but this is so much more than just a spectacular sailing trip. It’s really a journey of connection — to the water, to the land, to the people, to the past, present, and future, and to the vision of Patti Seery — and it will stay with me forever.

Cookson Adventures can organise a seven-night charter on ‘Silolona’ from £109,284 based on 10 guests sharing and on ‘Si Datu Bua’ from £70,156 based on six guests sharing. Cookson can also offer bespoke itinerary planning, an onboard media team, marine biologists, specialist guides and private internal flights.

For clients looking to explore inland, there are opportunities to incorporate helicopter adventures and private mobile camps into an itinerary.

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This feature originally appeared in the October 21, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.