Misool, Raja Ampat: Exploring ‘the last paradise on Earth’—in a sea kayak

“Silence is a privilege, especially in Indonesia,” our guide Priyo Utomo Laksono tells us, quietly, as if he’s scared to break this precious moment of solitude. We glide down yet another turquoise river and to emphasize the point, we all fall silent, listening to… absolutely nothing. Not even birds. It’s just the gentle, rhythmic lap of seawater against limestone.

I’m in Raja Ampat, a region of West Papua in far eastern Indonesia. ‘Raja Ampat’ translates to Four Kings, referring to the four largest islands of Waigeo, Salawati, Batanta and Misool. It may perhaps refer to some greater historical mythology too—but nobody is quite sure. And therein lies the beauty of this place. Home to around 1,500 islands, most of them uninhabited, this archipelago, at least for the time being, remains shrouded in mystery.

For the relatively short time span that it’s been known to travelers outside of Indonesia, Raja Ampat has been rightly heralded as the greatest scuba diving destination on earth. This makes sense, when you learn that it is one of the most biodiverse marine ecosystems on the planet, home to 75 percent of the world’s coral species and a staggering 1,600 different species of fish.

But in recent years, Raja Ampat has been appealing to non-scuba divers too. And for those in the know, it happens to be one of the best places on earth for sea kayaking. So my plan is simple: Three days in a kayak with Millekul Adventures, exploring the islands surrounding Misool, in the southern part of Raja Ampat.

The night before we set off, our group gathers in Sorong, the main city and gateway to Raja Ampat, for an introductory dinner and briefing about the trip. It’s over fresh red snapper at Marina Star Seafood Restaurant that Nicklas Millegard, the Swedish founder of Millekul Adventures, tells me how he got started. Born and raised in Sweden, Nicklas has been a kayaking enthusiast since 1991.

“For a long time, I was searching for some sort of sea kayaking haven in the tropics. I did a number of expeditions,” he says. “One in the Philippines which had too many people. Belize was interesting but it was all mangroves—nowhere to bring the boats up on land and pitch a tent, you know? And then… then we found Misool.” There’s a twinkle in his eye.

This is my first time in a kayak, and resembling Bambi on ice, I enter the sea kayak rocking and laughing uncontrollably, desperately trying to find some sort of balance.

“Misool remains relatively untouched and undeveloped,” he says. “You go to central Raja Ampat now and there are homestays everywhere—not one free stretch of sand left. But in Misool, it’s still perfect.”

This rings true. Until recently, Raja Ampat had remained a remote, difficult-to-reach place on the far edges of the map. No doubt, this has contributed to maintaining its pristine condition, but the irony is, it’s also the very reason there’s now a surge in visitor numbers. People are suddenly aware of and very interested in seeing this ‘last paradise on Earth’.

In 2023, the region received 19,839 visitors, a huge jump from 2022’s 5,725 visitors. 2024 and 2025 are on course to set new records. So, what’s happening? For one, there’s a shift in the market. With a new direct flight opening up between Bali and Sorong, it’s now an easy add-on for many travelers already heading to Bali.

And while the region was previously seen as a diving mecca that only avid, experienced scuba divers would aim for, people are now tempted by the lure of dazzling blues and greens splashed across their phone screens in countless YouTube videos and Instagram reels. Even if you don’t dive, there’s plenty to do: Island-hopping, snorkeling trips, beach time, and joining wildlife-watching treks to spot the endemic Red and Wilson’s birds of paradise.

It’s more financially doable too. For the last 20 years, accommodation options have been limited to high-end luxury eco-resorts which could set you back at least USD$2,000 per night. Nowadays, those local homestays that Nicklas references are cropping up everywhere—rustic shacks with basic amenities can cost USD$30-$45 per night—including three meals a day.

Of course, there are also in-between options;  dive resorts and boutique guesthouses where you’ll pay a little more for luxuries such as air-conditioning, hot water and en-suite bathrooms. These usually cost around USD$95-$160 per night.

The following morning, we board a creaking overnight ferry from Sorong—the next 12 hours explain exactly why Misool has, so far, been sheltered from the shift in travel trends experienced by the rest of the region. Leaving once a week, this ferry is currently the only way to reach Misool—unless you want to pay north of USD$1,000 for a private speedboat. “Most people will just head for central Raja Ampat, because it’s so much easier,” says Nicklas, as if reading my mind.

The ferry is Indonesia at its best, vibrant colors amid he relentless noise, smells and beautiful flaws. Sellers make their hurried rounds before the ship leaves, flogging everything from boiled peanuts to bananas and cups of instant coffee. As the ship pulls away, families huddle on deck in a babble of dialects amid a haze of tobacco smoke. I drift asleep in my bunk bed cabin to the throbbing hum of old, tired engines somewhere far below.

“For hundreds of years, the local people here have practiced sasi, which is basically their way of looking after the land and sea. At certain times of the year, they may prohibit the taking of a certain species of fish in a certain area, or the taking of any fish—it’s all about protecting against the over-exploitation of marine resources. Making sure there’s always enough.”

- Priyo Utomo Laksono, local guide

At dawn, the sun breaks on the horizon to reveal a spread of remote islands, resembling something from Jurassic Park, suggesting we may not just have traveled overnight, but back through time. At the bustling port of Yellu (Misool), our guides Priyo, Amos and Usman transfer our bags from big ship to small fishing boat, and for the next half-an-hour, we surf the golden morning light, darting between dozens of rocky outcrops and jungle-cloaked peaks, not a soul in sight.

Our base for the three-day kayak adventure is Yapap Homestay in Misool’s inner archipelago. We set our bags down in simple, over-water, wooden bungalows, all connected via a boardwalk, under which a large school of fish dart in and out of the coral reef. At the end, I see our brightly colored kayaks are already waiting for us.

This first day on the water is all about getting familiar with our gear—how to paddle effectively, how the rudder works, how you get back into the kayak if you capsize. This is my first time in a kayak, and resembling Bambi on ice, I enter the sea kayak rocking and laughing uncontrollably, desperately trying to find some sort of balance.

Once Priyo, Amos and Usman are (relatively) happy about our abilities on the water, we set off. There’s nothing else out here except for the karst islands surrounding our homestay. Still a little awkward, we paddle across the calm surface, like uncertain ducklings exploring their turf for the first time.

We soon move effortlessly through channels, gliding by pristine rainforest and huge towers of limestone that soar above us. There’s plenty of beauty below too. Under a large, overhanging cliff, we take a moment to don our snorkels and slip into the water, marvelling at bright orange anemonefish, dazzling royal angelfish and elusive peacock groupers, all of whom have made their home among the many colorful corals that cling to the rock.

While the Great Barrier Reef and other reef systems reel from the devastation of a fourth mass-bleaching event, the corals here remain healthy and untouched; I feel fortunate to see them. But this natural wealth is no happy accident, says Priyo. The success of Raja Ampat lies in its series of well-monitored marine protection areas (MPAs), where stringent rules such as no-take fishing zones have helped ensure an abundance of marine life, keeping this fragile ecosystem intact.

“For hundreds of years, the local people here have practiced sasi, which is basically their way of looking after the land and sea,” he explains, his bright red paddle methodically chopping in and out of the water. “At certain times of the year, they may prohibit the taking of a certain species of fish in a certain area, or the taking of any fish—it’s all about protecting against the over-exploitation of marine resources. Making sure there’s always enough.” How much the world could learn from these Indigenous cultures and beliefs, I think.

Dafalen Peak is the spot for late lunch. While Amos and Usman get busy boiling the water to prepare our freeze-dried camping food, we ascend rickety, wooden stairs zigzagging their way up a huge, jagged rock face, draped in ferns and flowering vines. At the top, the trees part to reveal what I’m convinced is a mirage; but turns out to be a heart-shaped lagoon glistening in the midday sun. The ocean, pebble-dashed by green islets and dark blue lagoons, stretches out to the horizon.

Day two. The rhythm of kayaking is a little quicker than before. I begin to understand why Nicklas and my sea kayaking friends fell immediately in love with Misool. This place is an enthralling maze of narrow channels and canyons that can’t be accessed any other way. Like playful children, we explore the nooks and crannies, with Usman finding yet another impossible arch to squeeze under.

Our first stop of the day is a little island where the powdery-white sands of a small bay glint in the sunshine against the jungle backdrop. It’s one of the most perfect beaches I’ve ever laid eyes on. Instinctively, we all dive into the turquoise waters, squealing with delight as we make contact with its perfect lukewarm temperature.

Refreshed, we join Priyo to explore the island’s interior, scrambling up giant tree roots that have latched onto the rock. The mouth of a large cave suddenly looms wide. Head torches flicked on, we follow him in, and are greeted by a staggering complex of stalactites and stalagmites. In one corner, I spy what looks like the sculpture of a lady with her head bent, resting her chin on her hand. “She’s called Putri Termenung,” laughs Priyo. ‘Pondering lady’, for the English-speakers of the group.

It’s clear that the challenge now for Raja Ampat is how it grows. Can growth and development be done in a sustainable manner, to protect the natural beauty and wealth that makes this place so special?

“There are rumors of Dutch soldiers hiding out here during WW2,” Priyo tells us. “They’re just rumors though. Misool remains very much this unknown… there aren’t that many studies out there when it comes to the history,” he says, almost wistfully. But then again, that’s also the great allure of Misool—the feeling you’re discovering something totally new. The natural history alone is enough to occupy you for several lifetimes, full of biological quirks, intrigue and delight.

And right on cue, we continue on to another island, where a short trek through the rainforest leads us into what first appears to be a volcanic crater. Here lies Lenmakana Lake, more commonly known as Jellyfish Lake. The little creatures that give this place its nickname can be spotted from a distance, orange and white blobs floating harmlessly in the water. Yes, harmlessly. Shut off from the sea for so long, these jellyfish no longer need their stings and have evolved accordingly. Despite all my natural instincts, I dive in.

Floating there on the surface, gazing up at the jungle, I’m in agreement with these jellyfish. They’ve adapted well to tropical paradise, floating around, threatened by no-one, doing not a lot. You couldn’t wish for much more.

By day three, the paddling has become second nature. Late tonight, we’ll be back on the ferry to Sorong, but for now, this glittering labyrinth of jagged rocks remains my playground. The water is as flat and clear as glass, broken only by my well-placed paddle strokes. Next to me, little silver fish dart about, jumping in and out of the sea. It’s the perfect day for kayaking.

We continue paddling in and out of the maze, ending up at a giant wall of rock featuring well-preserved cave paintings. Curtained off by buoys to prevent boat fumes destroying the art, with our kayaks we can get as close as to almost touch them (but we don’t). Outlines of human hands, fish, people and abstract spirits dance across the rock in hues of red, orange and brown. It’s extraordinary. “It’s like a human hand waving at you from 4,000 years ago,” says Priyo, who seems as infatuated by the paintings as if it were his very first time here too.

The history we do know shows that Melanesian people—Indigenous people of Melanesia in the southern Pacific Ocean from New Guinea to Fiji—arrived in Raja Ampat between 60,000 and 30,000 years ago, followed by the Austronesians, a diaspora with roots in Taiwan who settled in Southeast Asia, the Pacific, and Madagascar. Migration continued over the centuries, with various Indonesian empires creating trade connections. By the 15th century, kingdoms from the nearby island of Maluku had established strongholds in Raja Ampat and West Papua.

It’s this history of migration and various tribes that makes Raja Ampat culture so interesting, says Priyo. “In the north, the majority of people follow Christianity, while in south Raja Ampat, there is a stronger presence of Islam. Meanwhile, many of the people out here still believe in ancient animism, holding on to their local traditions such as sasi.”

Throughout our trip, other philosophical conversations play out, and one that sticks with me is Priyo’s point that we tend to measure our wealth in financial terms… but what if we measured it by the health of an ecosystem, air quality, and availability of fresh water and food? Seen this way, Misool may well be one of the wealthiest places on Earth. Frequent tropical downpours provide all the water one could need, and because of healthy reefs with intact food chains and fully functioning ecosystems, relatively undisturbed by the impacts of human activity and climate change, fish are in abundance, providing food and agricultural jobs. With vast swathes of intact primary rainforest, far removed from any large city and subsequent pollution, the air is as fresh and clean as any.

Our final stop is Harfat Jaya Peak, a spectacular viewpoint that looks out over Misool’s many islands and lagoons that we’ve spent the past three days navigating. During this time I suspect I may well have come close to experiencing every shade of blue and green the human eye is capable of seeing. Standing up here, surveying the striking karst limestone formations and shimmering sea, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is one of the most outstandingly beautiful, natural places I’ve ever visited.

It’s clear that the challenge now for Raja Ampat is in how it grows. Can development be done in a sustainable manner, to protect the natural beauty and wealth that makes this place so special? Can its people continue to be mindful of and practice sasi? Having seen what I’ve seen, and paddled through paradise, I really hope so.

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