A British national, Chris, sits on the bow of our chartered boat.
Back in the day, a traveler can reach tiny Komodo Island as a stopover between the major island landmasses. Now the only way to Komodo is via boat package tours where for three lovely days, you share cramped living quarters with complete strangers. I'd met Chris and his girlfriend (not pictured) just a few days earlier where we agreed to forgo a package tour and charter our own ghetto boat to cruise around at our leisure. Our cause was helped along by a Frenchman who loaned us his boat for a price we couldn't refuse.
My precariously positioned hammock acts as a place to sleep and rest with optional dangling MP3 player.
For two nights, three days, I lived a dangerous existence in that hammock waiting for the moment my knots came undone and I take an unplanned swim in pitch black Komodo dragon-infested waters. Lucky for me, my quintuple knots held firm and I'm alive to relay this tale today. In case you're wondering what Chris is doing, I believe he was fishing with his ghetto rigged fishing contraption. And no, he didn't catch anything but a horrible sun burn.
Our ghetto boat wakes up to a gorgeous morning on Komodo Island.
Ah, the living standards in the life of a budget traveler! I wouldn't have it any other way.