Komodo National Park · Indonesia
Six guests. One crew that actually gives a damn. The places nobody else goes to. And a zebra-striped hull you'll spot from a mile away.
Find out why
Manta Point. Komodo Island. Padar. Pink Beach. Fifty boats anchored side by side. Guides with megaphones. Tourists elbowing each other for the same photograph. You paid a lot of money to be in a crowd.
La Matta goes the other way. Literally. We know this park — the parts the tour operators don't bother with, the anchorages where you'll wake up alone, the dive spots where the only thing making noise is the current.
The boat holds twelve. We take six. That's not a policy. That's respect — for the ocean, for you, and for the fact that a boat is a small place and the wrong company ruins everything.
Let's start where it matters most. Not the destination. The food. You can be anchored in the most beautiful bay in the world — on an empty stomach, it's just a pretty view.
He's not a chef. He doesn't call himself one and you shouldn't either. He's a cook — thirty years old, with eighteen brothers, sisters and cousins and a lifetime of cooking for all of them. Every day, regardless of whether it's for guests or just for himself. He loves it. You'll taste exactly that. It's the kind of food that makes you think of someone's grandmother. Except he's thirty.
During a storm one rainy season, the boat took a small knock. Nothing serious — long fixed. But when the Kep saw the damage, he cried. That tells you everything about how he handles this vessel. You'll never hear the engine pushed too hard, never feel the hull slamming into waves. He does it for the boat — but you'll be the one who benefits. Even guests with a sensitive stomach tend to relax on La Matta.
Usually a bit tipsy. Chain-smoking. Seemingly indifferent to everything happening around him. A proper pirate. He can't read or write — and he holds a full engineer's certificate, license and registration. In Indonesia, that's not a contradiction. That's experience. Hours at sea. When the engine fails, when the second engine fails, when there's no signal and a storm rolls in — he's the reason you come home dry. We don't dress it up. That's who he is.
The boat can sleep twelve. We know that. You might know that. We don't care. A liveaboard is an intimate space. The wrong dynamic — too many people, too little room to breathe — turns a dream trip into something you want to end early.
Six guests means everyone gets space. It means the cook isn't overwhelmed. It means the Kep can focus on the water, not on managing a crowd. It means when you find an anchorage with no one else around, it stays that way — because we didn't bring twenty people to ruin it.
We respect the ocean. We respect the park. And we respect the fact that you came here to experience something, not to share it with strangers who are too loud.
One price. Everything included. We don't add park fees at the end, we don't charge extra for the snorkelling gear, we don't nickel-and-dime you for fuel. You know what you're paying before you get on the boat.
The $7,000 figure is a reference point for a 4-night trip with 4 guests. Fewer guests, longer trips, different durations — we work it out together.
We don't have a booking engine. You write to us, we talk, we figure out dates, group size, and what you actually want to do. Then we give you a number. No surprises.
The only things not included: your flights to Labuan Bajo, alcoholic drinks, and tips for the crew — though the latter is entirely up to you.
We don't have a booking engine. We don't have a call centre. You write to us, we talk, we figure out if it's a good fit. That's how it works.
info@lamatta.com