Labuan Bajo

Labuan Bajo's name means roughly the anchorage of the Bajo — the Bajau, sea nomads whose settlements are scattered across eastern Indonesia — and the town began as a sheltered bay used by Bajau and Bugis fishers and traders from South Sulawesi. Inland, western Flores is Manggarai country, and the coast was long a meeting point between seafaring Muslim traders and the Catholic and adat communities of the highlands, governed for a period from the Sultanate of Bima on Sumbawa before Dutch administration and then Indonesian independence.

The modern town grew out of two things: fish and dragons. Komodo dragons became known internationally in the 1910s, and the islands were protected through the 20th century, culminating in the creation of Komodo National Park in 1980 and its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1991. Labuan Bajo, the nearest harbour with an airstrip, became the departure point almost by default, and a small port of wooden boats turned gradually into a tourist town.

Growth accelerated once the Indonesian government made Labuan Bajo a national tourism priority, naming it one of the “ten new Balis” and then one of five “super-priority” destinations meant to draw visitors away from Bali. The airport was enlarged and its terminal rebuilt, the waterfront was redeveloped with a promenade and marina, hotels climbed the hillsides, and the phinisi cruise boat fleet multiplied. The changes brought jobs and money, and also disputes over land, water supply, waste and park management: a plan announced in 2019 to move the people of Komodo island and to charge foreign visitors a far higher park entrance fee met large protests, and the fee rise was cancelled by the government in December 2022.

The town is a mix: Manggarai people from the Flores interior, Bajau and Bugis families with generations of seafaring behind them, Florenese from further east, and workers from Java, Bali and Sulawesi drawn by the tourism boom. Catholic churches and mosques stand within sight of one another, and both Christmas and Eid empty the offices and fill the ferries with people going home.

Manggarai culture is the strongest local thread. Its best-known expression is the caci, a ritual duel in which two men take turns striking with a leather whip and defending with a hide shield, dressed in woven cloth and bells, performed at harvests, weddings and welcomes rather than as a show. Songket and ikat weaving continue in the highland villages, with black, red and white Manggarai cloth sold in the town. Further into the hills lies Wae Rebo, a village of conical thatched houses that has become a symbol of the region.

Visitors are a normal part of life here, and the town is used to them, but it is not Bali: dress in town is modest, drinking is discreet away from the tourist bars, and Sunday is genuinely a day of rest. Boat crews and guides are typically young men from the surrounding villages, and the relationship between tourism income and village life — who gets licences, who gets the work — is an everyday subject of conversation.

The town is the seat of West Manggarai Regency, whose population was about 280,000 in 2025, spread across farming villages and small ports; the town itself holds a small fraction of that. The town has grown faster than its infrastructure: new hotels, roads and a new airport terminal stand alongside chronic problems with fresh water, electricity supply and rubbish collection, all of which strain in the high season.

Work divides between the sea and the visitor trade. Fishing crews leave the harbour overnight and sell at the morning market; boat crews, guides, drivers, dive instructors, cooks and hotel staff make up much of the rest. Farming continues inland — maize, cassava, rice on irrigated land, and coffee, cloves and candlenut in the highlands — and civil service jobs in the regency government are prized.

The day starts before dawn with the market and the boats, quietens through a fierce midday, and picks up again in the late afternoon, when the harbour front fills for sunset. In the wet season, when crossings are cancelled and boats are hauled up for repair, the town slows and many workers return to their villages. Land prices, the pace of building and the share of tourism income that stays in local hands are the running local arguments.

Fish and rice are the base of eating here. The morning market brings in snapper, grouper, trevally, squid and small tuna, and the harbour-front grills cook them whole over coconut husk with lime, chilli and kecap manis, the thick sweet soy sauce that appears in every Indonesian kitchen. Sambal is served alongside, and on Flores it is often made with raw shallot and lime as well as chilli.

The Flores interior supplies the rest. Maize and cassava are long-standing staples in a dry region, and se'i, meat salted, spiced, thinly sliced and smoked, comes from Rote and Kupang further east but is widely eaten. Manggarai kitchens make ayam kampung, free-range chicken, slow-cooked with lemongrass and turmeric, and use young papaya, cassava leaf and jantung pisang, banana flower, as vegetables. Rice cooked in bamboo is sold at roadside stalls along the Trans-Flores road.

Flores is a coffee island, and beans from Bajawa, Manggarai and Ende are roasted and sold in the town — a strong, low-acid arabica usually served black with sugar. Palm spirits, moke and sopi, are distilled in the villages and drunk at ceremonies; as elsewhere in Indonesia, home-distilled spirits carry a real risk of methanol poisoning and are best left alone. Fresh coconut, tamarind drinks and tropical juice fill out the rest of the menu.