Chasing Serenity: The Luxury Retreats and Waterfalls of Moyo Island
I still remember the moment I decided to visit Moyo Island. It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and I was scrolling through Instagram, feeling that familiar itch to escape somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t my apartment. Between photos of friends’ babies and targeted ads for luggage I definitely didn’t need, I stumbled upon a photo of a waterfall cascading into the clearest turquoise pool I’d ever seen. The caption simply read: “Mata Jitu, Moyo Island. Indonesia’s best-kept secret.”
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Indonesia’s what now?
Despite considering myself pretty well-traveled through Southeast Asia (humble brag: I’ve hit most of the usual suspects), I’d never even heard of Moyo Island. A quick Google search revealed a tiny speck off the coast of Sumbawa—itself not exactly a household name compared to Bali or Lombok. Something about its obscurity pulled at me. Maybe it was the promise of experiencing somewhere genuinely untouched, or maybe I was just tired of destinations where influencers outnumbered locals.
Why Moyo Island? A Tiny Paradise I Didn’t Expect to Love
Let me get this out of the way: I’m not typically drawn to super remote places. I like to think I’m adventurous, but the truth is I get antsy without decent Wi-Fi and I’ve been known to pack an unreasonable number of phone chargers “just in case.” My friends still tease me about the time I freaked out over losing cell service for three hours in Thailand.
So why Moyo? I think part of me wanted to prove something to myself. Could I actually disconnect and enjoy it? Plus, the combination of luxury retreats alongside pristine nature seemed like the perfect compromise—I could rough it during the day and retreat to comfort at night.
Moyo sits in the Flores Sea, a 20,000-hectare nature reserve that’s somehow managed to stay under the radar despite being just a short hop from Bali. The island is mostly uninhabited save for a few small fishing villages and, somewhat incongruously, a handful of ultra-luxury resorts that have set up shop along its shores. Princess Diana reportedly visited back in the ’90s to escape the paparazzi—which should tell you something about how secluded it feels.
What really sold me, though, was reading about the contrast: pristine beaches giving way to dense jungle, waterfalls hidden like treasures throughout the interior, and coral reefs teeming with marine life—all this alongside resorts where staff remember your name and your coffee preference. It seemed like the perfect antidote to Bali’s increasingly crowded beaches and traffic-choked roads.
I booked my trip with a mixture of excitement and, if I’m being honest, a twinge of anxiety. Would it live up to the hype? Was I making a mistake spending precious vacation days on an island I couldn’t even pinpoint on a map without zooming in? Spoiler alert: I needn’t have worried. But getting there? That was another story entirely.
Getting There—Not as Easy as I Thought
I’ve always believed that the harder a place is to reach, the more rewarding it is when you finally arrive. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I’m crammed into a tiny boat wondering if my travel insurance covers seasickness.
The journey to Moyo starts with a flight to Sumbawa Besar, which typically involves connecting through Bali or Jakarta. I opted for the Bali route, which meant a quick one-hour hop on a propeller plane that seemed held together primarily by hope and duct tape. The Sumbawa airport—and I use the term “airport” generously here—consists of basically one room where luggage appears mysteriously from behind a curtain. No carousel, no conveyor belt, just a guy dragging bags out one by one.
From there, it’s a 45-minute drive to the port of Ai Bari, where boats depart for Moyo. This is where things got… interesting. I’d arranged transportation through my resort, but there was a mix-up with the timing. After waiting for an hour in the sweltering heat, frantically trying to call the resort with spotty cell service, I finally managed to flag down a local driver who seemed to understand where I needed to go despite my embarrassingly bad attempt at Indonesian.
“Moyo? Amanwana?” I kept repeating, probably butchering the pronunciation while pointing vaguely toward the sea.
He nodded enthusiastically, threw my bags in the back of his truck, and we were off, bouncing along roads that seemed more pothole than pavement. We chatted as best we could—him in broken English, me in non-existent Indonesian, both of us relying heavily on hand gestures and smiles.
When we finally reached the port, I was relieved to see a representative from the resort waiting with a sign bearing my name (misspelled, but close enough). The boat ride itself takes about 30-45 minutes depending on the weather, and I spent it alternating between marveling at the deep blue of the Flores Sea and clutching the side as we bounced over waves.
Pro tip: If you’re prone to seasickness like me, take medication BEFORE you get on the boat. I learned this lesson the hard way and spent the first 15 minutes of the journey regretting every life choice that had led me to that moment.
Just when I was starting to wonder if we were actually heading to a completely different island (or possibly just out to sea never to return), the shoreline of Moyo appeared—a slash of green against the horizon. As we drew closer, I could make out pristine white beaches and dense jungle rising up from the shore. My fatigue and irritation dissolved instantly. Sometimes the journey really is part of the adventure—even when that adventure involves mild dehydration and the lingering fear that you’ve gotten on the wrong boat.
Indulging in Luxury—Retreats That Feel Like a Dream
My Stay at Amanwana—Worth the Splurge?
Look, I’m going to be straight with you—Amanwana is eye-wateringly expensive. The kind of expensive that made me wince when I hit “confirm booking” and then immediately check my bank balance. The kind of expensive that made me seriously consider eating nothing but instant noodles for a month after my trip to offset the cost.
Was it worth it? Absolutely, unequivocally yes.
Amanwana is the only luxury resort on Moyo Island, part of the ultra-high-end Aman group that specializes in remote, exclusive properties. The resort consists of just 20 “tents” scattered along the beach and at the jungle’s edge—though calling them tents is like calling the Taj Mahal a house. These are permanent structures with canvas roofs, hardwood floors, and the kind of bathroom that makes you want to immediately redesign your entire home.
I splurged on a beach tent, which meant I fell asleep to the sound of waves lapping at the shore just meters from my door. The tent was open-air (with screens to keep the bugs out) and decorated in a soothing palette of creams and natural woods. The king-sized bed faced the ocean, which meant I woke up each morning to a postcard-perfect view without even having to lift my head from the pillow.
The first morning, I was startled awake by a rustling outside my tent. Peering cautiously through the screens, I found myself face-to-face with a family of deer grazing peacefully just steps away. It was the kind of magical moment that makes you forget about the cost and the long journey and just be grateful to be exactly where you are.
The food at Amanwana deserves its own paragraph (or ten). The resort has one restaurant—an open-air pavilion overlooking the sea—but the menu changes daily based on what’s fresh and available. One night we had a beach barbecue with the freshest fish I’ve ever tasted, caught that day by local fishermen. Another evening featured Indonesian specialties that the chef had learned from his grandmother. I’m still dreaming about the bebek betutu (slow-cooked duck with Balinese spices).
What really sets Amanwana apart, though, is the service. It’s attentive without being intrusive, personalized without feeling scripted. By the second day, the staff not only knew my name but also that I preferred my coffee with just a splash of milk, that I was terrified of large spiders (thankfully rare, but they did check my tent after I expressed concern), and that I was eager to see the island’s waterfalls.
That said, there were moments when the isolation felt a bit much, even for someone seeking solitude. With no TV in the room and patchy Wi-Fi confined to the main pavilion, evenings could feel long. I found myself reading more than I had in months and actually journaling—something I always intend to do on vacation but usually abandon after one half-hearted entry.
Why Luxury on Moyo Feels Different
There’s luxury, and then there’s luxury in the middle of nowhere. The latter hits different.
When you’re at a high-end resort in, say, Bali or Phuket, you’re aware that just beyond the manicured grounds lies a bustling world of other tourists, traffic, and commerce. On Moyo, the isolation amplifies everything. That cocktail tastes better when you’re watching the sun set over an empty horizon. That massage feels more indulgent when the only sound is birds calling in the trees above.
I’m not usually a “fancy hotel” person—I tend to spend so little time in my room that it feels wasteful to splurge. But Moyo’s remoteness made the luxury feel necessary rather than frivolous. After a day of hiking to waterfalls or snorkeling in the bay, returning to comfort and excellent food wasn’t just nice—it was restorative.
What struck me most was how the resort blended into its surroundings. Buildings were constructed around existing trees rather than clearing them. Paths were lit at night with subtle ground lighting rather than harsh overheads, preserving the brilliance of the stars above. Even the swimming pool was designed to look like a natural lagoon.
There are a couple of other accommodation options on Moyo for those who find Amanwana beyond their budget (no judgment here—I had to seriously juggle some finances to make it work). Moyo Komodo Resort offers a more accessible price point while still providing comfortable beachfront bungalows. It’s more rustic, sure, but you still get that incredible access to nature without roughing it completely.
For the truly adventurous, there are also simple homestays in the fishing village of Labuan Aji. These won’t offer luxury by any stretch, but they provide an authentic experience and a chance to connect with local life on the island. I didn’t stay there myself (I’m bougie now, apparently), but I met a couple who had spent a few nights there before moving to Amanwana for the last part of their trip, and they raved about the experience.
Chasing Waterfalls—Nature’s Hidden Treasures
If you visit Moyo and don’t see the waterfalls, did you even go to Moyo? That’s like going to Paris and skipping the Eiffel Tower, except the waterfalls are actually worth the hype.
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The island’s interior is laced with springs and streams that create a series of cascades and pools, each more beautiful than the last. The most famous is Mata Jitu, often called the “Queen’s Waterfall” after Princess Diana visited in the ’90s. Getting there involves a bumpy jeep ride inland followed by a hike through the jungle—a journey that had me questioning my life choices about halfway through.
The trail to Mata Jitu isn’t particularly long, but the combination of heat, humidity, and uneven terrain made it challenging. I’m not exactly an elite athlete (my main form of exercise is walking to the fridge), and there were moments when I seriously considered turning back. My shirt was soaked through with sweat, my hair had achieved a level of frizz previously unknown to science, and I’d already tripped twice over exposed roots.
Then I heard it—the distant rumble of falling water. It’s amazing how motivating that sound can be when you’re hot, tired, and questioning why you didn’t just stay by the pool with a good book.
Rounding a bend in the trail, Mata Jitu suddenly appeared before me—a series of limestone terraces with crystal-clear water flowing over them like nature’s own infinity pools. The main cascade drops about 20 meters into a pool so blue it looks Photoshopped. I actually gasped out loud, which made my guide chuckle. Apparently, he’s used to that reaction.
The water in the pools is a consistent 70°F year-round—cool enough to be refreshing but not so cold that you hesitate to jump in. After the sweaty hike, it felt like heaven. The limestone gives the water a high mineral content that supposedly has healing properties. I can’t speak to that, but my skin did feel amazing afterward—though that might just have been the contrast to how gross I felt before swimming.
What makes Mata Jitu special isn’t just its beauty—it’s the feeling of having discovered something secret. Despite being the island’s most famous attraction, I shared the pools with only two other visitors during my time there. Try finding that kind of solitude at Bali’s Tegenungan Waterfall, where you’ll be lucky to get a photo without twenty strangers in the background.
There are several other falls scattered around the island, each with its own character. Diwu Mbai is smaller but features a natural water slide formed by smooth rocks—I have the bruises to prove I attempted it multiple times with varying degrees of success. Tanjung Pasir offers a more gentle series of pools perfect for a leisurely swim.
If you go—and you should—bring proper shoes (my flip-flops were a rookie mistake), plenty of water, and bug spray. The mosquitoes on Moyo are no joke; they’re the size of small birds and seem to consider repellent a seasoning rather than a deterrent. Also, respect the environment by taking all trash with you and avoiding any soaps or sunscreens in the pools. These ecosystems are pristine precisely because they’ve been protected from the kinds of tourism that have damaged other beautiful spots.
Oh, and one last tip: bring a dry bag for your phone if you want photos. I learned this lesson the hard way and spent a tense hour watching my device sit in a bowl of rice back at the resort. (It survived, thankfully, but I aged about five years in the process.)
Beyond the Falls and Villas—What Else Surprised Me
I came to Moyo for the luxury and the waterfalls, but I stayed for… well, I didn’t actually stay longer than planned because I had a flight to catch, but you get what I mean. The island revealed itself to be so much more than its headline attractions.
The snorkeling, for one thing, blew me away. Just steps from my tent at Amanwana was a house reef that rivaled dedicated dive sites I’ve visited elsewhere. The water clarity was exceptional—I could see at least 20 meters in every direction—and the marine life was abundant and diverse. During one morning snorkel, I spotted blue starfish, parrotfish in every color of the rainbow, and a sea turtle that seemed completely unbothered by my presence. He (she? I’m not great at turtle gender identification) swam alongside me for nearly ten minutes before lazily veering off into deeper water.
The resort offers guided snorkeling trips to various spots around the island, but honestly, I was perfectly content with the house reef. Why board a boat when paradise is right in front of you? That said, I did hear from other guests that the sites farther out were even more spectacular, with walls of coral and the occasional reef shark for the brave-hearted.
One afternoon, I joined a small group for a visit to Labuan Aji, the main village on Moyo. Home to about 300 people, the village consists of simple wooden houses arranged along a single dirt road, with chickens and goats wandering freely. Children ran alongside our jeep as we arrived, waving and calling out greetings.
I’m always a bit uncomfortable with these kinds of village visits—they can feel voyeuristic if not handled respectfully. But our guide was from the village himself and clearly proud to show us around. We visited the small school (closed for the day, but we peeked in the windows), the modest mosque at the center of town, and a workshop where women were weaving traditional fabrics.
My Indonesian is limited to about five words (mostly food-related), so communication was challenging. I’m not sure if I offended anyone with my attempts at sign language and exaggerated facial expressions, but the villagers were unfailingly patient and seemed genuinely amused by my efforts. One elderly woman took my hand and placed it on her loom, guiding me through the motions of weaving. I was terrible at it, producing a crooked line that made her laugh, but the moment of connection transcended our language barrier.
What struck me most about Labuan Aji was the contrast between the simplicity of life there and the luxury of Amanwana just a few kilometers away. The villagers have electricity for only part of the day, collect rainwater for drinking, and fish for much of their food. Yet they seemed content in a way that made me question my own attachment to conveniences I take for granted.
As we were leaving, a young boy ran up and handed me a small shell he’d found on the beach. I tried to offer him some money in return—a reaction I immediately regretted as culturally tone-deaf—but he shook his head and simply smiled before running back to his friends. That shell now sits on my desk at home, a reminder of a different way of measuring wealth.
In quieter moments, I found myself reflecting on how Moyo was changing my perspective. Sitting on the beach one evening, watching the sun sink into the sea in a blaze of orange and pink, I realized I hadn’t checked my phone in hours. Me—the person who typically gets twitchy after 20 minutes without scrolling through social media. There’s something about the rhythm of island life that recalibrates your internal clock, slowing everything down until you find yourself actually noticing the world around you instead of viewing it through a screen.
The Real Moyo—Why It’s Not for Everyone (And That’s Okay)
I loved my time on Moyo, but I’d be lying if I said it’s for everyone. The very things that made it magical for me might be dealbreakers for others.
The remoteness is both Moyo’s greatest asset and its biggest challenge. Getting there requires commitment, patience, and a willingness to go with the flow when things inevitably don’t go according to plan. If you’re the type of traveler who gets anxious without a detailed itinerary or needs constant connectivity, you might find the isolation more stressful than serene.
The cost is another consideration. I’m not going to sugarcoat it—Amanwana is expensive. Like, “maybe I should have bought a used car instead” expensive. There are more affordable options on the island, but even those require a significant investment when you factor in the journey. Is it worth it? For me, absolutely. But value is subjective, and I can understand why some might balk at spending so much for what is, essentially, a very fancy tent in the middle of nowhere.
The infrastructure is limited by design. There are no ATMs, no convenience stores, no medical facilities beyond basic first aid. If you forget something essential, you’re out of luck until you return to the mainland. During my stay, one guest realized she’d forgotten her prescription medication and had to cut her trip short—a costly and disappointing outcome.
The weather can also be challenging. I visited during the dry season (May to October), when conditions are generally ideal. But during the wet season, heavy rains can make the interior trails impassable and rough seas can delay boat transfers. Even in the dry season, we had one day of unexpected storms that kept us resort-bound—lovely if you’re in the mood to relax, frustrating if you had your heart set on exploring.
So who is Moyo for? It’s for travelers who value experiences over amenities, who find beauty in simplicity, and who are willing to disconnect to truly reconnect. It’s for those who understand that luxury isn’t always about marble bathrooms and turndown service (though Amanwana has those too), but about the privilege of experiencing a place that remains largely as nature intended.
Would I go back? Part of me says yes, absolutely. The other part wonders if Moyo is the kind of place that should remain a one-time experience, perfect and preserved in memory rather than revisited with expectations that might be impossible to meet. I’m not sure I’m cut out for island life long-term—I missed good coffee and fast internet more than I care to admit—but I’m deeply grateful for the time I spent there.
As my boat pulled away from the shore on my last day, I felt that peculiar mix of emotions that often accompanies the end of a meaningful journey: sadness to be leaving, excitement to share my experiences with friends and family, and a quiet certainty that I was returning home changed in subtle but important ways.
Moyo taught me that sometimes the greatest luxury isn’t what you gain, but what you’re willing to give up. In my case, it was constant connection, convenience, and control—all traded for moments of pure, unfiltered joy. Not a bad exchange, all things considered.
If you’re considering Moyo for your next adventure, my advice is simple: go with an open heart and minimal expectations. Pack light but bring your sense of wonder. And maybe an extra battery pack for your phone—not for scrolling social media, but for capturing moments you’ll want to remember long after you’ve returned to the real world.
Or better yet, leave the phone behind and just be there, fully present in a place that has mastered the art of simply existing, untouched and perfect in its isolation.
About the author: Jack is a passionate content creator with years of experience. Follow for more quality content and insights.
