A Delightful "Dushi" Detour to Aruba and Curaçao

We were supposed to be trekking through the Venezuelan jungle, and instead I spent my birthday breakfast getting nipped by a flamingo.

Plan B, with better beaches

The original plan was Venezuela: a potentially mosquito-ridden jungle trekking escapade. Then the airline gave us a polite but firm nudge to reconsider, citing "political situations," and we took the hint. Thanks to the flight credits, Jay and I pivoted to something just a smidge more glam, and wiggled our toes into the sand of Aruba and Curaçao for the first time.

Both islands have a word for what happened next. Dushi is Papiamento, the creole spoken across Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao, and it means sweet. It also means tasty, lovely, darling, and roughly anything else that makes you happy. You hear it about cake, about children, about the island itself: Aruba's national anthem is called "Aruba Dushi Tera."

Aruba, one dilemma at a time

We based ourselves in Oranjestad, where the Dutch heritage sits right up against water in a deep, slightly ridiculous shade of aquamarine. Our daily dilemmas were delightful. Hunt down the island's best tacos? Express our American pride, loudly, watching the Olympics from a swim-up bar? Or slather on sunscreen and go do something in the water or up a hill?

Arikok, on foot

Our first conquest was Arikok National Park, which covers almost 20 percent of the island and looks nothing like the brochure version of Aruba: cactus, scrub, red dirt, and a coastline that throws the Atlantic at you.

We hiked 7 km in brilliant sunshine to Conchi, the natural pool, a bowl of calm seawater walled off from the surf by volcanic rock. We cooled off with a dip. We outpaced the ATVs. Then we went spelunking in the nearby caves, and finished the day the only correct way, with a round of craft beers.

Turtles, donkeys, and cacti

We went snorkeling and had the pleasure of swimming with some shelled companions. Turtle power.

Another morning, fueled by strong coffee, I went solo into the countryside. I wandered the Ayo rock formations, a pile of giant boulders that look like someone dropped them from a height and walked away. I had a charming encounter with some Aruban donkeys. I also accidentally became intimately acquainted with several cacti.

The food, which is classified

We found the most divine fried ceviche fish tacos. Where? That is our secret, and you will have to find it yourself. There were also Dutch-style pancakes, ahi nachos, and a sublime beachside dinner at sunset.

A night dive on the Pedernales

The highlight of Aruba happened in the dark. We went on a night dive to the wreck of the Pedernales, and it was hauntingly beautiful: many sea turtles, and one very startled octopus who did not ask for the company. The evening naturally ended with more tacos.

The wreck that sailed away

Here is the strange part. The Pedernales you dive is not really the Pedernales.

She was a lake tanker, built in Italy in 1938 with a shallow bottom so she could carry crude oil out of Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela and across to the Lago refinery on Aruba. During the Second World War that refinery made the island a target. On February 16, 1942, the German submarine U-156 opened Operation Neuland, the U-boat campaign in the Caribbean, by attacking the tankers anchored off San Nicolas. The Pedernales was hit amidships by a single torpedo. Eight of her crew of 26 were killed.

She was full of crude, so she burned all night. She did not sink. Instead she drifted, burning, along the coast toward Palm Beach, and as she went, large charred and crumpled sections broke away and went down. The next day tugs pushed what was left ashore. At the Lago dry dock, workers cut out the ruined middle, welded the bow straight onto the stern, and fitted a temporary wheelhouse. The shortened Pedernales then sailed to Baltimore under her own power, was rebuilt, and went back to work.

So the ship left. What stayed behind are the pieces she lost: hull plates, cabins, washbasins and pipework scattered across the reef off Palm Beach, later used as a target for bombing practice. The Dutch Cultural Heritage Agency puts the remains at a maximum depth of eight or nine meters, which is why it works as an easy night dive. Eighty-odd years on, it is an artificial reef, and the turtles have the deed.

Curaçao, where the Dutch really show

Then we hopped over to Curaçao, where the Dutch influence is even more palpable. We drove the coastline, stopping to admire some mega sexy Vestas wind turbines standing on red dirt over a very blue sea. We went on a covert hike to the Blue Caves, which involved some bouldering and sunlit splendor. I tried my luck at the casino. I did not leave rich. I left richly entertained.

In Willemstad we strolled across the Queen Emma Bridge, the "Swinging Old Lady," a pedestrian bridge built in 1888 that floats on pontoons. When a ship needs to get into the harbor, the whole thing swings aside like a door, and small ferries take over carrying people across. From 1901 to 1934 it was a toll bridge, except for anyone walking barefoot, who crossed free. The pastel waterfront it connects is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We soaked in the sights and, as usual, made some more friends.

Birthday, with flamingos

We finished with two blissful days back on Aruba, and one of them was my birthday.

Jay orchestrated a heartwarming surprise: a book filled with throwback messages from family and friends. I shall keep him.

We celebrated with a magical breakfast at Flamingo Beach. Only one flamingo nipped at me, which I am choosing to count as affection. Then came more sun-soaked relaxation, an attempt at beach volleyball, some long-overdue naps, and time at the poolside bar cheering on athletes. That is where Jay called it: Julien Alfred, in the 100 meters, for Saint Lucia. She won. It was the first Olympic medal Saint Lucia had ever won, on the same day as my birthday. Jay saw it coming.

If you go

• Arikok National Park covers almost 20 percent of Aruba. There is an entrance fee, paid at the visitor center, and you need it even if you hike in to Conchi from the Daimari side. The pool can be reached on foot, on horseback, or by 4x4 or ATV; regular cars will not make it. There is no shade on the trail. Go early and take more water than seems reasonable.
• The Pedernales sits at a maximum of eight to nine meters off Palm Beach, so it suits newer divers and night dives. Book with a licensed local dive operator.
• Ayo Rock Formations are inland, near the village of Ayo. Look for the petroglyphs left by the island's earliest inhabitants, and watch where you put your hands. The cacti are not decorative.
• Flamingo Beach is on Renaissance Island, a private island belonging to the Renaissance resort in Oranjestad. Hotel guests get access. Non-guests can sometimes buy a limited day pass, but numbers are capped and availability is not guaranteed, so check with the resort before you plan around it. Flamingo Beach itself is adults-only for most of the day.
• Queen Emma Bridge in Willemstad opens several times a day. If it swings while you are on it, enjoy the ride. If it swings while you are waiting, take the free ferry.
• Learn one word. Danki is thank you. Dushi covers nearly everything else.

The detour

Relaxation is not usually our forte, but this trip was the exception, an almost perfect mix of adventure and doing nothing at all. We never made it to Venezuela. The closest we got was a night dive through the remains of a tanker built to haul its oil.

A special thank you to Ellie and Caique for sharing coconuts with our favorite furball back at home.