The main gripe heard here is how Curaçao, the largest of the six, ends up paying for all the others (it’s probably a little more complicated than that, but that is what one hears time and time again from the grumblers), especially in the years since Aruba became an autonomous province still linked to the parent country, The Netherlands, but not to the other five. As of this October, Curaçao will copy this administrational formulation, leaving the bills for the remaining four very small islands on the far larger lap of Holland.
The island’s built-up area is in the middle, around capital Willemstad, and there can be traffic. For peace, tranquility and flavor, head to its far southeastern and northwestern tips (the island is tilted, so that its westernmost and northernmost points and, likewise, its easternmost and southernmost points are very close to each another).
Southeastern Curaçao—Curaçao comprises two islands, Curaçao itself and Klein, or Little, Curaçao, a sliver that it is possible to amble around in a very, very slow hour. One person owns all the eastern portion of the “mainland” island, which remains unsullied and results in Klein Curaçao being unsullied, too. To get to Klein Curaçao, passage on a boat is needed from any of the harbors and inland bays closer to Willemstad. I caught one organized by Ocean Encounters (oceanencounters.com), the diving outfitters affiliated with the 350-room Hyatt Regency Curaçao (curacao.hyatt.com), which opened on the formerly empty Santa Barbara Beach, east of Willemstad, in April, with two restaurants and a large spa. Our two-deck boat had space for approximately 40 people and was fairly stable, but if you suffer from seasickness, you might remember to pack the Dramamine, as the channel between Curaçao and Klein Curaçao, like many channels all over the world, can be choppy. Usually is it possible to unfurl the sails in one direction, which provides for a slightly more comfortable crossing. It took us two hours to get there.
Klein Curaçao has no permanent houses, merely a small row of fishermen’s shacks. Some are in ruins, even though one still sported a framed painting on a tatty wall open to the elements. No fishermen were around, although maybe they had already finished for the day. A couple of shelters have been built for the sun-lovers, snorkelers and scuba-divers who come here. The scuba-diving is drift-diving along the island’s reef with one diver towing a surface buoy so that the boat captain can keep an eye on the position of the submerged. There are two interesting things on the island. A ruined lighthouse, with a red roof and peeling dusty-rose walls, was built in 1850 and again in 1879 and 1913, which might be testament to the winds and storm surges hereabouts, though Curaçao officially is outside the hurricane belt (Hurricane Omar brushed it in 2008). This really is a desert island, with pure water, views of only sea to every direction and abandoned buildings that suggest, quite reassuringly, that not every speck on earth is meant for habitation. The white beaches and cerulean sea evoke gasps of happiness.
Northwestern Curaçao—The area around Dorp Westpunt seems tailor-made to assist relaxation. Its beaches—Forti, Grote (Large) Knip, Kleine (Small) Knip, Jeremi and Lagun—are pocket handkerchief-size strands wedged between coral coasts that reveal amazing snorkeling yards from the shore. If you had not enough imagination to realize the forces of nature over millennia, you would swear that the tourism bureau had cut these minute playgrounds right into the coastline every mile or so for the express benefit of tourists. Usually at each beach are a small concession shack and five or six upturned rowboats. Wake up early enough and you might have one of these beaches to yourself. My base was the Lodge at Hura Kolanda (kurahulanda.com), close to the spot called Nordpunt, or North Point.
The hotel has 74 accommodation units in either rooms or suites that all sit on a bluff with private patios. Thatch-roof and waterside bars and restaurants lend the requisite tropical feel, and steps lead down to Kalki beach (its stony composition helps make for clearer water) and the dive shop affiliated with the property. Even if you do not scuba-dive, visit Ocean Encounters West (oceanencounterswest.com), which has the nicest diving set-up I have seen, with its own bar-restaurant right by the pier that allows divers to avoid having to be away from the action. It can also take you to the amazing Blue Cave, where snorkelers swim beneath a ridge that clears heads by less than a foot into a cavern where, bobbing on the surface or with mask submerged, awaits a glorious subterranean world of dancing, blue-white light and, if lucky, as I was, large lobster and gorgeous drumfish.
A drier world awaits at the nearby Shete Boka National Park. (“Shete Boka” is an interesting introduction into the world of Papiamento, the language spoken in Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao, as well as Sint Eustatius, a combination of Portuguese, Arawak, English and Dutch. I speak Spanish to some degree, and as I was told the name Sheke Boka means “Seven Mouths,” I can quite easily see the Spanish words “siete” and “boca” and (I’ve looked this up) the Portuguese words “sete” and “boca.”) There are seven mouths here, but the northern coast, literally right around the corner from Dorp Westpunt, is not for swimming, the waves crashing through eroded, rocky inlets with the occasional blowhole. Up on the arid shelf are views of cacti, thorn scrub and Curaçao’s highest point, Mount Christoffel, which rises 1,230 feet.
A couple of other local spots should be sought out. The first is St. Peter’s, the church in Dorp Westpunt, that has a painting on it of St. Peter holding an oar, which caused me to do a double take when I drove by it, while the second is Jaanchie’s a restaurant that is notable for bird feeders (outside) that attract Yellow orioles, Troupials—colored orange and black—Rufous-collared sparrows and strange-looking Bare-eyed pigeons, the black circles around their eyes reminding me of old Hanna-Barbera Tom & Jerry cartoons in which hapless Tom is tricked by wily Jerry into looking through an ink-stained telescope. The restaurant is also colorful, and a whole afternoon spent here is an afternoon not wasted. The food has received mixed reviews, but I loved the conch, a usually tough dish that here is very tasty. The shrimps looked like the frozen kind, however, and if you choose the iguana (yes, it tastes like chicken) as a soup or a main dish, you will undoubtedly be rewarded with a visit from the restaurateur himself who will explain with a wink in his eye it supposed aphrodisiacal qualities. (They do not serve keshi yená at Jaanchie’s, but if you can find it, choose it. Literally translated as “stuffed cheese,” this dish has its origins in the days of slavery, when the slave owners would import Dutch cheeses and leave to their slaves only the rinds. The slaves would secretly reheat the rinds, which still contained a little cheese, and fill them with whatever was on hand. Today only a small handful of restaurants prepare this dish, and the recipe has been updated for more civilized times, most notably in that the filling is wrapped in larger amounts of cheese, which also now is soft. I ate a curry-flavored one at the Restaurant & Cafe Gouverneur De Rouville, which is on the Otrabanda side of Willemstad and looks out at the city’s famous riverfront, filled with chicken and vegetables. Here is a recipe—kuminda.com/viewrecipe.php?id=1051952295.)
