We woke up in the harbor of Bonaire — and shortly it was obvious: Bonaire was everything Aruba was missing, and then some. A tiny, wonderful island with only two towns, and even the bigger one was delightfully small. Super laid-back, easy to walk, and ridiculously cute.
Scooter? Of course we had one booked. Ten minutes later we had the keys, a suggested route, and absolutely no reason to stay put. Off we went.
The very first thing we noticed were the fences. Or rather… cactus fences. Entire gardens made out of cacti. Not decorative cacti. Defensive cacti. These people clearly do not enjoy unexpected visitors. Possibly Estonian. Or at least spiritually aligned.
Along the roads, donkeys casually strolled around like they owned the place (they probably do), and wherever there was even a hint of water, pelicans were hanging out.
We made a short stop at a surfing beach before heading to the slave huts. The first ones were bright red — okay, technically orange — sitting along the shoreline like someone’s very misguided idea of a luxury resort. Each hut had a tiny window hole and an even tinier doorway. I personally fit inside only by crawling. You could sit inside, but standing was absolutely not an option. Comfort was clearly not part of the original design brief.
A little further down the coast were the old slave huts — identical in shape, just painted white instead. Same tiny openings, same brutal reminder of history, same surreal beachside setting.
Next stop: the pink salt flats. Against the pale blue sky, the colors were unreal — like someone had turned the saturation up too high. Huge salt crystals were scattered around, and of course, we took some.
We also visited 1,000 Steps Beach (which, thankfully, is a lie, there are 77 steps only), and after that it was time to return the scooter in town.
Our very first stop after returning it was directly across the street — an artisan bakery and café. There, we scored an unbelievable sourdough pistachio pastry. It tasted like a buttery rose from the 90s. Easily one of the best pastries we've been eating on the trip.
We wandered around town, sat in cafés, soaked in the slow pace, and eventually walked back to the ship. We squeezed in a bit of exercise (to emotionally prepare for dinner), and at 8 p.m. ended the day with pasta at an Italian restaurant.
Scooter? Of course we had one booked. Ten minutes later we had the keys, a suggested route, and absolutely no reason to stay put. Off we went.
The very first thing we noticed were the fences. Or rather… cactus fences. Entire gardens made out of cacti. Not decorative cacti. Defensive cacti. These people clearly do not enjoy unexpected visitors. Possibly Estonian. Or at least spiritually aligned.
Along the roads, donkeys casually strolled around like they owned the place (they probably do), and wherever there was even a hint of water, pelicans were hanging out.
We made a short stop at a surfing beach before heading to the slave huts. The first ones were bright red — okay, technically orange — sitting along the shoreline like someone’s very misguided idea of a luxury resort. Each hut had a tiny window hole and an even tinier doorway. I personally fit inside only by crawling. You could sit inside, but standing was absolutely not an option. Comfort was clearly not part of the original design brief.
A little further down the coast were the old slave huts — identical in shape, just painted white instead. Same tiny openings, same brutal reminder of history, same surreal beachside setting.
Next stop: the pink salt flats. Against the pale blue sky, the colors were unreal — like someone had turned the saturation up too high. Huge salt crystals were scattered around, and of course, we took some.
We also visited 1,000 Steps Beach (which, thankfully, is a lie, there are 77 steps only), and after that it was time to return the scooter in town.
Our very first stop after returning it was directly across the street — an artisan bakery and café. There, we scored an unbelievable sourdough pistachio pastry. It tasted like a buttery rose from the 90s. Easily one of the best pastries we've been eating on the trip.
We wandered around town, sat in cafés, soaked in the slow pace, and eventually walked back to the ship. We squeezed in a bit of exercise (to emotionally prepare for dinner), and at 8 p.m. ended the day with pasta at an Italian restaurant.
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