Bonaire
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What changed our minds about making this trip? Clearly that same
“TWSBAA” syndrome mentioned above. At one point during this
ordeal, the boys clearly heard Steve, wrestling with the wheel during
his watch, scream out “Screw the Volvo, I want a TransAm,” although
he strenuously denies this.
In actuality, this sail was slightly less onerous than the pre-Aruba trek;
we covered the 110 miles (as the crow flies, not as Dakota Rose
sailed) between Aruba and Bonaire in about 27 hours, tying up to a
mooring off the embarcadero in Kralendijk a few minutes after noon
on Saturday, 17 November.
We won’t put ourselves through this ever again, though; although, in
retrospect, it really wasn’t that bad, after all.
Our families arrived at about 0530 on Sunday morning after an overnight
Continental flight from Newark; after sleeping in until 0900 we taxied over
to the beachfront house we’d rented to meet up with them … imagine our
surprise to find them all asleep! The house, located in the Hamlet Village
development a few miles north of Kralendijk, was fantastic: five
bedrooms, stairs down to the beach where we snorkeled and scuba
dived (dove?) right under our deck, a dive shop only 50 yards from our
front door. The only problem we had was that we found ourselves with
almost too many options for recreation: “To snorkel, or not to snorkel, that
is the question?”
The darndest thing happened ... we'd reserved two cars from Avis
for the week ... but, imagine our families' surprise when, upon their
arrival in Bonaire, they were told that all Avis had available was a
pair of mismatched roller skates!
for the week ... but, imagine our families' surprise when, upon their
arrival in Bonaire, they were told that all Avis had available was a
pair of mismatched roller skates!
Shore diving off the beach in
back of our rental house
back of our rental house
Maddy was a champ at windsurfing
We're not sure who this guy Sinterklass is, but he
arrived in Kralendijk by boat the Saturday after
Thanksgiving looking awfully familiar!
arrived in Kralendijk by boat the Saturday after
Thanksgiving looking awfully familiar!
Rough water sailing and childbirth seemingly have something in common. Anyone in the
throes of labor, or immediately thereafter, would swear that she’s never going to put herself
through the experience again; and yet we routinely see families with multiple children (except,
of course, in China, where they must have either longer memories or less tolerance for pain).
Clearly some sort of retrospective “that-wasn’t-so-bad-after-all,” short-term-memory-block
psychological syndrome is at work. Similarly, about 24 hours into our 30 hour bash into the
trade winds to reach Aruba, undertaking what is widely considered to be the worst sail in the
Caribbean, we swore that we would not repeat the experience between Aruba and Curacao,
en route to Bonaire, reportedly the second-worst sail; we all agreed that we’d leave Dakota
Rose in Aruba and fly to Bonaire to meet our families, returning at the end of Thanksgiving
week to depart from Aruba bound for Puerto Rico.
And yet, there we were, a mere six days after our resolution: once again tacking through 25
knot trade winds and bashing into 6 to 8 foot seas, without benefit of an epidural, struggling to
cross the 60-odd miles between the southeastern point of Aruba and the northern point of
Curacao, at which point we hope to be able to benefit from the lee effect of that island for a
long tack southeast, before turning northeast again for the final 30 mile slam to the northern tip
of Bonaire.
throes of labor, or immediately thereafter, would swear that she’s never going to put herself
through the experience again; and yet we routinely see families with multiple children (except,
of course, in China, where they must have either longer memories or less tolerance for pain).
Clearly some sort of retrospective “that-wasn’t-so-bad-after-all,” short-term-memory-block
psychological syndrome is at work. Similarly, about 24 hours into our 30 hour bash into the
trade winds to reach Aruba, undertaking what is widely considered to be the worst sail in the
Caribbean, we swore that we would not repeat the experience between Aruba and Curacao,
en route to Bonaire, reportedly the second-worst sail; we all agreed that we’d leave Dakota
Rose in Aruba and fly to Bonaire to meet our families, returning at the end of Thanksgiving
week to depart from Aruba bound for Puerto Rico.
And yet, there we were, a mere six days after our resolution: once again tacking through 25
knot trade winds and bashing into 6 to 8 foot seas, without benefit of an epidural, struggling to
cross the 60-odd miles between the southeastern point of Aruba and the northern point of
Curacao, at which point we hope to be able to benefit from the lee effect of that island for a
long tack southeast, before turning northeast again for the final 30 mile slam to the northern tip
of Bonaire.
Touring the island
The original lighthouse at the
northern tip of Bonaire
northern tip of Bonaire
Maddy takes a turn at the wheel of the jeep
... but, we made do
| Accompanied by a bevy of the oddest looking elves |
| We rented a pair of jeeps and spent an afternoon off-roading through the national park on the north end of the island |
| Some scenes from Kralendijk, the shopping district and the mooring field along the waterfront |
Mere words cannot begin to convey the overwhelmingly
massive ugliness of the cruise ship moored among the
sailboats ... visible for miles, hulking above the quaint
waterfront buildings ... and the passengers waddling about
ashore certainly did nothing to abate the aesthetic assault
on the island
massive ugliness of the cruise ship moored among the
sailboats ... visible for miles, hulking above the quaint
waterfront buildings ... and the passengers waddling about
ashore certainly did nothing to abate the aesthetic assault
on the island
| Salt manufacture has been a major industry on the island since the 16th century, and the mountains of sea salt are the first feature sighted when approaching by sea from the south |
| The consistent trade winds blowing across the island support some unusual sports |
| Our only complaint about Bonaire: this island has more mosquitoes than any other place we've stopped so far on our journey. It must have something to do with the thousands of acres of brackish marsh on the island; an aggressive swamp draining program certainly seems in order. And, they're a weird, fetishistic breed of mosquito, seeming to prefer biting us on our feet! A flock has infiltrated Dakota Rose, plaguing us on our voyage to Puerto Rico ... we hope that we can hunt them down and eradicate them before introducing this exotic species throughout the Caribbean. If only we could borrow Dick Cheney for a couple days. |