Five Days in Aruba: A Spontaneous Beach Vacation

May was stressful. Wyatt had trudged through his last semester of university, and I was laid off from the better-paying of my two jobs. All I knew was that I wanted to go to the beach.

After looking at our chances of making it on standby to dozens of sunny locations, we narrowed it down to four choices: Jamaica, Aruba, Puerto Rico, or Trinidad and Tobago.

Wyatt had been religiously playing a world geography game for the past week, so we chose to let the game make the final decision.

Whichever country from our list came up first while he was playing would be the country we’d leave for in three days (flying standby is fun!).

And the winner was… ARUBA! After our last trip (a crazy, tiring week in Colombia), we wanted a chill, easy VACATION.

We booked a room at Pista Q hostel for our five days in Aruba, and that was it. Unlike other trips, there was no time spent researching.

This was truly a spontaneous beach vacation. We just got on the plane and went.

As always when landing in a new country, I was uber excited to see my new passport stamp. After we’d cleared customs and were officially in Aruba, we opened our booklets. To our dismay, they had not been stamped!

This would not do, so we marched right back through to the immigration officer. Because we had already “entered” and never “exited” the country, this caused some trouble.

The officers couldn’t figure out what we wanted, and scolded us for the breach in procedure.

After much confusion and many stern looks, we were directed to a woman behind glass near the customs hall exit.

She seemed annoyed at our request, but gave us stamps anyway. They were really cool and totally worth getting in a bit of trouble!

After the immigration debacle, we looked around at the demographics in the airport. We were momentarily concerned that we’d picked a destination more suited to retirees.

Our fears were put to rest when we met an English girl about our age in the hostel. She said she’d planned on being here a week and keeps extending her stay (now going on six weeks).

You’d think that a beach vacation would start with going to the beach. However, after a long, overnight layover in the Newark airport, we were famished.

We quickly checked in with the hostel owner, a Dutch man who clearly hadn’t put on a shirt or drank anything but beer since landing on the island fifteen years ago. In a day-drunk daze, he lugged around his large, leathery gut to show us the hostel’s small pool where he spent most of his afternoons.

We figured a guy like this might have a good restaurant recommendation, and he pointed us to Bistro de Suikertuin.

Because the island is actually owned by the Netherlands (news to us), we decided to split a Dutch dinner named “Lekkerbekje” and an Aruban meal called “Keshi Yena.”

The Aruban dish turned out to be a huge bowl of greasy, melted cheese mixed with grilled chicken and peppers. This was definitely not suitable for Wyatt’s lactose intolerance, so he had the Dutch fish and chips. Consequently, I ate an entire tub of cheese with a spoon; it was DELICIOUS.

We ended our first night with a long, moonlit walk on Surfside Beach. With nothing at all to do and nowhere to be, we laid down and watched the waves awhile. Now THIS is vacation.

Our first stop for the day (and each day thereafter) was the neighborhood bodega. The shopkeeper came to know and expect us. We became regulars, buying one bottle of cheap rum and a few cartons of juice each morning.

Initially, we thought one liter of liquor would last us maybe half the trip. However, we averaged one full bottle every day! Now we were fully prepared for a day of fun in the sun.

Aruba’s entire west coast is one continuous line of beautiful beaches, and obviously we wanted to explore all of them.

After looking at our maps and reading about the different spots, we decided to start with Eagle Beach. Apparently, this is considered the number one beach in the whole Caribbean.

It looked close enough, so we set off on foot with heavy backpacks loaded with snorkel gear and yoga mats. After a hot and humid hour of wandering around neighborhoods with no sea in sight, I was getting pretty frustrated.

Finally, we emerged onto a main street and saw the ocean. It was not the beach we were going for, but it was something.

We asked a local for directions, who told us Eagle Beach was just a short jaunt down the sand. As soon as my bare feet touched that velvety sand, all my frustrations washed away.

Turns out, this was actually Manchebo Beach. Tired of walking, I decided we should hang out here for a while. It was still pretty early, and there were several open chairs and umbrellas. We claimed some, set up our hammocks, and admired the amazing blue water.

The calm moment was short-lived. Not long after we were fully set up, a grumpy middle-aged New Yorker stomped over.

He screamed at us for “stealing” his chairs as he had apparently reserved them from his resort the previous evening.

There was no indication that the equipment wasn’t up for grabs, but we didn’t want to pick a fight. We packed up our gear and meandered down the sand.

Although the walk from our hostel ended up being much longer than maps and locals had let on, we finally made it to Eagle Beach.

Much like most of the beaches on Aruba, it was clean and pretty, but very crowded and touristy.

We relaxed here for a couple hours with some frozen cocktails before heading on to Boca Catalina.

According to last night’s waitress, this is more of a local beach. Sea turtles are known to feed here in the mornings and evenings.

We aspired to snorkel and do yoga every day in Aruba, and we were stoked to jump in the water.

(P.S. We never did yoga once, even though I lugged my mat around EVERYWHERE we went).

There were no turtles that night, but the snorkeling was great!

What was not great: the absolutely horrific sunburn I got on my butt. We’re talking iridescent red here.

It was so bad that it was actually pretty funny. Although, I was pretty BUM-med that I had to wear a different swimsuit the rest of the trip.

Another bummer was that when I went to set up my new hammock, I discovered it didn’t come with rope. Luckily, there was a Walmart-like superstore (aptly named “Lucky”) close to our hostel where we were able to find cord.

The next day we visited my favorite beach of the vacation—Arashi Beach. The fantastic snorkeling and our hammock setup made for the perfect day. This is exactly what I had in mind for a beach trip. (We finally saw a sea turtle! And an eel!)

We spent a good portion of the day hanging out around Arashi Beach Shack. This cool little bar has swings overlooking the ocean and reggaeton bumping from the speakers.

The only thing I didn’t like was the massive centipede that crawled out from underneath the bar. The footlong bug nearly ran over my toe and scared me to death!

Cautiously, I braved the bar to order a bucket of local beer. We proceeded to drink that plus several of our homemade rum punches. (“Several” may actually be an understatement.)

We got so hammered that I didn’t remember being buried in the sand until I looked at my pictures later!

While I relaxed on the beach, wondering why I was coated in sand, Wyatt went to the restroom. He didn’t return for a very long time.

I was starting to get concerned when he reappeared. Turns out, he had made friends with the bathroom attendant.

With Wyatt’s broken Spanish, he learned that Naila had fled Venezuela’s harsh political climate. She hadn’t seen her family in five years.

We later heard of the terrifying fashion in which many Venezulean refugees migrate to Aruba. Families cross the dangerous, shark-infested 15-mile stretch of water between the two countries in rickety fishing boats.

They feel taking this huge risk is necessary to avoid the violence and urgent food shortages plaguing their home country.

To this day, Wyatt and Naila keep in touch.

The sunset was idyllic. We were too busy drinking rum and watching gorgeous colors dance over the waves that we accidentally missed the last bus back into town. Some locals instructed us to walk to the next beach over, where the bus comes more frequently.

We made the trek to the next bus stop and waited… and waited… and waited. It never showed up. With seemingly no other choice, we started walking back to the hostel.

After a couple miles on completely empty stomachs, we reluctantly bought an expensive taxi ride for the remaining five(!) miles.

We did eventually figure out the transportation system on Aruba, but it was not inherently easy to understand.

Wyatt and I decided to mix it up on our second to last day and check out Aruba’s sole national park. After researching for an hour or so, we discovered that the park is only accessible via a guided tour or four-wheel drive rental car, neither of which we were willing to pay for.

Instead, we went to the beach again (how disappointing— LOL). Palm Beach proved to be a great place to spend a lazy, hazy rum-fueled day.

Hundreds of tourists flock to this beach every day, and many of them feed bread to the fish. This habit makes for very curious fish which are not shy at all. When snorkeling, there were constantly large schools following us.

My irrational childhood fear of fish resurfaced as the swarm of hungry creatures surrounded me. A poisonous lionfish spotting, foggy goggles, and strong waves pushed my unease over the edge.

Panic bubbled up as I turned to swim back to the beach, but Wyatt talked me down, cleaned my mask, and held my hand as we resumed snorkeling.

Later that day, I bought a beautiful necklace pendant made from a lionfish fin to commemorate overcoming my fear of fish to have these amazing experiences exploring the underwater world.

Lionfish are a huge problem in the Caribbean. Presumably, someone dumped one from their aquarium into the sea, and it was the perfect breeding ground. They have no natural predators in this part of the world, and they are beautiful but very dangerous.

Apparently a sting from a lionfish is six hours of the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life. Luckily, many locals have taken it upon themselves to clear the waters of this invasive species.

Lionfish hunters use a flashlight and spear to find these elusive fish in the nooks and crannies of reefs. All of them have been stung more times than they can count.

The hunters don’t just throw the fish away—they eat them! Some people, like the woman I bought the necklace from, have found even more creative ways to utilize their kills.

Upcycled souvenirs are a great way to support local artisans without contributing to the world’s waste problem. Just across the street from the row of chain retail stores was a craft market.

This is where I found the necklace, and Wyatt bought a handmade “Life’s a Beach” sign repurposing driftwood and sand.

For our last day in Aruba, we wanted to get a little taste of the all-inclusive life. Every other day we’d opted to save money by buying our own groceries and rum. Today we wanted someone else to be the chef and bartender.

We bought a day tour to De Palm Island, a small strip of land barely off the coast. We had WAY too much fun on De Palm!

Determined to make the most of our $100 splurge, we fully indulged in the all-you-can-drink cocktails. We lost track at ten drinks, and had to take a power nap before noon.

Slightly more sober, we decided to hop in the warm turquoise water. The snorkeling was the best we’d seen the whole trip.

Parrot fish are my favorite (it always looks like they’re smiling!). Dozens of huge ones in every color of the rainbow surrounded us. I also saw some new fish, including a tiny, striped, electric blue fish.

The water was really rough. We were close to being thrown into coral more than once, but it was so worth it. Our drunkenness only added to the excitement.

Another activity on the island was the banana boat. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun on a tube in my life. 

We went with a big, loud New England family with thick Boston accents. Every time we spun around, a chorus of “OH MY GAAAADDD! Whip ittt!” rang out.

Next on the agenda was ziplining. Wyatt made friends with the attendants while I jumped off a thirty-foot tower above crystal blue water. 

He didn’t want to zipline, but he did want to race me down the slides in the mini water park!

We had a blast acting like kids, running under buckets dumping water, and slipping down the dozen or so waterslides.

An intriguing activity on the pamphlet was a salsa dancing lesson. It was included, so we thought “Why not?” For most of the class, we were the only two in the room. Our private lesson was almost over when an elderly couple finally joined the party. 

In my drunken mind, I thought we were picking up the moves really well. However, the instructor’s constant laughter and amused look said otherwise.

Determined to get our money’s worth, Wyatt and I stayed at the bar until it closed. What we didn’t know was that it closed after the taxi boat left.

The captain came back for us, but we and five others were left behind by the only bus back to town. Initially we were mad because the return bus ride was included in the price of the tour, but we got over it pretty quickly when we pulled out the 32-ounce water bottle overflowing with Pina Colada which the bartender had generously filled for us.

The other group called a taxi, but we decided that was too expensive. We started walking to the nearest bus stop (about a mile away). 

Suddenly, the employee Wyatt had befriended when I was ziplining drove by in a Cube. He recognized us and offered to drive us all the way back to our hostel.

This was such a kind gesture, especially because he and his girlfriend lived in the opposite direction. He didn’t ask for any money, but it felt wrong not to pay him. 

In addition to a tip, we traded our Aruban Floran coins for his American quarters (which he can’t use here). 

By missing the bus, we made two new friends! It’s funny how everything seems to work out if you let it.

Well, maybe not everything. The connecting flight from Chicago to Boise was so empty that we got confirmed first class seats hours before departure.

(We knew this by keeping up on our boarding pass app).

However, the flight from Aruba to Chicago was delayed. We missed the connection and had to go to Denver to catch a morning flight. After a cold night sleeping on the floor of the airport, we couldn’t wait to get home.

As happens often when flying standby, a flight that looks wide open can completely fill up overnight. This was exactly the case with our flight. One of us could get a seat and someone had to stay.

Wyatt had to work in the afternoon, so he took that first morning flight. I was left alone to find another way home (I didn’t work until the following morning).

It was a crazy stressful day. I got my cardio in sprinting from gate to gate trying to decide which flights to get on.

The pivotal moment of the day came when there was a flight to Boise and one to San Francisco boarding at the same time at gates half a mile apart. I could easily get a seat to SFO and a connection to BOI, but obviously I preferred to fly direct.

The flight to Boise was not promising, so I chose San Francisco. After getting my seat assignment, I waited until literally everyone else had boarded. I still couldn’t make up my mind about trying for the direct flight.

I scanned my boarding pass, started to walk down the jet bridge, then turned right back around and sprinted to the gate boarding for Boise. Something about that San Francisco flight just didn’t feel right to me. By some miracle (none of the other standbys showed up!), I made it on the direct flight home.

I found out later that every single flight from San Francisco to Boise ended up being canceled that day. I don’t know what stopped me from getting on that airplane, but again, everything worked out.

One day of stressful flying could never dampen the joy and relaxation of a week-long beach vacation. Aruba really is “One Happy Island!”