Bonaire and Aruba

Oops, I meant to post something every week, but I now see I’ve skipped one. That’s partly because I’m sailing familiar waters – after the first Covid lockdown I spent 3 months in Aruba and 3 months in Bonaire – but also because things got pretty busy with “landlubbers” on board.

Back to the beginning: we arrived safely in Bonaire without noticing any tension whatsoever. No fighter jets screaming past at low altitude or anything like that. And the Royal Netherlands Navy guard ship was lying comfortably alongside the quay in Bonaire, which I’m sure they wouldn’t do if there was any trouble brewing.

So we were back on the mooring field. It works like this: you motor up to a double buoy and then you have to somehow get a line of your own through each of the two buoys. That didn’t go entirely smoothly, partly because I’d understood from Abbie that he had been a sailor. He turned out to be one without any stripes; my fault – I should have asked more questions. On the second attempt Arnold managed to get the first line on board, and after that the second one went fine too. It took a while, but we were moored. The price went up from $10 USD to $35 USD a few years ago, so I was surprised there were still so many boats. On closer inspection that turned out to be because there are now a lot more local boats and fewer mooring buoys.

The days after that we took it easy. Abbie had hurt his shoulder when the boat lurched at sea and threw him against a bulkhead. He really wanted to go diving, but sadly that wasn’t on the cards. He was so keen to help that he announced he would take care of everything galley-related. Arnold and I didn’t need to be told twice! Later it turned out he partly interpreted that the way we do at home when we say “Dad’s cooking”: we went out to eat!

Arnold went swimming here too, and that says something, because at some point he picked up a fear of sharks. An irrational fear, and he knows it, but there you are. Fortunately the water in Bonaire was so clear that even with his poor eyesight he could convince his brain there was nothing there. Just as well, because it was the usual 27 degrees when overcast and 30 degrees when the sun was out (mostly the latter at first). After that it was already time for him to fly home. Arnold and flying back from the ABC islands just don’t seem to mix. I had booked him a full-price business class ticket with KLM for Sunday evening. Alas, because of the bad weather in the Netherlands (snow and cold) the scheduled aircraft wasn’t available and he was downgraded to economy. You can get the fare difference refunded, but he simply doesn’t fit in an economy seat. Like so many companies these days, getting an actual human on the line is tricky, and other channels like Business WhatsApp simply don’t respond, other than with a chatbot that can’t do anything either. Luckily Abbie still had a Platinum account left over from 20 years of working abroad, and the lady at the helpdesk swiftly rebooked him for a day later. By then we’d also just snagged the last rental car on the island, so dropping him off was a lot easier too.

So with Arnold and Abbie we had one more day to tour the island, and I showed them the highlights of Bonaire: straight north from Kralendijk, past the expensive houses of the newly arrived Dutch, past the best-known snorkel and dive sites, past the lake in the national park where we spotted flamingos, past the old village of Rincon, down the east coast back to Kralendijk and then a loop around the south: lunch at Sorobon, where the (wing and regular) surfers whizz back and forth across the lagoon right in front of you, then past the salt flats and back up the coast past the kitesurfers and via the airport back to Kralendijk.

Unfortunately the social scene among the sailors was almost non-existent; apparently few people knew each other and few had met. Outside a marina that’s easy to tell by looking at where the dinghies are tied up. I only (re)met one person, Wolfgang. He’s been stuck here ever since I met him together with Uli back in 2020. Bought an apartment, forgot to sell the boat when prices were high after Covid, and now he’s sort of “stuck” here. No desire to sail on solo, and life on these islands is very pleasant. But I’d go mad on such a tiny island.

After a few days with just Abbie on board, his wife Brigitte joined us. I did know she wasn’t familiar with sailing. No problem, as long as you know. I had allocated them the aft cabin, but Abbie found it a bit cramped for two, so he slept on the settee instead. After a first miserable night because of his sore shoulder he turned around the other way and then it was fine. The day after Brigitte arrived, the three of us went to eat at Brassboer, the restaurant founded by the late Jonnie Boer. The food was superb, the service charming but at trainee level (one of them talked about “brewing” wine!). Plenty of wine with the meal, though, so the rest of the day was once again taken easy: a bit of swimming and snorkelling off the boat. That’s the nice thing about Bonaire, you can do that straight off the boat. Sadly there were far fewer fish than six years ago.

Because Brigitte was afraid of getting seasick, Abbie and I had come up with the plan to leave early in the morning for Aruba. I wanted to stay there a bit longer for maintenance; the antifouling needs touching up, and that can be done nicely at Varadero Aruba, where Merrimac sat out the first Covid period. But it was a 12 to 13 hour passage, and there are only so many hours of daylight. So on Monday I went to bed at seven in the evening and at midnight I cast off. Sent Abbie straight back to bed, because he needed to sleep so he could take over from me later. At 5 o’clock we were south of Curaçao and could gybe. That comes with the sound of rattling winches, so our guests woke up all by themselves. Brigitte stayed clipped on in the cockpit and Abbie took over the watch. Because this is a much busier and more complicated area than the open ocean, I stayed “resting” in the deckhouse, half asleep. Ideal, because then you can pop your head up for a few seconds to keep an eye on crossing tankers and cruise ships.

Around one in the afternoon, in glorious weather, we had passed along the south side of Aruba and arrived without any seasickness. It was another lovely downwind sail with the jib poled out to windward. See the video. Cleared in quickly and very pleasantly. It is remarkable, though, that just like on Bonaire, customs can actually do something with the data I submit electronically via Sailclear, but the Marechaussee (border police) can’t. They simply ask for all the data again. Fortunately you’re allowed to fill it in on a PC in their (air-conditioned) little office. When mooring up and leaving we were kindly helped by two Venezuelan sailors who were waiting for their ship full of Venezuelan fruit and vegetables to be unloaded. Sadly I didn’t take any photos; it was fascinating to see how, out of sight of the tourists, piles of gorgeous fresh produce come into the country.

At the anchorage between Oranjestad and the airport, Paardenbaai, Stefan of the Intrepid Bear was asleep in his hammock. I thought I’d surprise him, but he already knew via Uli that I was coming. Then happy hour ashore, where Ingolf and Enrita were already waiting for us. I thought I could surprise them too, but they also already knew Merrimac was coming. Ingolf had even spotted us during the check-in procedure, because his concrete plant is right there. It was just like old times, great fun, rounded off with a nice dinner at the Westdeck.

The next day was Abbie and Brigitte’s last on board; as landlubbers, an apartment on terra firma was just a little too tempting. To make the most of it, I’d planned to show them the tourist area on the west side of the island: beautiful sandy beaches and low-rise hotels for the Europeans, and wild water sports like jet skis, parasailing and “high-rise” hotels for the Americans, with public beaches in between. Nice to see again, but then back to Paardenbaai, where the bars are touristy too, but not quite so over the top. An hour and a half motoring up there, and 30 minutes back under jib alone.

Yesterday I first did some work, nice and quiet alone on board, then picked up Stefan and we went to catch up at Varadero, got petrol for the dinghy and had a look at another dinghy for Stefan/me (no good). Then in the evening ashore, where Stefan’s truly adorable five-month-old puppy Dolly immediately struck up a conversation with a local dog. It belonged to two locals, so we joined them and had a lovely chat. When they left, a couple from another German catamaran joined us, so it turned into a fun evening again. What does stand out is that the Germans are all negative about the situation in Germany, even more so than the Dutch are about the Netherlands. And when you hear their examples, we really don’t have it so bad in the Netherlands.

Tomorrow, hopefully (because Brigitte reports she’s feeling queasy), brunch at a nice restaurant on one of those posh beaches. On Tuesday they fly home again. The next crew has been ordered for the end of this month, and next week the boat gets hauled out for antifouling. Until next time!