Chris and I stepped off the ship, and I’ll be honest — I had an expectation.
In my head, Aruba was going to feel like St. Martin. Or St. Thomas. Or any of the other lush Caribbean islands we’ve visited.
Palm trees. Bright green hills. That tropical, humid Caribbean vibe. That is not what we stepped into. Instead, Aruba felt… desolate. Dry. Wide open. Covered in cactus and what looked like dead grass stretching across the landscape.
This wasn’t tropical jungle. It was desert.
At first, I felt a little disappointed. This wasn’t the postcard I had imagined. But the longer we drove, the more I realized this island wasn’t trying to be anything else. It was rugged. Wind-blown. Sun-scorched. And unapologetically itself. The first thing we did once we got off the ship was rent a car. Chris was on a mission.
Sixteen and a half years ago, when he first came to Aruba, he stayed in an Airbnb condo right on the water. Naturally, he wanted to take me there — to show me his version of Aruba. Only… it wasn’t there anymore. Well the frame work was there, but the building looked destroyed. It looked like they were rebuilding it, but whatever memories he had tied to that place now sit on a construction site. There was something symbolic about that. Time doesn’t preserve everything the way we think it will.
From there, we stopped at a very small beach. We kicked off our shoes and put our feet in the water. It was nice. Peaceful. Next, he took me to see a tiny yellow church in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
And when I say nowhere, I mean nowhere. No grocery stores. No shopping centers. No strip malls. None of the things we’re used to seeing as people who live in cities. It felt like Arizona had been dropped in the middle of the ocean.
This little yellow church could maybe hold 50 people. Off to the side, a man was selling small prayer candles out of a converted school bus. People would buy a candle and quietly carry it inside to light for someone they loved. A small rock wall surrounded the church with clear expectations:
Dress appropriately.
Do not show skin.
Be quiet.
Respect the space.
And people did. No loud conversations. No phones out filming. Visitors would walk in, take a photo if they wished, and leave — often without saying more than a word or two. It was refreshing to see that kind of reverence.
After the church, we drove into Arikok National Park, which makes up about 20% of Aruba’s land space. Considering Aruba is only about 20 miles long and 10 miles wide, that’s a massive portion of the island.
We paid $22 per person to enter and grabbed lunch before heading deeper in. A local woman was selling “toasties,” which are essentially paninis — two slices of bread with filling pressed hot in a sandwich press. Simple, warm, and perfect before exploring the desert.
As we drove, I started noticing goats. Not a few goats. A lot of goats. At least 2 or 3 hundred of them — babies and adults — blending into the tan desert landscape. Chris explained that the dense briar-like patches of brush we were seeing — the ones that looked like tunnels — are where the goats sleep and cool off after spending the day navigating cactus and dry terrain.
It reminded me of the old Briar Rabbit story from when I was a kid.
The landscape was harsh. Cactus everywhere — tall tree-like cactus, round bush-like cactus, tiny rock-sized cactus with bright red tops. It looked like it hadn’t rained in years. And then the land gave way to something breathtaking. Words cannot allow you to vision how beautiful this was. Massive rock ledges overlooking the ocean.
This is where Aruba finally stunned me. The water wasn’t just blue.
It was that deep, rich, almost electric blue — the kind that looks fake. The only comparison I could think of?
Toilet bowl cleaner. Yes. That bold, glowing, unapologetically blue. But alive. When the waves crashed against the rocks, flashes of emerald green appeared — that perfect mix of yellow sunlight and blue water curling into sea-glass green before crashing down again. It wasn’t one color. It was layers.
We stood on those ledges watching the waves slam into the cliffs, spraying water high into the air. To get closer, we walked down carved stone steps to the white sand below — sand dotted with brown seaweed from the tide.
I kicked off my shoes and stood barefoot in the water. And yes, when you step back into the sand afterward, your feet are instantly covered. Still worth it.
The park also had two caves that Chris remembered from his first visit. Years ago, they held indigenous writing inside.
Now, alongside those markings, were modern names — scratched love notes and signatures covering something that once felt sacred.
It was disappointing.
After the ocean, we continued driving. We saw ten massive wind turbines towering over the desert landscape — the first time I’d ever stood that close to one. Many of the goats were gathered around that area, likely enjoying the slightly cooler space. And we drove.
From 9:00 a.m. until about 5:30 p.m. when we finally returned to the ship. If I’m being honest? It was exhausting. And in a strange way… a little boring.
Not because it wasn’t interesting.
Not because I didn’t see things I’ve never seen before.
But because it was so desolate. So wide open. So dry.
It’s not something I would choose to do again. Chris was excited at first — revisiting memories from sixteen years ago. But as he realized how much had changed, how much didn’t look the same, his demeanor shifted.
By the end of the day, we were both ready to head back to the ship and just absorb it all.
Aruba surprised me.
It wasn’t lush.
It wasn’t tropical in the way I imagined.
It wasn’t a repeat destination for me.
But it was rugged.
It was honest.
It was wild in the water and dry in the land.
And it was ours for eight full hours.
We had dinner in the Windjammer and went back to our room to change. Both being as tired as we were, 8:30pm came around and so did my bedtime. I was exhausted from the day.
Until tomorrow
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