Capture the Wild

For this writing challenge, adventure ended up finding me in a beautiful gem of an island called Curaçao.

National Geographic 4k images always fascinated me, you wonder; those artists and photographers don’t panic, they go out there with camera in hand, and witness some of the most beautiful natural phenomena in some hidden gem of a locale that only Walter Mitty would imagine on one of his daydreams, and for an extraordinary journal no less, and it’s totally worth the money.

Upon arriving, we had chosen to be self-sufficient and rent a car. Driving in another country, I felt like James Bond until the locals kindly but stringently rushed past me on a road that seemed to never indicate a speed limit, "well, gotta live dangerously", I muttered, continuing to drive like an Armenian grandma.

"This road and these views remind me of the older roads like in Armenia!!" I cried out in awe; nostalgia swept past me in a flurry until Serge rolled his eyes.

Hens were clucking, walking freely near colorful and vivacious Netherlands style homes (did I mention Curaçao is actually part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands?), stray dogs sunbathed while cars carefully swerved to avoid hitting them, and there was a plethora of outside dining and beautiful ocean views where locals could enjoy the outside music and watch while glistening waves danced in the sunlight.

The hotel we chose turned out to be the King and Queen's favorite hotel in Curaçao, as a handsome Netherland traveler pointed out while his boyfriend proceeded to take a picture of the large painting of the royal couple hanging on the wall. An Avila Beach Hotel employee welcomed us with a big happy smile and gave us the sweetest most natural fresh squeezed mango juice I have ever had. The refreshing taste lingered with me through the day as we unpacked.

The locals have a solid command of the English language, as well as Spanish, Portuguese, Papiamento, and Dutch. Wow! Puts my 6 languages to shame, they are born with all these options that they pick up right away.

The traditional touristy destinations are jam packed with people, but Curaçao locales brushed aside all fears of claustrophobia. Locals walked to work, palm trees blew in the wind, as a handful of tourists (us included) traversed the empty well-lit paths on our way to one of the gorgeous outside restaurants embellished with an abundance of green space, lanterns, vintage chairs, and connoisseurs who freely smoke cigars with their cognac straight. And yes, we ventured to do the same, and took pictures because... adulting...

Now the real clincher; we started off with a unique adventure that most islands DO NOT offer- a marvel called Aquafari. We did this first because you cannot fly soon after this kind of immersive experience deep in the water.

As we arrived at an empty but beautiful restaurant overlooking the Sea, adjoining the Aquafari agency, we were met warmly by two members who walked us through the inner machinations of the instrument which would propel us at least 10 feet deep into the ocean and allow us to "ride" it like a motorbike as we examined the views like as though we were real divers. We outfitted properly, and entered the water as the diver carried the two submersible scooters (or water carriages as I came to call them) further and further from the beach, and, after establishing what the sign language would be for us to communicate under the water, then he indicated that we needed to slither into the machine head first until we were comfortably seated and until the balloon ensuring our heads would not be covered with water was inflating.

Crystal clear blue and turquoise water allowed us to peer into the rich thriving sea life, and the deeper we went, the more my ears felt it. I got even more nervous, readying my sign language to tell him that I changed my mind and that was it. "This is your one and only chance!" I reminded myself with an admonishing tone. Turquoise became dark blue until I literally watched the shallow end become bottomless! I calmed myself as I steered to the bottomless pit of blue that kept appearing on the far-right side of our path, "if you can drive in Philly, you can drive in this ocean." He navigated the ocean like Aquaman had been coaching him for years, until we encountered an old, almost 1700s or 1800s large ship from whence I imagine drunk sailors daintily threw out their empty whiskey bottles (which by the way were also expertly spread out around the ship).

The diver took out a handful of food which he allowed us to feed to the multitude schools of fish surrounding us.

As the schools of fish made us their new best friends and followed our water scooters for the rest of the trip, we encountered strange things such as brain-shaped creatures resting near the ocean floor called brain coral (neuroscience geeks, calm yourselves), sponges and other cone shaped things including fluffy tube worms or sea worms that closed up immediately to the touch. Yes, overcome with fascination, I forgot my penchant for a large variety of phobias and touched those things resting on whatever old wreckage was laying around. They immediately reacted, it was amazing!

The underwater journey came to a close and euphoria washed over me as I profusely thanked the gentleman who took care of us through the journey, and even offered to take photos and videos using our small underwater camera, hence the snippets of pictures I extracted from video footage.

The very next day, designated driver-extraordinaire (yours truly) rented jet skis which we would ride to a hidden cove and snorkel there. A kind older man who is originally from the US, and a young guy from the Netherlands accompanied us on their jet ski and reviewed the safety rules.

I pushed myself to ride the jet ski first and, this coming from a woman who doesn’t even ride a bike, every cool scene from every ocean movie came to mind, so I sped up and then sped up some more, adrenaline coursed through my veins as I felt the waves hurl us across more and sometimes higher waves leading to a sputtering jerky set of jumps, because I wasn't steadily hitting the gas, until more waves propelled us high and with a large "thud" we jumped back down on more waves. Serge was elated, I squealed and cried out in what one may call, excitement yet terror, while the young Netherlands dude showed me a thumbs up, and the elderly man brought us to a slow stop as we had finally reached the faraway cove.

We sat on the jet ski relaxing after the ride, he proudly blurted out, "You can driiive!" to which I casually smiled, and then gathered the courage to question the man in Spanish (his accent gave him away) about his life to which he reacted with utmost grace and told us a heart wrenching tale as such: He had gone on vacation from the US to Curaçao at the start of the pandemic, then with the shutdowns he had no money to return to his hometown in the US and remained in Curaçao to scrape and save while earning enough to get back to his family and his job as a boat mechanic. His many attempts at traveling out notwithstanding, he was still low on cash given the continuing pandemic and low tourism, so he was starting over possibly for another year. He possessed a subtle charm and formidable hope and strength as he described his struggles and plans. All in all, I don't have any pictures of me on the jet ski obviously but just this. Not to sound too millennial, but it was AWESOME.

The cove we reached with our jet skis harbored a sunken little tugboat from some faraway date that I don't remember and saw adorable creatures buzzing about the boat ensuring it is a cozy home.

We took our snorkeling gear to like every beach we could get to after this. Beautiful beaches are the ones 40 minutes away from the main hotels, good places are Kokomo, Mambo, Cas Abou. I will certainly try diving in the future.

We spent the next two days driving around the island and exploring all neighborhoods, and then bar/restaurant hopping and exploring local food. Serge's sweet tooth drove him to try literally every sweet fruity drink in Curaçao as well as a much beloved flan called Quesillo, while I met an incredible Venezuelan guy in a cozy outside-dining restaurant called Mistral Bistro; overhead lights glistened as couples cozied up in the dimly lit warm ensemble of lights and vibrant architecture, flowers adorned the outline of this eatery, while familiar 90's Latin music encapsulated the mood of the restaurant. He presented us with the menus and returned with a curious smile wondering what language we were speaking in, to which I aptly replied, "He is Russian and I am Armenian, we are from the US." He was taken aback for a moment but much to my surprise, he said, "Oh my God, I am so fascinated by countries in the Caucus, such as Armenia and Georgia, I always wanted to visit." Hiding my shock, since many people barely recognize where Armenia is, I felt my Cheshire cat smile widening as I proceeded to ask him more about his life and how he came to know Armenia/Armenians. His excitement about my country was so heartwarming and sincere, I thought I was going to shed a tear at the thought of the beauty of the globalized world where Venezuelan travelers think of Armenians as unique and deem it worth exploring our magnificent mountainous terrain, while I, as an Armenian woman, have fallen in love with the Spanish language and have enjoyed exploring Latin American countries' cultural customs, food, music, and speaking with people from there. This place stood out given its warm and welcoming ambiance and amazing team.

Subsequent sites we wandered into offered more opportunities for me to be nosy, learning a few life stories and perspectives from visitors and staycationers all over the world including Italy, Netherlands, Venezuela, Colombia, Cuba. One restaurant brought a singer/performer with an amazing voice (check my IG post for a video) that I proceeded to request another song myself, “Puede cantar ‘Puro Teatro’ por La Lupe!?”, seriously, best song ever.

Our last night was spent in a hip and happening eatery (who says 'hip and happening' anymore? hmm) where Dutch travelers tend to congregate and enjoy some interesting dishes, after which many break out in smoke. Fancy ashtray at hand, we decided to go out with style on our last night and ordered the best cognac they could concoct, taking out our well rolled Curaçao cigars we bought from some specialized shop and proceeded to obsessively puff away at the cigars like total amateurs, laughing as I realized that Serge was holding the cigar like he was about to write an essay with it.

Yes, smoking kills, and I do not recommend it, but take note that in Curaçao and, probably, most European nations, the "Smoking Kills" message is printed in gargantuan scary terrorizing letters that seem to pervade the entire cover of a cigarette box. Nothing short of large letters, I thought we would also get images of black lung plastered all over the stores just to push out the nervous first timers who would even think of smoking… someone call the church elders!

The trip was certainly richer than I have described, next time you consider adventuring in an island, think of Curaçao and all it has to offer; tip generously, and be kind and respectful to the impressively diverse and international locals and visitors that thrive in Curaçao.