NY Times Article
Underwater Adventure, Without Frills in Bonaire
By BRUCE WEBER
Published: October 31, 2004
SELF-PAMPERING is the winter impetus for many a Caribbean vacation, but Bonaire is the wrong island for it. Not that you can't relax there, but there's a do-it-yourself quality to the available fun.
Unlike Aruba and Curaçao, its better-known neighbors, Bonaire doesn't court tourists either by reputation or local attitude. It's anything but flashy or gregarious; it doesn't rock to reggae or sway to samba. There are no golf courses, and in a five-day stay at the end of January, I didn't come across a single cocktail served in a coconut shell or spiked with a tiny umbrella.
Of course, much of what is impressive about Bonaire is below the surface. The underwater life is spectacular: coral in pale orange cerebrums and blue-green heads of broccoli fixed to the ocean floor, not to mention sharp-edged, multicolored gardens of reef and thousands of fish with the electric colors and op art patterns of swimming neckties.
Surrounded by shallow turquoise water, Bonaire protects its glorious reefs by law. In 1979, the government established the Bonaire Marine Park in the waters around the island. Coastline development has been limited; so has the anchoring of boats. The result is some of the best diving and snorkeling in the world - you can literally get off the plane with a mask and fins under your arm, walk out of the airport and jump right in the water across the street.
There are 86 dive sites in the park, nearly all of them either on the leeward side of the island (where they are identified by yellow roadside markers) or around the circumference of Klein Bonaire, an uninhabited cay nestled in the lee. Most of them are accessible from the shore. Many of them can be reached from the property of Bonaire's dozen or so dive hotels, which exist essentially to answer the underwater needs of divers and, to a lesser extent, snorkelers.
I stayed at one of the older and better known of them, Captain Don's Habitat, which has been around since 1976 and has grown into a campus of cabanas and villas. It's a comfortable place, with commodious if not luxurious rooms. I had an apartment to myself, with a patio and a screened porch, a private walkway to the ocean and a television that brought in dozens of American cable channels in English, but no telephone.
The buffet breakfast was generous but undistinguished, and the staff was competent, if not solicitous. The facilities were geared to experienced divers, and the staff seemed happier dealing with them rather than someone like me, a snorkeler traveling alone and seeking instruction in and around the water. I had to pester them to arrange a dive lesson (which I then missed), and they wouldn't arrange a snorkeling tour for me by boat. The best they could do was offer me a spot on a dive boat if there was room. I ended up hiring a guy from Kralendijk, the capital, instead. I started more than one morning with an exploration of La Machacha and Reef Scientifico, the two reefs just a short distance from my room, but you can just as easily find things to do on dry land.
About 60 miles off the north coast of Venezuela, Bonaire is shaped vaguely like a boomerang, its concave side angled southeast. The island is often described as arid, and with your back to the ocean, the cactus-strewn, butte-marked northern end of the island can look like the outside of Tucson. Even so, it rained every day of my visit, once or twice terrifyingly hard, if always for less than an hour.
The island is small, about 115 square miles, and it is easy to circumnavigate in a day by car, motorcycle, moped or bicycle. All of those vehicles are for rent in numerous places. And if you don't want to drive yourself, the cab drivers are eager and generally helpful.
The bicycling on Bonaire, especially along the east coast, north of the dive hotels along the shore, is sensational. The main road plays peek-a-boo with the ocean. It's narrow, lovely and barely traveled; listen closely and you can hear the persistent scuttle of lizards in the dry underbrush as you ride by. With an inland, uphill turn you cruise along the shores of Gotomeer, a lake that is a sanctuary for pink flamingoes, and eventually end up in Rincon, the oldest settlement on the island, and now a quiet, dusty suburb. Or, on the mountain bikes that Cycle Bonaire rents, you can traverse the dirt roads that penetrate the dusty interior.
Rincon dates back to the 16th century, and along with its history, you can consume what everyone says is the best indigenous food on Bonaire at the Rose Inn. The patio restaurant serves fish and chicken in creole stews.
Rincon is near the entrance to the Washington Slagbaai National Park, an impressive natural history preserve with rugged hills and a rocky coast that you need a four-wheel drive vehicle to explore. (You can ride bikes through the park, but the rangers recommend that you be accompanied by someone in a jeep.) Part pirate's paradise, part jungle aviary, part cactus desert, it's beautiful, thrilling, eerie and a little harsh.
As I began to explore it, a brief but furious rainstorm that hurtled in off the ocean was followed by glaring heat. It takes at least half a day to drive the park's rutted roads - longer than I anticipated, which is why I missed my dive lesson.
The southern half of the island is far different; it includes Lac Bay, a world-class place for windsurfing, and a flamingo sanctuary. But it's so flat that the highest points are the tops of the mammoth cones of salt at the Cargill Salt Company, which produces up to 500 tons of it annually; I couldn't go by it without considering what that means in terms of French fries.
With a population of only about 13,000, the island is quiet, too. There are more casinos (one) than traffic lights. And on days when no cruise ships dock in Kralendijk, which is quaint and genteel, many of the shops close down for lunch. The town does have a six-lane bowling alley that shares space with the island's only disco, and there is an oceanside strip of bars and restaurants that accounts for most of the island's nightlife, but karaoke is about as wild as it gets.
The Bonaireans, who are mostly of African descent, struck me as easygoing. Most of the residents I encountered spoke English and Spanish as well as the local creole, known as Papamiento, more readily than Dutch, the island's official language.
All in all, Bonaire is a place with the kind of sleepiness that frustrates teenagers and makes adults sigh with gratitude.
The food, on the other hand, is surprisingly varied and surprisingly good. French, Indonesian and Chinese food are all available in Kralendijk and so is New York pizza, at Pasa Bon, just north of downtown.
Many restaurants on Bonaire are run by outsiders, mostly Dutch. Among them is It Rains Fishes, a popular spot along the water in Kralendijk with a Continental menu that doesn't, oddly enough, specialize in fish, though that's where I had fresh dorado.
Still, in retrospect, all of this eating and island exploring seems incidental. Mostly I spent my time in the water, trying to identify fish.
In Kralendijk I found a guide, Mike Stadnik, a hippie transplanted from Vancouver whose business base seems to shift between the Zee Zicht restaurant and, across the street, Karel's Beach Bar. He picked me up in his skiff the next morning, and we went out to Klein Bonaire. There, I first became familiar with parrotfish and angelfish, spadefish and goatfish, filefish and damselfish, blue tang and yellow jack, sergeant major and spotted drum, trumpetfish and butterflyfish, wrasse and grunt. By the second day I went out with Captain Mike, I had with me a laminated fish-watcher's guide, readable underwater.
I went night snorkeling on my last evening in Bonaire. The flashlight beam cut the water like a pie slicer, carving the depths into distinct cone shapes, and the reef came spookily into view, piece by piece.
Suddenly, after an hour or so of serene exploration, I shined my light into a cave and the beam landed on the biggest lobster I ever saw, perched vertically on the ocean floor with its antennae, legs and claws waving in supernatural semaphore. I could have sworn it had its head cocked, appraising me quizzically. I pointed it out to Captain Mike. He popped his head out of the water.
"It's making me hungry," he said, and shortly thereafter, we left to have dinner.
Visitor Information
You will be hard-pressed to find a direct flight from the continental United States direct to Bonaire; Air Jamaica, Delta and American Airlines offer flights from various cities, often connecting through Montego Bay, Jamaica. Using the ITA software (matrix.itasoftware.com/cvg/dispatch), the lowest fare was $705 for a round-trip flight out of New York, leaving Nov. 30 and returning Dec. 6. This fare and more expensive fares seemed to involve long layovers and several plane changes.
Transportation gets easier once you arrive. Rental cars are plentiful; so are places to rent motorcycles, motor scooters and mopeds, all of which are suitable for getting around the island. Cabs are plentiful and inexpensive; the drivers are remarkably easygoing and helpful. If you're adventurous and crave exercise, bicycles are available as well. Cycle Bonaire, (599) 717-2227, cycle@bonairenet.com, rents Trek bicycles in good shape for $15 a day.
Most of the hotels and resorts are on the island's western, lee side; many specialize in diving and offer lessons, dive trips and rental equipment. Captain Don's Habitat (www.habitatdiveresorts.com/bonaire) where I stayed, is a low-key, commodious place, comfortable if not luxurious. If you're not interested in diving, this may not be the place for you, though it's quiet and perfectly pleasant for swimming or just kicking back with a rum punch. Reservations can be made through Maduro Dive Fanta-Seas in Miami (800) 327-6709 or CaptainDon@maduro.com.
It wasn't, however, entirely welcoming for snorkelers. It's a good thing I found Captain Mike, who operates his guide business in a casual fashion on the waterfront in Kralendijk. His number is (599) 790-8330, but you can also look for him at the Zee Zicht Restaurant or across the street at Karel's Beach Bar. It's worth it; he's eccentric but a pretty cool guy.
BRUCE WEBER is an arts reporter for The Times
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By David Frank (BonaireTalker - Post #52) on Saturday, October 30, 2004 - 12:06 pm: 
