In the summer of 1994 I was 27 years old and life - as I knew it - was pretty darn good. I had recently completed a three year assignment as an instructor at the Northern Virginia Criminal Justice Academy, and I was going through the hiring process to become an Alexandria police officer. My friend Sue turned 40 in June that year, and when she asked me to go to Aruba for a week to celebrate her birthday, I packed my bag in less time than it takes to say boonoonoonoos, which means "good times" in Aruba.
The island of Aruba is located in the southern Caribbean, about 15 miles north of Venezuela. At 20 miles long and 6 miles wide, Aruba is famous for its consistent trade winds that attract windsurfers from near and far. Although Sue had been windsurfing for a number of years and was serious enough about the sport to own her own equipment, I was a foolish novice who could be persuaded to try anything that involved adrenaline, water and palm trees. We flew out of Baltimore Washington International airport early one morning, and after a layover in San Juan, Puerto Rico, landed in paradise.
Palm Beach - the hotel and resort area where we stayed - offered plenty of soft sand, beautiful turquoise water, and a constant breeze. We rented bicycles and rode the paved path to Fisherman's Huts, the windsurfing mecca where we chose our boards and sails. It didn't take long to understand why Aruba had earned its reputation as the windsurfing capital of the Caribbean. I stood on my board in a few feet of clear, calm water, hoisted the sail, and was instantly headed for South America.
Windsurfing in Aruba was exhilarating. And exhausting. So we snorkeled, rented waverunners, explored the island's wild, untamed windward coast where rough surf crashes into the rocky terrain, and made a legendary trek to San Nicolas, the second largest city on Aruba, so we could drink at the infamous Charlie's Bar. Ask Sue to tell you that story. Sitting on the balcony of our room on our last night in Aruba, I watched in awe as a convoy of sails was blown down the coast. It was like rush hour on the capital beltway, except that the vehicles were moving. With nothing but the wind at their back, guys glided over the water to untold destinations. Their mode of transportation caused no pollution, no noise, no toxic fumes. It was tranquil yet exciting, simple but demanding.
The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said "a journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step". For me, Aruba was the first, single step in my journey to explore more islands, more sunsets, more oceans.
The island of Aruba is located in the southern Caribbean, about 15 miles north of Venezuela. At 20 miles long and 6 miles wide, Aruba is famous for its consistent trade winds that attract windsurfers from near and far. Although Sue had been windsurfing for a number of years and was serious enough about the sport to own her own equipment, I was a foolish novice who could be persuaded to try anything that involved adrenaline, water and palm trees. We flew out of Baltimore Washington International airport early one morning, and after a layover in San Juan, Puerto Rico, landed in paradise.
Palm Beach - the hotel and resort area where we stayed - offered plenty of soft sand, beautiful turquoise water, and a constant breeze. We rented bicycles and rode the paved path to Fisherman's Huts, the windsurfing mecca where we chose our boards and sails. It didn't take long to understand why Aruba had earned its reputation as the windsurfing capital of the Caribbean. I stood on my board in a few feet of clear, calm water, hoisted the sail, and was instantly headed for South America.
Windsurfing in Aruba was exhilarating. And exhausting. So we snorkeled, rented waverunners, explored the island's wild, untamed windward coast where rough surf crashes into the rocky terrain, and made a legendary trek to San Nicolas, the second largest city on Aruba, so we could drink at the infamous Charlie's Bar. Ask Sue to tell you that story. Sitting on the balcony of our room on our last night in Aruba, I watched in awe as a convoy of sails was blown down the coast. It was like rush hour on the capital beltway, except that the vehicles were moving. With nothing but the wind at their back, guys glided over the water to untold destinations. Their mode of transportation caused no pollution, no noise, no toxic fumes. It was tranquil yet exciting, simple but demanding.
The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said "a journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step". For me, Aruba was the first, single step in my journey to explore more islands, more sunsets, more oceans.