The contrasts between Venezuela and Bonaire were evident in our stroll to Immigration. We could wear our watch and wallet vs. cash in our underwear. The classic architecture vs. iron bar art and barbed wire in VZ. Money came from ATM’s vs the black market. Bonaire had a master plan with bikes rolling by vs. deteriorating buildings with ghetto buses rambling along pot holed roads. We wore jewelry , carried wallets, and the kids played on the promenade. The Dutch know how to do it right. Bonaire is a micro Netherlands, soon to be the Netherlands, with proper architecture, codes, culture, zoning, conservation, etc but without the free heroin syringes and girls in the windows like in Amsterdam. Guess you can’t have it all.
Upon arriving we picked up a 10/day mooring as no anchoring is permitted. For the same price including electricity and high speed wireless, you can stay at Club Nautico, a T dock marina run by Hank and his family and they charge $10/day. Hank owns two Mantas, Ushi Ushi and Dushi Dushi (means beautiful girl) and with his sons run day charters for tourists.
Safara, with Mark, Kirsten, Nick, and Ben, is a kid boat we in and had not seen since Trinidad. For $50/day we rented an open bed extended cab mini pickup truck and went on an island tour for the entire day. We cruised by the beautiful homes, the crystal clear seashore, took in the vistas, saw some ancient hieroglyphs, watched the waves come crashing into the coral island on the windward side, watched the kite boarders, saw the slave huts near the salt flats, observed the pink flamingos, had lunch in the locals town, and last but not least met the Junk Man and his property.
As we were nearing the end of our island tour on the NE end we passed this “property” lined with painted up junk and memorabilia. All I know is a hand painted rusty sign arranged amongst a bunch of other signs in Patwa said welcome and that was all I needed to say let’s stop and have a look. Beach trash, a shell of private jet, old cars, appliances, and anything you can imagine that people would have in their home or business that they no longer wanted ended up here. The edifice was set back some 100 meters from the road and his back yard was dense mangroves of the ocean where Angie determined no one could hear our screams. We’re goin’ in boys as we were greeted by Thomas. Sanford and Sons junkyard in the tropics. Inside his home, he had mannequins, many of which were sleeping in bedrooms As a memory he got all of us dressed up in sombreros and guitars and had us take photos with him. The guy was crazy, but in a fun way. Off to the wind mills and slave huts before the rent-a-car time was up. A great day was had by all.
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