The most bizarre part about Bonaire is how deserted so much of it is; a narrow paved road that rings the perimeter seems to lead to nowhere across the flat, barren landscape.
Vast regions on both the north and south side of the isle lay wide open spaces, uninhabited.
Uninhabited, I should say, save the errant surfers dotting the coastline.
The nice thing about such a chill island with space to spare is that every surfer, diver and the like can find his own unclaimed stretch of sand and ocean.
Tourists visiting the island tend to focus their energy on Kralendijk; they’re not to be found way out here. Though distance and time-wise, “out here” isn’t even that far out really. The island is barely more than 100 square miles, after all. Though it still feels a million miles away from civilization at times.
Salt mounds form the further-most boundary and turn the bay water a deep murky salmon hue.
I ran out in front of the snow-white pyramids and attempted a jumping shot (naturally), but alas, I sunk right into the mud before I could even rise an inch above the ground; it proved a futile attempt. Instead, I took pictures of my friend Tak taking pictures. (Original, I know.)
There wasn’t a whole lot to stop and explore on our leisurely drive around the South Shore, which made it all that much more appealing to me. Though we did stumble upon small, dilapidated (former) slave huts in two clusters a mile or so apart—huts that would barely house a Hobbit, let alone a full-grown human it should be noted.
A lighthouse served as the South Shore’s sole sign of life. Something about lighthouses is just so enchanting, wouldn’t you agree? It’s why I find New England so darn attractive—lighthouses, lighthouses, all around!
I found my happy place on Bonaire. Strike that: Give me sun, a balmy ocean breeze and pure isolation, and I can find my happy place anywhere.