The Happy Island

“How was Aruba? Is it truly one happy island like they say?” This question kept presenting itself to me in a variety of forms when I arrived back stateside a few weeks ago. This notion of the happy “other” makes me uncomfortable. Why do we, and by we I mean Americans, insist on stereotyping the “other” as happy? Is it because happiness is a tricky emotion and one that eludes many an American? When someone returns from a trip and tells me “the people in Mexico, or the Italians, or the Mississipians, they were SOOOOO nice,” I immediately wonder what’s going in in their own lives to make them say that. (I should mention here that I’m equating niceness with happiness, because really, you can’t have one without the other.) What is it that they see in these other cultures that they find lacking in themselves or in their own culture? Why do we call the “other’ happy?

So it was really bothering me when it was ME having these happy thoughts when I was in Aruba. I kept feeling like every person that I came into contact with seemed just so darn happy. I have the scribbled text in my notebook to prove it “People are SUPER nice, what is with that?” My cynical side quickly silenced my awe with a “yeah, yeah, they work in a resort, they’re getting paid to be nice to you.” At first the pleasantries, hellos, and would you like a cold drink? could be dismissed as hospitality. But after the first day I couldn’t ignore the contentedness and ease of the people I came into contact with. I started to wonder why everyone in Aruba appeared so charming and happy to me, what was going in in my own head?

First, let me preface this with the unease I felt as I boarded the plane in New York. I felt noticeably out of place in a sea of couples heading to the Caribbean, waiting to board the plane patiently with my carry on luggage and entirely too pale to be heading to a tropical island. Around me were three types; the tanned, big sunglass wearing, Louis Vuitton toting America’s elite, the freshly married, shiny ring sporting, this is my first time out of the country newlywed and the vacationing family with too much money. (When I was a kid, I had to get in the car to go to the beach.) My seatmates were a particularly unfriendly pair who uttered not one word to me the entire flight, nor made any eye contact. Their attitude made more sense as the girlfriend poured over the gossip magazines she brought on board exclaiming over the photos as if they were her best friend. “Wow, look at Cameron’s dress” or “Megan is just so beautiful in this photo” she exclaimed excitedly to her boyfriend. [Insert eye-roll here.] And even more surprisingly, he was totally into it and leaned over attentively as if checking out photos of old friends. It wasn’t that they were rude, it was just that in their world, I did not exist. I got off of the plane wondering how many more privileged, vapid Americans would I have to deal with for the next few days. Little did I know at the time, but this interaction (or lack there of) would color the rest of my trip and heighten the overwhelming warmness and humanity of the people in Aruba.

When we headed out on our De Palm jeep tour of the island the next morning, the brakes were incredibly squeaky. I hadn’t noticed it at first while we were bumping along offroad, but when we got onto the highway the high pitched squeals from our brakes became hard to ignore. They were so intense that when we slowed down in front of two construction workers in the town of San Nicholas, they took notice. They didn’t stare or yell, but playfully plugged their ears and started mocking our squeaky vehicle. Keep in mind, these are CONSTRUCTION workers, who earn their living making a lot of noise. And when we had to brake a second time down the road, we all peered back cautiously. The game continued with the plugging of ears, feigned annoyance and their theatricality caused us all to laugh out loud. For a moment in time, we all shared a common plight of vehicular frustration.

Later in the afternoon, we headed out for beach tennis lessons. I’m not an athlete and normally when I’m in a competitive setting I tend to be sullen and have “is this over with yet?” written all over my face. But instantly, I warmed to our beach tennis instructor who had this way about him; laid back, easy going....happy. Someone who loved life and loved living it. When you’re around someone like that, you can’t help but pick up a bit of that joie de vivre, it’s intoxicating. I can’t imagine the patience it takes to deal with people who don’t have natural athletic inclinations. Despite our fumbles and missteps, he remained positive, chipper, and kept me motivated to keep on trying. I imagined that he was a former tennis pro, off of the circuit because of his age, moved his wife and kids to the beach, where he kept a charmed life spending his days oceanside, patiently teaching tourists like us how to play a game he could play in his sleep. Maybe that wasn’t the case, but he exuded a happiness with his life that can’t be faked and it’s what we all yearn for.

The most memorable meal of my Aruba trip was at Pinchos Grill & Bar and it wasn’t because of the food. (The food, however, was amazing.) Simple, elegant, flavorful and the ambiance was spot on. Our table full of travel bloggers felt right at home with the intimate wedding party and countless vacationing couples in the middle of a pier on the water. When we met the owners, Anabela and Robby, hospitality industry veterans who returned to Aruba to create their perfect restaurant, we immediately understood why this place felt so welcoming. It exuded the charm of a well hosted dinner party, whose hosts were on top of their game. Anabela proudly oversaw the mood of the place, each detail from the menus to the music contributing to the perfect experience. When our table asked if she chose the eclectic music selection, she replied “Of course, I choose EVERYTHING. There’s nothing worse than the wrong song to ruin your dinner.” Her husband, Robby, was the backbone of the restaurant. He manned the back and made the food shine front and center. And like any great pairing, they fed off of one another’s talents. Anabela told us the story of how she was committed to having low banquette seating to create the kind of place where she could cosy up with her husband after a meal. He scoffed at that idea and said, well if you’re going to do that then I’m putting a swing at the bar, which he did. The merging of their two personalities shines through and created a place that was incredibly relaxing, whimsical and welcoming. In the end, it seemed like they were doing exactly what they were meant to do with their life, and that sense of purpose was heartwarming (and enviable.)

There was no pretense with this restaurant, nor with this couple. So when Anabela was asked about what was her favorite thing about Aruba, you knew you were getting a straight answer. She quickly answered “the people.” She said that she had been nowhere else in the world where the people were so happy, friendly, and would do anything for you. "If your car breaks down on the side of the road,” she said, “you won’t be stranded there.” Instead, “someone will come and say hey, get out of that hot sun, come in and have a cool drink while we wait.” I took her at her word, and realized that my suspicions had been correct, there was just “something” about these Aruban people.

When I woke up on my last morning in Aruba, I had an incredible sunburn. Despite rigorous sunscreen application and re-application, my back was roasted. But, in terms of terrible sunburns in my life (did I mention that I’m part Irish?) it ranked pretty mildly and was nothing that a little aloe and some downtime wouldn’t cure. When my room service breakfast arrived that morning, I wasn’t expecting to have much of a conversation other than “where would you like this?” Instead, he noticed my back and said worriedly, “You are sunburned!!! Have you been wearing sunscreen?” I explained that yes, in fact I did, that it really wasn’t too bad given my complexion and that my plan for the day was to stay indoors or in the shade. He protested, “no you must take better care of yourself, MAKE sure you put on sunscreen today.” I reassured him that I had no intention of sitting outside by the pool and that I really had made a good faith effort to not end up this way. When I shut the door and bid him farewell, I felt like I had just had a conversation with one of my parents and not a random stranger.

Later that day when I headed out to the airport, the kind grandfatherly man who drove me to the airport made me feel like I was leaving family. He told me that the Marriott staffer that I had just bid farewell to was his daughter-in-law. He was joking, I think. But whether or not it was true, it didn’t matter. Because that’s how I felt the entire time we were in Aruba, like I was a member of the extended family. When he wished me farewell and said “when will you be back?” I felt like I was having a conversation with my father about the next time I would be home. There was an expectation in his voice that I would return and to which I replied, “soon.”

The happiness high immediately left me when I got in line to go through American customs in Aruba (get all of your lines over with before you leave, I guess.) I couldn’t help but notice how unhappy these two guys manning the checkpoint were. Young, American guys with a seemingly perfect gig. Their conversation went as follows, “man, I can’t wait until I get my next station, I’m so done with Aruba.” His colleague replied “I know, man what else is there to do here, except go to the beach. I’m so over going to the beach.” I stood there, incredulous as a loud thud rang out. That was the sound of the stamp of my passport and not my jaw dropping to the ground.

So is Aruba one happy island? Not entirely, especially if you throw in those aloof tourists and super cranky TSA agents. But I guess it all depends on your perspective. The guy who took the time out of his day to lecture me about my sunburn made me feel a little less alone. And those construction workers on the side of the road allowed me to see them as people, instead of props in an Aruban play. And let’s not forget the countless people I met who loved what they do and in turn, made me love it too. They were world's away from the grumpy Americans that became the bread to my happy Aruba sandwich. I left Aruba thinking, wow this is one happy place, perhaps not because of the people’s actual state of happiness, but how they made me feel. So the next time someone says to me “wow, those people in [insert vacation spot here], they are some happy folks”, I know what they really mean is “I had a great trip.”