Robert Solognier’s Greetings from Aruba mural attracts plenty of picture-takers. Photo: Christa Terry for Observer

Queen Beatrix International Airport has a reputation for being nightmarish in a way that, I’m glad to say, didn’t align with my experience of traveling to and from Aruba. Then again, I visited well outside the peak mid-December to mid-April season—so who knows what horrors await those chasing Carnival and sub-90 temperatures. But I like it hot, so Aruba’s weather works for me all twelve months of the year. And anyway, I’m here for the art fair.

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For many, the phrase “art fair” conjures something specific: a maze of white-walled booths where dealers and buyers parley in hushed tones over five- and six-figure deals. The atmosphere? Upscale. The art? Exclusive. Aruba Art Fair, by contrast, is intentionally inclusive. Beyond the four curated spaces, booths line the streets of San Nicolas—any artist who wants to participate can participate.

But here’s the thing about art in Aruba more broadly: if you want to experience it outside the fair, you’ll have to put in more than a little effort. This isn’t exactly an arts destination… yet. If Aruba Art Fair founder Tito Bolivar has anything to say about it, it will be—and probably within a few short years. For now, I’ll be completely honest and say that researching art in Aruba for this story was frustrating. The island’s own website suggests visiting Unoca, “the island’s national gallery,” which definitely did exist at one point but doesn’t seem to anymore. Several gallery lists I find are actually lists of tattoo parlors. The island’s commercial galleries are mysteriously hard to find when you search for ‘Aruba art galleries,’ even though they’re a major part of the art scene. And as is often the case in smaller destinations, artist-run and retail galleries open and close with a frequency that makes putting together an arts-focused itinerary in advance a challenge.

That said, art in Aruba isn’t confined to galleries. It’s in the hotel rooms. It’s on the walls of businesses. It’s in the caves. It looms over the roundabouts. It’s even on the houses—part of a tradition stemming from the 19th-century Indigenous artisan Simon Donata and later refined by Janchi Christiaans and Goy Semeleer, who are credited with popularizing the Cas Floria (decorated houses) style. I’m here to see all the art I can find in Aruba and to see it all on my own, though don’t take that to mean I’ll be lonely. I was traveling solo long before we could dull discomfort with a swipe of the screen, and I’m comfortable in new geographies with only my own thoughts for company. One thing I’m here to find out is what it’s like to travel alone in a destination that’s marketed to couples as a romantic escape.

Day 0

There’s a bunch of art in the arrivals hall but no placards. I figure it’ll be easy to find more information now that I’m here, and maybe I’m not trying hard enough, but the best I can dig up is that these works are by Aruban artists. One piece is definitely Elisa Lejuez Peters’ We Kiss the Joy as It Flies. And there’s a sculpture garden with work by Ciro Abath, Miriam de L’Isle, Ryan Oduber, Omaira Silva, Osaira Muyale, Gilbert Senchi and Stanley Kuiperi. But search results for Aruba airport art are dominated by the 2023 unveiling of a statue (also by Senchi) commemorating the island’s first seaplane landing in 1923. I drive past it after securing my rental, and it hits me as I’m going around yet another roundabout that this is only the second time I’ve driven in a foreign country. But it doesn’t feel all that foreign, since I live in Massachusetts, arguably the U.S. capital of roundabouts.

I’m headed to The West Deck for my first taste of Aruban cuisine, which I’ll later learn is a mashup of Indigenous, African, Dutch, South American and Asian influences with a heavy emphasis on seafood for obvious reasons. I park in a patch of shade I drive over the sidewalk to reach—from what I can tell, parking in some parts of Aruba can be a free-for-all. “Table for one,” I tell the hostess. (To the uninitiated, I say try solo dining at least once in your life. It’s delightful when you realize no one cares that you’re eating alone. At most, you’ll get some friendly, good-natured ribbing from waitstaff, which is what happens here, but it’s the kind of teasing that makes you feel not just welcome but at home.) The West Deck sits over Governor’s Bay Beach, a quiet stretch of white sand with more pelicans and terns than people. The sky is a painterly blue with picture-perfect clouds, and the airport’s runway is close enough for plane spotting but far enough away that all I hear is the gentle lapping of the waves.

I order passionfruit juice and tamarind juice, Trocadero garlic shrimp, salad and banana (which here means plantains), and I munch while thinking about what to do next. There are no art museums in Aruba, so I’m hunting for galleries and open studios. For fine arts, there are Tito Bolivar’s two commercial galleries in San Nicolas—ArtisA Gallery and Space21.art—both of which I’m scheduled to visit later. Artist Elisa Lejuez Peters has a gallery in Noord, open by appointment, but I’ll be meeting her at the fair. Most of what I find are the aforementioned retail galleries geared toward tourists—not really my thing. Interestingly, there are also several art cafés, including Aruflamingo in San Nicolas and Artitudes Art Cafe in Oranjestad. I wasn’t kidding when I said art is everywhere.

There’s even art at the donkey sanctuary, which is where I head next, operating under the assumption that my room at Bucuti & Tara Beach Resort couldn’t possibly be ready (it was). Donkey by Sandy Bruynzeel sits atop a concrete plinth in the enclosure where rescue donkeys and visitors are free to wander. It’s hot and dusty, and I’ve been up since 4 a.m. at this point, but I am in heaven because I’m hugging donkeys. Absolute loads of adorable donkeys. Whatever you are in Aruba for, make time to visit the donkeys—you will not regret it. Unfortunately, I need to freshen up before my aloe scrub........

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