Hammock Contemplations

Island Notes 78

The breeze is light.  The sun is low, pleasantly warm.  My view out the hammock is of blue sky and cotton-puffy clouds framed by slatted, bamboo shades. I’m just back from solo sail and my arms feel the workout of pulling the mainsheet for most of the afternoon.  This hurts so good.  It is time for hammock contemplations…

Aqua velvet on acid.

There is a stretch of sand that runs north from the salt loading dock to the backside of Punt Vierkant on the west coast.  Pearly white silica stretches from shoreline to nearly a half mile out on this part of the island.  Mix that with ample portions of blue sky and abundant sun and you have an aqua velvet, cosmic cocktail that flows for nearly three miles.  The island is flat here, no obstruction to interfere with constant 17 knot winds.  That translates to a sailor’s dream of a long, beam reach while I scoot Kontentu over three-feet of water.  I’m surrounded by other worldly color.  It’s a delicious elixir for the mind and eyes.


The seaside restaurant, Zee Zicht, put up a sign to plug its nighttime entertainment, “Life Music”.  The famous Rose Inn in the historic village of Rincon did the same to promote its libations, “The Coldiest Beer.”

Follow the Leading

A monster of a dirt-filled dump truck leads the charge down Kaya Pos Di Amor (Well of Love Street).  Sitting precariously on top of the load is a man with a long forked stick.  The truck suddenly lurches to a stop to avoid a low slung power line crossing the street.  The man, who was nearly catapulted to Kralendijk during the abrupt halt, now moves forward with stick in hand.  He places the power line in the fork of the pole and raises the menacing line high in the sky.  The truck driver slowly drives under.  Pole man releases the cable once the dump truck clears and they are on their way.New Misnomer

A new restaurant just opened.  It is quite a coup for the island for it is our only Thai food eatery.  I am, however, skeptical simply because it is operated by two Dutch people.   Their names are Anton and Piek.  I would have preferred Annan and Phan.  I also have a problem with the name, The Blue Mekong.  The building is painted in screaming flamingo pink.

Lost In Translation

My friend, Nathalie, was in search of dental floss—an item sometimes not easily obtained on Bonaire if the cargo boats are delayed.  After searching in four stores, she headed to the always-reliable Tong Fung, a Chinese cornucopia of an establishment staffed by Bonaireans.  Nathalie asked one of the clerks for dental floss, but English was not the language of this day. My determined friend then resorted to sign language, communicating with her hands that she needed something extremely thin, long and then motioned that the item would be run through the teeth.  This wordless exhibition now grabbed the attention of two clerks who looked at each other in puzzlement. One finally got it saying, “Ah!” and retreated quickly into the back room.  A minute later the woman strutted out proudly holding a red, sequenced thong.





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