My Old Cunucu Home

For travelers, there are two pleasures always in tension: the whirlwind excitement of experiencing 'it all,' or the satisfaction of experiencing one thing well. Exploration and adventure, or leisure and luxury? A place you've never been, or one you already love? To be a connoisseur of hotels or hiking trails–that is the question.

I split the difference. When traveling the U.S. I'm a nomad and frontiersman, always desiring to see new lands–that's my American side, my father's side. But so far as I've traveled abroad it's always been to the same place: the island of Aruba, because my mother is Aruban. Her side calls it home.

Naturally, friends and colleagues ask me for advice when they visit Aruba, and however they put the question I know what it is they want: to transcend the traveler's dilemma. To do nothing but lounge by the beach, eat and drink well, and then to come home able to say they experienced something unique and authentic there too. To do it all, and well. And so I direct them to Old Cunucu House.

You only have to recede from the hotels and shops of Palm Beach by a few blocks to touch the Aruban backcountry--in Papiamento, the local creole, 'cunucu' means 'country' or 'farm'. Old Cunucu House is five minutes from the strip, quietly serving up authentic local cuisine out of an 150-year old colonial farmer's villa.

I remember being forced to go as a picky kid, playing it safe with the menu. Yes, there are classic options for conservative palates–ask to be seated on the lamplit patio, pair your filet mignon or chicken fettuccine with a wine to sip as the trade winds breeze past at sunset, you'll be happy as a clam.

But I also remember my most recent visit, as an adult with a more adventurous palate, opening with iguana soup before moving onto a perfectly tender conch entree. The occasion was a farewell dinner to conclude an extended family reunion. My portly, aging Opa, in his element and wearing all white linen, ordered Dutch Caribbean appetizers for the table without a glance at the menu. I traded bites with my brothers–the stewed goat, the local specialty 'keeshi yena,' a chicken and gouda casserole. We took our time that night, and we were not rushed.

If a few backroads and a foreign menu are too far out for you, I could probably write a whole book of suggestions. There's the Pelican Nest for fresh seafood on the pier. Perhaps El Faro Blanco–ah, but I digress. I have fond memories of Aruba already, go make your own! Do it all, and well.