The Day of the Iguana

Doug and I loved going to Aruba. It’s a beautiful, arid island that’s small enough to travel end-to-end in a day, but full of beautiful vistas and quirky spots like Charlie’s Bar where business cards from around the world layer the walls. In the early 90’s, touring the island meant leaving the two areas where resorts were located. At the time, all of the high-rise hotels were located along one long sandy stretch. This meant you could easily walk up and down the beach, choosing from any of the cantinas, cabanas and sandy spots. A pink tractor – the booze-mobile – covered the entire area, so you could plop down for the day, with all your needs, wants and desires close at hand, napping to the sound of the waves, and the scent of coconut and pineapple.

One day, we decided to take a break from lying in the sun and getting drunk to exercise and do some sight-seeing. We saw a sign for bike rentals and hatched a plan. The sign did not say “functioning” bike rentals, nor “properly sized” bicycles, but we didn’t let that stop us. I managed to wobble out of there on a bike so small my knees nearly hit my chin. Doug’s was slightly better, but not by much.

Did I mention that Aruba is arid? That’s code for really, stinking hot without humidity – a heat that sneaks up on you when you are riding a child’s bicycle for miles across rugged landscape. We had a notion to bike to the top of a nearby mountain but abandoned that idea by the time we got to its base.

Instead, we turned down a laneway (pictured), hoping we were heading in the direction of our hotel. Neither of us wanted to admit to the other that we were horribly out of shape, possibly lost, and missing the beach and the booze-mobile. Lurching down the laneway, we stopped for breath.

There, in a field beside us, were hundreds if not thousands of iguanas. They ran from the long grass and brush on one side, across the open field, only to disappear again on the long grass and brush on the other side. I can still picture them, iguanas of all colours and sizes, large and small, brown and green, hopping and racing across the field. And, just as suddenly, they were gone.

A herd of iguanas had just raced from one side to the other and now all was stillness. Not a blade of grass moved. My husband and I looked at each other in wonderment. “Did we just see that?” Giddy with joy we returned the rickety bikes and made our way back to the beach. We had seen something exciting and new. Something magical.

We were content to spend the rest of the week flopping on chaise lounges, waddling to cantinas and barbeque pits for food, while keeping an eye out for the pink booze-mobile. Ah. Our vacation was complete.

Photo credit Doug Whittall

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