Day Four, part one: 06-06-02
I left Carol sleeping and boarded Purple Rain for a morning trip to The Cliff. Again I was impressed at the health and diversity of Bonaire’s reefs. I spent several minutes inspecting an old coral head, and was rewarded with a new addition to my list of fishes; three tiny secretary blennies were in residence, poking their heads out to look at me, ducking back inside, whack-a-mole fashion, each time I exhaled.
Back at the Plaza, Carol was taking it easy, catching up on the latest world news via cable, and looking just a little bored. After a quick rinse, I suggested a trip to the National Park. She was ready in seconds. We topped up the gas tank, cranked the A/C, and followed the signs out of Kralendyk.
It is difficult to adequately describe the interior of the island; I have never seen any place to compare to it. The climate is arid, with less than 22 inches of rainfall per year, the east wind nearly constant at fifteen miles per hour, and the sky usually fair to partly cloudy. The tropical sun hangs overhead, irradiating the grassless, cactus-studded red sand soil without mercy. The only trees worthy of mention are low, narrow-leaved acacias, thorny and stingy with their shade. The mainstay of island vegetation is a kind of cactus, gray-green, very spiny, and able to grow to saguaro-like height, most likely in evolutionary defense against the feral goats that roam free, devouring all manner of plant life down to the bark of trees. Cactus is even used to make fences on Bonaire, though the method employed remains a mystery to me; I suspect one merely cuts off a piece of the desired length and rams it into the ground, then secures the top with wire. I include a photograph for the satisfaction of doubters.
We paused at the park entrance to pay our fee and collect a map, then drove down the dirt track, dodging iguanas and blue-tailed lizards as Carol directed me to the “long route” turnoff. We bumped along for a short time among the scrub and cactus before we broke into more open country off the edge of the escarpment, descending to the eroded limestone shelf of Bonaire’s northeast coast. The weird Martian landscape and lack of other visitors gave me the feeling of being on a voyage of discovery, going into an unknown land with my navigator at my side. This particular unknown land being supplied with signs to direct explorers to its points of interest, we easily found our first landmark, Playa Chikitu, a peculiar gap in the rocky shore with a fine sand beach hidden below ground level. The waves roll in, driven by the tradewind, and produce impressive breakers in the arena formed by the cliffs on either side. The traveler is warned against swimming, as there is a dangerous current produced by the waves escaping from the blind alley. It is easy to imagine how quickly a person could be pulled under or ground against the rocks by the irresistible force of those many tons of surging green water. There is, in fact, a small monument put up by the family of one drowning victim. It sits next to the parking area as a reminder to all those who visit.
My attention was drawn to another monument, similar in ways to those I had seen on the barren southeast shore, but with a more somber nature. It was a makeshift crucifix, erected by unknown hands, and on it hung a figure made up of mismatched doll parts. It is said that art, representational or otherwise, is intended to evoke an emotional response in the viewer. My wife and I can attest that this particular work fulfilled that concept, with a power that matched the outdoor gallery in which it was displayed. The place had a mood about it, a shadow of death in the bright midday sun, and every sound was muted by the voice of the sea.
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By George Owens on Monday, July 8, 2002 - 7:43 am: 
