The island has no stoplights. And nary a discouraging word about roundabouts. The people are too happy to bitch.
Even the crabs are civil to the pelicans. And the iguanas know you want to feed them.
The flamingos don’t worry about weather. This tiny paradise–circumference is the distance of two marathons–is well south of the hurricane belt.
The native language is the lively and colorful Papiamento, a Creole stew of Portuguese, Dutch, Spanish, French and English, salted with African dialects. But don’t worry, almost every Aruban speaks fluently in seven languages. It’s what you do when tourism is 100 percent of your country’s gross national product.
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