Ana Sanchez moved to Curacao from Bogota in 2017. She'd considered Aruba — it was more famous, more developed, seemingly easier. She chose Curacao because, she says, "Aruba felt like a resort pretending to be an island. Curacao felt like an island that happened to have resorts."
Nine years later, she runs a small dive shop in Pietermaai and has been underwater on every reef the island offers. We talked at a cafe in Pietermaai — the recently revitalized neighborhood that's become Willemstad's coolest district.
Ana: Edge. Character. History. Aruba is polished — everything works, everything is clean, everything is designed for tourists. Curacao is messier. Some streets in Otrobanda are gorgeous; the next block is crumbling. The Handelskade is perfect; turn a corner and there's a building that hasn't been painted since 1960.
That contrast is what makes it real. Aruba is a travel brochure. Curacao is a place where people actually live complicated lives. You feel the African heritage, the Dutch colonial past, the Venezuelan proximity, and the Caribbean present all at once.
Also, the diving is significantly better. Curacao has healthier reefs and more shore dive sites than Aruba. That's not opinion — it's marine biology.
Ana: Marshe Bieu — the Old Market in Punda. Every time I take a visitor there, they're shocked. These women cook massive plates of stoba (stew), kabritu (goat), karni stoba (beef stew), with funchi and fried plantain for $7-12. The portions are enormous. The flavor is deep — hours of slow cooking with local spices.
Most tourists eat at the Handelskade restaurants and pay $25-35 for half the food and half the flavor. Marshe Bieu is 200 meters away and it's better in every way.
For dinner, Plasa Bieu area is good for local food. If you want upscale, Mundo Bizarro in Pietermaai is excellent — creative cocktails, fusion food, in a restored colonial building. Mains $18-25.
For street snacks: pastechi (fried pastry filled with meat or cheese, $1-2) from any pastechi stand. The gouda cheese version is Curacao in a bite.
Ana: Playa Kenepa Chiki — the small Knip beach, not the big one tourists photograph. It's steeper access, smaller, but the water is the same turquoise and there's maybe five other people on a weekday.
Playa Jeremi — a tiny, isolated cove that most tourists drive right past. No sign. No facilities. Just rocks, clear water, and fish. You need to know it's there.
Playa Porto Mari is the one I recommend to everyone because the snorkeling is exceptional and there are actual facilities. But Lagun is where I go personally — the sea turtles surface to breathe right next to you. I never get tired of it.
Ana: Yes. I've dived in Honduras, Belize, Bonaire, Thailand, and Egypt. Curacao's shore diving is in the top three — alongside Bonaire and the Maldives — for accessibility and reef health.
The entire leeward coast is diveable from shore. You park your car, walk in, and within 30 meters you're on a reef wall that drops to 30+ meters. No boat fee. No tour operator (though beginners should use one). Over 65 mapped sites.
The Mushroom Forest off of Playa Kalki has massive mushroom-shaped coral formations at 15 meters — unique geological structures you won't see anywhere else. The Superior Producer wreck sits at 30 meters in Willemstad harbor — a cargo ship covered in coral and surrounded by schools of fish.
Bonaire gets more dive tourism because it markets itself better. Curacao's reefs are equally good and significantly less crowded.
Ana: They only go to Punda. Willemstad has two sides — Punda (the touristy side with Handelskade) and Otrobanda (the other side). Otrobanda is where the Kura Hulanda Museum is — one of the best museums in the Caribbean, housed in a restored slave quarter. Most tourists walk over the Queen Emma bridge, take a photo, and walk back. They miss half the city.
Also, they underestimate the distances. The island is 61 km long, and the best beaches are on the western tip — 45 minutes from Willemstad. Without a rental car, you're stuck at the hotel beach. Rent a car. It's $30/day. Drive to the beaches.
Ana: [laughs] I take every visitor there and I still find it beautiful. The colors are real — the buildings have been painted in these colors since the 1800s. It's not a Disney set. The governor with migraines is a fun story but the real reason is that colored pigments were cheaper than white lead paint in the Caribbean humidity.
But the most beautiful street in Willemstad isn't Handelskade — it's the walk from Pietermaai to the Plasa Bieu area, through Scharloo. Restored mansions next to crumbling ones. Street art on warehouse walls. Stray cats everywhere. It's real in a way that the waterfront, which is maintained for tourism, isn't.
Ana: October or November. The island is quiet, prices are low, the water is warm, and the wind is calm. Carnival (February-March) is the cultural peak — the Grand Parade is spectacular, the tumba music is infectious, and the whole island celebrates for weeks. But book early for Carnival — hotels fill up.
Avoid January-March if you hate cruise ships. They dock in Willemstad harbor and 2,000 people flood Punda in a wave. Nice for the economy, chaotic for the streets.
Ana: The reef. I know that sounds simple, but I dive three or four times a week, and the reef is different every time. Different light, different current, different creatures. Last week I saw a seahorse at Porto Mari — I've dived that site 200 times and never seen one before.
And the pace. Curacao moves at its own speed. The Latin influence means nobody is in a rush. Lunch at Marshe Bieu takes an hour because the women cooking take pride in what they're doing, and you sit and wait, and the food arrives when it's ready, not when you're ready.
I tried living fast here for the first year. The island won. I live slow now. That's the deal.
"Bai suave" — go easy. It's the Papiamentu version of "go slow." And they mean it.
