Aruba: One Happy Island for Butterfly Magic

Aruba's citizens work hard to live up to the slogan of One Happy Island. The sun shone brightly over the welcoming turquoise, teal and navy blue waters from the shore to the horizon as we headed to the bus station with Noemi and Sergio to take the Marmol bus to the Butterfly Farm. After stopping at an ATM that was out of service, we were delighted to learn from the bus driver that the buses accepted US currency for the $1.30 each fare. We were lucky again when the man sitting behind Noemi lived at the same stop where we needed to get off. Even the lack of air conditioning on the bus did not make us uncomfortable because a cooling breeze came in from the open windows. Friendly locals were very happy to provide directions for those of us from the ship who were like the blind leading the blind on this island paradise. Several passengers from the ship who were heading for Arashi Beach for snorkeling were proud that they knew what SCUBA meant--Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus. My Floridian college students had taught me that.

According to the owner who is a native of Silver Springs, Maryland, the Butterfly Farm is one of a handful of farms in the world that breeds butterflies, none of which are in North America. He is a friend of Tony, who owns the butterfly facility in Key West. When we paid our $15 each admission fee, he told us that we could come back anytime during our stay in Aruba but should really try to be there the next morning when the up to 100 butterflies are born each day. While watching this miracle of nature would not have cost us a second entrance fee, we would need to pay for the airfare to Cartagena, Columbia, to catch our ship so we decided to pass on his kind offer. All around the entrance area, which also served as the gift shop, were signs with "Welcome. We're all a flutter that you are here."

First time visitors are given a complimentary tour. Yara, our tour guide, lived up to her name that means "butterfly" in her birthplace in the Netherlands. Her slender body acted like a butterfly as she flitted, flirted, fluttered and flew through her energetic and enthusiastic commentary about the lives and loves of butterflies. Her rules for us were simple: stay on the sandy path, watch where you step so you do not tramp on resting butterflies, do not touch the butterfly's super fragile wings because you could erase the scales, go between the front legs of a butterfly that lands on you to lead it off and check your clothes when exiting to be sure that a butterfly is not hitchhiking on you. Yara told us she would join us inside the garden. We later determined that this was her way to give us time to acclimate to the whirling wonderland that welcomed us. When we entered the enchanted garden of butterflies circling, weaving and dancing, Sergio, Noemi and Ken started snapping pictures wildly. I was glad that my main responsibility was to take notes so that I could concentrate on the beautiful colors of the butterflies' wings, appreciate the concerto playing softly in the background, observe the colorful fish swimming in the pond, and admire the butterflies' version of the Panorama Buffet with apples, oranges and bananas. I learned later from Yara that my favorite, as well as hers, was the owl butterfly with the inside wings being aqua and the outside wings looking like an owl's face with its big eyes as it flew by.

When Yara joined us, she presented an animated and entertaining presentation of the these fascinating creatures from egg to caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly. The caterpillar eats so much that it becomes twice its size every day. It starts eating the leaf, progresses to the stem, makes its journey to a safe spot, hangs upside down while shedding its skin for one last time and uses its mouth to make a cuppa chrysalis, which is a perfectly symmetrical work of art that camouflages the future butterfly. Every time we looked at the chrysalis, we saw something different. Yara told us about an old Indian belief that in the chrysalis one sees the spirit that protects the butterfly.

Now for the million-dollar question of the day: What happens inside the chrysalis? Yara related the latest theory of metamorphosis that the coiled caterpillar begins to liquefy into a red gooey soup-like substance that starts to develop as a butterfly. In the process, the DNA is modified. Could this also happen with humans? In 10 to 15 days, a rather ugly butterfly breaks through and then hangs on to the chrysalis until it can pump up to the size it is destined to be. Then the butterfly flies away without ever having a flying lesson. It looks for two things: food in flowers that it can intake through its straw-like proboscis and a mate. The extremely picky female chooses the male because she will only mate once and wants the best male possible. The male can mate up to 45 times. She dances with many possible suitors, selects her favorite and beginning the mating process in air with her on the top and the male on the bottom, relaxing completely as the female carries him around and around. This process can last from two to 48 hours. Any similarity between this ritual and the mating process of human is probably more than coincidental. Once impregnated, the female can lay up to 50 to 100 eggs.

Yara used a beautiful spiritual metaphor to describe the lives of butterflies and humans. In the egg stage, an idea is born but is not yet developed. Then the caterpillar works to shed its skin because it wants to become something that it never was before. In the chrysalis stage, the caterpillar visualizes being able to fly. The moment it breaks out of its shell, the butterfly can fly and achieves freedom. Yara's enriching commentary was well worth the price of admission. (Resolution for 2012: When we return home in May, I plan to buy a feeder and cultivate the butterfly garden started by the former owners of our home. But will the dogs next door hurt or help this process?)

The staff at the butterfly farm suggested that we take a self-guided tour of a bird sanctuary close by and loaned us umbrellas because the sky looked threatening. We did not think we would need them because Aruba is a desert and January is not the rainy season. Now naive we tourists can be! After walking around the preserve and spotting very few birds but several iguanas, we decided to go back to the butterfly farm. Then the skies opened with an incredible downpour. The handle of Noemi's umbrella, the first masculine plaid umbrella that I have ever seen, broke off, making it almost impossible for her to use it. However, it didn't really matter because the rain was being blown sideways, and we all got soaked. We ran across the street to a awning-covered area in front of the windmill resort and waited out the storm.

When we finally returned to the butterfly farm, we were greeted by our 40 new best friends on the Pacific Princess' tour. Yara told us to wait five minutes and they all would be gone. With the water from the rain and the bright sunshine, the farm had a different feel. Our favorite activity was to soak our pointer fingers in banana or orange juices to put under the proboscis and belly of the butterfly and watch the featherweight creature eat from our fingers. Of course, we took many more pictures of this process, including one that seems as if Ken is kissing the butterfly. What at perfectly magical day we had enjoying butterfly farm magic in Aruba!