What should I avoid in Aruba?

The Palm Beach high-rise strip between the Riu Palace and the Marriott runs about 2 km of restaurants that all serve the same $50 grouper with the same frozen-thawed shrimp cocktail. The menus look different. The food does not. You're paying for proximity to your hotel lobby, not for anything a cook put thought into. Head 15 minutes south to Savaneta, where Zeerovers operates out of a concrete fish shack right on the water. You pick your catch from the cooler, they weigh it, deep-fry it, and hand it to you on a paper plate with a cup of creole sauce. The whole thing runs $15-20 per person, the pelicans sit on the railing beside you, and the fish was swimming that morning. That gap, $50 versus $18 for better food, is the single most useful thing to know about eating in Aruba.

The timeshare pitch is Aruba's most persistent hustle. It starts at the airport baggage carousel, where someone in a polo shirt offers you a 'free island orientation' or a 'welcome drink.' It continues at every major hotel lobby and sometimes at the supermarket parking lot. The routine never changes. You sit through a 90-minute presentation at a resort on the Palm Beach strip, they offer you a 'discounted' week that still costs $15,000-25,000, and getting out takes another 30 minutes of declining counter-offers that get more desperate each round. The 'free' gift is usually a snorkeling trip worth about $40. Your morning is worth more. Taxis on the island use government-posted fixed fares, not meters. The ride from Queen Beatrix International Airport to the Palm Beach hotels is $25-28, and the rate card sits in the window. If someone at arrivals quotes you $45, walk to the next car in the queue.

Aruba sits at 12°N latitude, closer to the equator than most visitors realize. The UV index reaches 11-13 on a clear afternoon, which means a fair-skinned person burns in roughly 12 minutes without protection. The constant 15-25 knot trade winds cool your skin enough that you won't feel the burn building. This is how most first-time visitors end up spending night two in their hotel room, slathered in aloe and regretting the beach nap. The island restricts oxybenzone and octinoxate sunscreens to protect its reefs. Bring your own reef-safe tube from home, because the hotel gift shops charge $25-30 for a small bottle. The natural pool on Arikok National Park's north coast looks calm in photos. In reality, the Atlantic sends swells over the rock wall at irregular intervals, the floor is sharp volcanic basalt that shreds bare feet, and the trail from the parking area is 20 minutes of ankle-turning rubble. Wear closed-toe shoes. Flip-flops there are a medical-evacuation decision.

The cruise terminal shops in Oranjestad mark up aloe products 3-4x over what you'll pay at the Aruba Aloe factory store in Hato, about a 10-minute drive north. The factory charges $8 for a 250ml aloe gel. The terminal gift shops want $22-28 for the same bottle with a fancier label. San Nicolas, Aruba's second city on the south end, has been going through a street-art revival since roughly 2016 and is safe during daylight hours. Worth noting, though, the blocks east of the old Lago refinery get quiet fast after dark, and there's no reason to be out there at night. Baby Beach at the island's southern tip is a real draw for families. The shallow lagoon stays bath-warm and calm enough for toddlers. Avoid it on cruise-ship days. Tour buses from Oranjestad arrive around 10am, and that 50-meter strip of sand fills to shoulder-width spacing by noon.