ARUBA

Dutch and Portuguese flavours bring international flair to local seafood on this Caribbean island, from freshly grilled mahi mahi to citrussy fried shrimp. But save room for clay pot stews and cheese-stuffed pastries

- JAMES MARCH

Leaning back on the captain’s chair, Sherwin Muller crosses his scuffed, olive-green sandals and steers our trawler out of Aruba’s Renaissance Marina. It’s 7.30am and the breeze blowing through the boat’s upper deck is merciful on this humid morning, as the marina’s stillness gives way to the Caribbean Sea’s choppy roll.

“I’m the only fisherman in my family,” says Sherwin, now in his 11th year at Hatts Off Fishing Charters. “My mom worked in the oil refinery and my dad was a cop.” Wearing a stained grey hoodie and floral shorts, the jocular Sherwin exudes calm while I hope my fragile sea legs don’t abandon me. Aruba’s a fish-obsessed island, and this expedition is a window into the everyday life of the fisherfolk who use the traditional line-caught method.

Every hotel and restaurant in Aruba serves fish in one form or another, from succulent deepsea grouper to small but muscular octopus. “When I was young, I used to watch the guys coming in with wahoo and mahi mahi,” Sherwin says, pointing toward the docks.

Suddenly a metallic-blue wahoo shoots out of the water and Sherwin leaps from his chair, spitting commands to his crew below in Aruba’s local creole language Papiamento. I scurry down to the chaotic lower deck and am quickly inserted into the boat’s ‘fighting chair’, like a movie president scrambling into the war room. Reeling in the struggling wahoo takes around five minutes but feels like an eternity, with my right arm limp and my grey T-shirt caked in sweat.

“It’s a workout, right?” says Sherwin afterwards, laughing. I tell him breathlessly that I’ll remember this slog with some reverence when I sit down for dinner later.