Beyond the Tourist Trail: San Nicolaas' Hidden Beaches and Street Art Scene

My career as a private investigator taught me that the most revealing details often hide in plain sight. San Nicolaas exemplifies this principle perfectly. While most visitors to Aruba cluster around Palm Beach and Eagle Beach (admittedly beautiful in their own right), they miss the cultural heartbeat of the island pulsing strongly in this southern community.

I based myself at the modest but comfortable O.J.'s Guesthouse, a locally-owned establishment with simple, clean rooms and a veranda perfect for morning coffee. At $85 per night, it offers tremendous value compared to the $300+ resorts up north, plus the kind of local insight no concierge can match. Owner Oscar has lived in San Nicolaas his entire life and keeps a mental catalog of the area's evolution that rivals my own case notes.

What struck me immediately was the rhythm of life here—unhurried, genuine, and refreshingly free of tourist pretense. Morning walks revealed elderly men playing dominoes under shade trees, fishermen mending nets, and locals greeting each other by name at the small market. These aren't staged cultural experiences; they're simply daily life unfolding.

The former refinery town's industrial past is evident in its architecture—utilitarian buildings now repurposed, company housing transformed into colorful homes. For someone who's spent decades reading the stories buildings tell, San Nicolaas offers a fascinating narrative of boom, bust, and reinvention.

In my decades tracking missing persons, I learned to look where others don't. The same principle applies to finding Aruba's most spectacular hidden beaches, all within easy reach of San Nicolaas.

Boca Grandi sits just 10 minutes northeast of town—a wild, windswept stretch of white sand that couldn't be more different from the manicured beaches of the hotel zone. The powerful waves and strong currents make swimming inadvisable, but the raw beauty is unmatched. During my Tuesday morning visit, I counted exactly three other people across its vast expanse: two kiteboarders dancing with the consistent winds and one fellow beach wanderer.

Roger's Beach offers a completely different experience. Tucked beside the former refinery site, this local favorite features calm, protected waters perfect for swimming. What it lacks in postcard perfection, it makes up for in authenticity. Families gather on weekends, the small beach bar serves ice-cold Balashi beer, and the snorkeling reveals healthy coral formations just offshore. I spent a peaceful Wednesday afternoon here with my underwater camera, capturing surprisingly vibrant marine life mere steps from shore.

Most revealing was Boca Prins, located within Arikok National Park about 25 minutes from San Nicolaas. This remote beach requires a bumpy drive down unpaved roads—precisely why it remains gloriously uncrowded. The limestone cliffs, crashing waves, and natural pools create a dramatic landscape that feels more rugged Maine coastline than Caribbean paradise. Pack water and snacks; there are no facilities here, which is exactly the point.

The most compelling evidence of San Nicolaas' transformation is splashed across its walls. What began as a community revitalization project has evolved into one of the Caribbean's most impressive collections of street art. As someone who's spent a lifetime reading visual clues, I find these murals particularly revealing of the town's soul.

The annual Aruba Art Fair (held each September) has attracted international artists who've left their mark on formerly neglected buildings. Unlike the commissioned corporate art you might find in tourist districts, these works pulse with authenticity and often tackle substantive themes—Aruban identity, environmental concerns, and the island's complex colonial history.

I recommend beginning your exploration at Charlie's Bar, a local institution whose cluttered interior (decades of collected memorabilia) contrasts with the vibrant mural on its exterior. From there, wander Main Street (B. v/d Veen Zeppenfeldtstraat) where the highest concentration of artwork can be found. The beauty of this self-guided tour is the element of discovery—turning a corner to find an entire building transformed into a canvas.

My investigator's habit of documentation served me well here. My travel journal quickly filled with notes about artists, themes, and locations. I've found that sketching and writing about street art helps me notice details I might otherwise miss. Several pieces incorporate elements of Aruba's landscape and wildlife—flamingos, divi-divi trees, and the island's distinctive topography appear in stylized forms throughout.

Most revealing are the murals depicting the refinery era—smokestacks and industrial scenes rendered in unexpected beauty, acknowledging rather than erasing the town's complex economic history.

My investigative approach to travel extends to cuisine—I'm constantly searching for the authentic dishes that reveal a place's true character. San Nicolaas offers rich pickings for the culinary detective, with options ranging from humble food trucks to family-run establishments serving generations-old recipes.

O'Neil Caribbean Kitchen became my regular lunch spot, where $12 secures a heaping plate of fresh-caught fish, funchi (Aruba's cornmeal polenta), and plantains. The daily specials are determined entirely by what the morning's fishing boats brought in. Owner Maria explained that her grandmother's recipes haven't changed in 60 years—no tourist modifications here.

For a deeper dive into local food culture, I visited Zeerovers in nearby Savaneta (just 10 minutes from San Nicolaas). This dockside eatery serves seafood so fresh it was swimming hours earlier. The process is refreshingly straightforward: select your fish by weight, choose sides, then wait at picnic tables overlooking the water. The jumbo shrimp and catch-of-the-day fried with minimal seasoning let the quality of the ingredients speak for themselves.

Perhaps most revealing was my discovery of Charlie's Bar's secret menu. This 80-year-old establishment is known for its memorabilia-covered walls, but locals know to ask for dishes not listed on the tourist menu. The goat stew, served only on Thursdays, offers a window into Aruba's multicultural heritage with its blend of Dutch, Spanish, and African influences.

I documented my culinary findings with my travel camera, capturing both the dishes and the environments where locals gather to eat. These images tell a more honest story about Aruban food culture than any resort buffet ever could.

As a former investigator, I've learned that every community holds untold stories—you simply need to know how to listen. In San Nicolaas, these narratives reveal themselves to those patient enough to seek them out.

The Museum of Industry provides context for understanding how the refinery shaped everything about this community. Though modest in size, its collection of photographs and artifacts documents the dramatic economic shifts that have defined San Nicolaas. Most moving were the oral histories—recorded interviews with elderly residents who remember the refinery's heyday, when workers from throughout the Caribbean and beyond created a multicultural community decades before 'diversity' became a buzzword.

For a different perspective, I spent an afternoon at the Community Art Center, where local artists maintain studios in a repurposed commercial building. Armando, a lifelong resident who creates intricate wooden sculptures, shared stories of growing up in the shadow of the refinery smokestacks. His work transforms driftwood—much of it collected from the very beaches I'd been exploring—into pieces that reflect both personal and collective memory.

The most revealing conversations happened during my daily walks. San Nicolaas residents, noticing my Moleskine sketchbook and curious expression, often approached with questions about my impressions of their town. These exchanges typically began with polite small talk but frequently evolved into nuanced discussions about identity, economic change, and hopes for the community's future.

One encounter particularly stands out: meeting Elena, an 86-year-old woman who has lived in the same modest home since 1952. She invited me in for coffee and showed photographs documenting the town's evolution. Her perspective on how tourism could help—but also potentially harm—San Nicolaas reflected a wisdom rarely found in official development plans.