JA's Concacaf Chronicles: Making friends in Curacao

Kicking it with the Weed Man of Willemstad

Welcome to the first edition of JA’s Concacaf Chronicles, a sporadic series in which I share memories of things that happened on the road in the region rather than talk about anything on the field.

We start with a story that took place not long ago. I was in Curacao in November to dig into how a national team on an island with a population smaller than plenty of U.S. suburbs is becoming a Gold Cup fixture and was just a win away from the Nations League Final Four (the match I covered ended up being a loss for the home side, and Costa Rica made it through to the now-suspended event).

You can read my pieces on Curacao’s rise here and here, but that’s not today’s topic.

Today’s topic is how I ended up eating dinner with a low-level drug-dealer my first night in Willemstad.

Upon arrival, I dropped my bags at the hotel and immediately headed for the picturesque canal area with the floating pedestrian bridge between Punda and Otrabanda to explore. (All photos were taken by me. Sorry.)

It actually swings open when ships come through and sometimes you have to take a ferry to get to the other side.

This also is near the cruise ship terminal, so it’s generally pretty crowded with tourists as well as locals selling artwork, snacks and souvenirs, plus people just going about their day.

As I took it all I saw a guy in a soccer shirt with matching shorts and flip-flops. Maybe I stared too long. More likely he propositions any white dude - especially a white dude traveling alone.

“Hey man, you wanna buy some weed?”

I’m not a big drug guy. Like, for sure #LegalizeIt. I support you doing what makes you happy, but it’s not for me.

Yet, the simple idea of being accused of trying to buy drugs in a foreign country sends my mind reeling. This happens a fair amount when I travel, and I get it. I look like a prime target. But I also am eager to move on from those situations just because I don’t want to get any trouble.

So, I did as I always do, gave the stern shake of the head and said “No thanks,” and kept walking.

After exploring Punda for a bit, it was time to cross back over to the other side and once again I see my soccer-loving pal. We proceed to have the exact same interaction we had earlier, but this time he sounds me out a little bit.

“OK, what else? Some coke?” “No, man. I’m good. I’m good.”

Again, I’m not looking to get tossed in jail in Curacao - especially not before I’ve written a single word, so I move on out as quickly as possible.

Later I’m in a different area taking a few touristy photos and AGAIN I see my guy. (Perhaps this story really is about how small Curacao is). I shake him off once more and go about my way. At this point the sun had set a while ago and I haven’t eaten in hours. I set off in search of a bite, but it’s sort of late and it seems Willemstad doesn’t have a ton of late-night options on the weeknights.

I stumble upon a little Chinese bar with a house attached to the back where the kitchen serves up food. It’s one of those places where they have some groceries as well, and it’s all regulars. I do my best Bourdain impression and confidently walk in, ordering an Amstel that comes in a tiny bottle and also some chicken fried rice.

I sit and wait and who walks in but my man, the weed guy!

This time I beat him to the punch. I caught his eye after he shook hands with a few others in the bar and said, “No weed,” with a smile.

He laughed and sat down next to me. This time he wasn’t trying to push a product. His work was done for the day. It was time to relax.

It wasn’t exactly my goal to have him join me, but I figured there was a pretty established pattern of disinterest if the cops suddenly rolled up and wanted to book me for something or another.

Turns out his English was basically limited to things pertaining to his business, but he was curious why I was at what seemed to be his typical hangout. We struggled through a few awkward attempts at conversation, but eventually were just sitting there while I enjoyed a way-too-large portion of fried rice.

Fortunately the news started showing a story about the national team, so I pointed to it and mimed some soccer playing.

Despite his soccer fashion, it turns out he wasn’t all that interested in the local scene. Even in tiny Curacao, it turns out, there exists the Concacaf Eurosnob, with the guy telling me he preferred European soccer to the local variety.

The rest of my time there, I would see him working along the main drag and we’d give each other a little nod and a smile. He’s not in the newsletter’s target audience, but I still hope he’s doing well.

I actually had two other funny run-ins in Curacao. One was while I was headed to the excellent coffee shop Beans in the fascinating Pietermaai District. A guy stuck his head out the window of his car and was like, “Hey, you’re the Concacaf writer guy, right?” “Yeah.” “Nice! Well, I hope Costa Rica beats Haiti so we can make the Gold Cup,” he said as we had a little chat about the group permutations.

The other was at the famous Netto Bar, a classic dive which apparently opens at 8 a.m. I wasn’t around to see that but I did pop in before dinner one night while I was still in town doing stories about the other games taking place in Curacao during the Nations League window.

Netto has been open since the 1950s and its decor probably hasn’t changed much since the doors swung open for the first time. There are old soccer shirts and scarves lining the ceiling (no clue what the shirt on the left is. I was trying not to be total tourist guy and take all the pictures, so that’s my only shot).

Plus, for some reason, a bit of a shrine to Europe travel expert and PBS mainstay Rick Steves…

This brings up a lot of questions for me. Does Rick Steves travel with photos of himself? Did Netto have the picture printed after Steves visited? Did Rick Steves do a Curacao episode under the guise that technically it’s the Netherlands, so it’s Europe? I mean, I write about CONMEBOL sometimes. I’m not saying you can’t go outside your range a bit now and then. Just curious.

Anyway, while I was standing at the bar sipping my green rum, a Netto staple, a local guy came up to order a few drinks and tried to strike up a conversation. When he found out I was from the United States, he was excited but struggled to explain why. Somehow we figured out we both spoke fluent Spanish and he said he was an artist working on an installation and wanted to give it to the people of the United States as a gift, but wasn’t sure how to do

He wouldn’t explain what it was or why I should be the one in charge of getting it to all Americans.

He did want to keep talking art, but I told him I couldn’t stay to chat since I had dinner plans. He said that was probably for the best as his friend was still waiting in the car outside. That’s a good friend because we’d been talking for about 15 minutes at that point. We swapped email addresses and went our separate ways.

I never did email him to find out what that was all about, so I’m dropping him a line now.

I’ll let you know if I hear back, but for sure we’ll be back to soccer topics next week with my Concacaf XI and another reported feature!

That night I ended up making it to dinner, enjoying a live band playing jazz and reggae, and having a second dinner of the most surprising street food I’ve ever had: This pork chop sandwich.

Man, I miss traveling.

Have a great weekend. Happy Easter if you’re observing. Stay safe.