Aruba is a desert island you can fall in love with

We decided to find out, with a cheap(ish) JetBlue flight and zero expectations. Hedging our bets, we brought along a super-chill, game-for-anything friend, Nancy, and chose a resort with a casino. That way, even if we hated the island, we could stay busy. Here’s how it went down.

Score one for Aruba when it came to weather. We left Boston on an ice-encrusted 12-degree day, and arrived in 86-degree Aruba about 4½ hours later. Aruba is a bit “out there,” geographically; the 19½-mile long, 6-mile-wide island lies in the Caribbean Sea just 15 miles off the coast of Venezuela, and about 890 nautical miles from the equator. The flag of the Kingdom of the Netherlands flies here, but nearly everyone on the island speaks English, sprinkled with Papiamento, a Creole language that’s the mother tongue. In Aruba, being called “dushi” is good — it’s a lovely, all-purpose word, meaning “sweet,” “sweetheart,” or “nice.” We learned this quickly, when our taxi driver dushi-ed us as he loaded our bags. “How can you not love this place?” Nancy whispered, as she pulled off a layer of fleece.

In minutes, we arrived at our digs, the Aruba Marriott Resort (home to the Stellaris Casino, the largest on the island), located in Aruba’s high-rise hotel zone. There’s also a low-rise hotel zone. To a traveler who favors tiny and remote lodgings, this raises alarms. But here’s the saving grace: high-rise hotels are strung along Palm Beach, a sumptuous swathe of white sand ranked as one of the top 10 “hottest beaches for honeymoons” by MSN Living. We practically raced to the swim-up pool bar, downed four fish tacos and a local Balashi beer, and flirted with the bartender. Blinking into the sunlight, we slathered on the highest SPF goop we brought, and headed down the beach.

“Come ride Big Mabel, $15 per person for 15 minutes!” one vendor offered, alongside a profusion of brightly painted inflatable doughnuts. Don’t like Big Mabel? You can meander down the beach and choose from every water activity imaginable. Catamarans, dive boats, sunset snorkel cruises, pirate ships, even Jet-Lev, which allows you to fly over the beach in a jet pack. Tucked just behind all this aqua action are hotels and beach bars.

Diane Bair for The Boston Globe

Aruba’s Palm Beach is lined with vendors aplenty of all things fun in the water.

Dare we say it? The beach is lovely, especially at sunset, when the sand looks silvery under a sherbet-hued sky. OK, Aruba, not bad. Show us what else you’ve got.

We thought about renting a four-wheel-drive vehicle for some DIY exploring, but — as Aruba virgins — chose instead to sign up for an off-road adventure tour in a Land Rover. “We are your guides, paparazzi, chiropractor, and bartender,” said driver Rich Nava of De Palm Tours. He took us to the wild, northeast end of the island, where cacti dot the sandy coastline, around to the windward western side, a jumble of volcanic rock. In a caravan of bright yellow Land Rovers, we visited landmarks including a lighthouse, a church, and the ruins of a gold smelting operation. But the coolest part was the otherworldly landscape, and the strange sight of stacked rocks that stretched for miles, called the Rock Wishing Garden. “It started when fishermen stacked rocks to mark where they got a good catch — now, tourists do it for luck,” Nava said.

Our last stop was one of Aruba’s most beloved landmarks, the natural pool, locally known as conchi. A short walk along a rocky path leads to a sea-splashed cove bordered by boulders. Guides handed out masks and snorkels, but we were happy to body surf in Mother Nature’s wave pool, awaiting the next dousing wave.

That got us primed for the next day’s event: heading out on a 60-foot catamaran, Fiesta, for some snorkeling with Red Sail Sports. Yep, we succumbed to the lure of a boat trip! And we picked a good one, considering it started at 9:15 a.m. and the rum started flowing at the same time. (To be fair, they gave us fresh fruit skewers first.) Does anything feel more vacationy than to be floating among the reef fishes on a weekday? “Have a bit of fun,” guide Jean-Pierre said, “just keep track of where the boat is or you’ll be on your way to Panama.” Among our three stops was the wreck of the Antilla, a 1940s German cargo ship that rested 55 feet under the water. Lunch — including some tasty local fish — was terrific, and the bartenders were busy for the duration, whipping up rum-laced potions.

But our best meal came later, when we joined executive sous chef Miguel Garcia for a cooking class at the Aruba Marriott. In the hotel’s bustling kitchen, we learned how to prepare Aruba’s national dish, keshi yena, a dreamy concoction of chicken, beef, or seafood (typically chicken) mixed with raisins, tomato paste, peppers, and spices, baked in a shell of Gouda cheese from Holland. And it looked beautiful, served in La Creuset ramekins alongside a lemon-y salad and a mound of polenta-like funchi. Really, what wouldn’t taste good in a shell of Gouda?

Our last day’s plan: To return to Arikok National Park to hike the trails. We’d heard that the trails were awesome and that we might see a two-toned “Oreo” goat.

What we actually did: Sprawled in a cushy cabana at the Marriott’s adult pool, swam in the ocean, went to the Marriott’s other pool, ate four more fish tacos — you get the idea. We finally roused ourselves to take a long walk down to Eagle Beach, another award-winning slice of sand, where we marveled at the fofoti trees. Mother Nature’s bonsai, these are sculpted by wind and always bend to the southwest.

About that wind: It wasn’t so bad, just enough to keep things cool, and nowhere near the “Lawrence of Arabia” scenario we’d envisioned.

Aruba, you’ve changed our minds. So, maybe we’ll come back. Maybe we’ll even bring the guys, as long as no one mentions that honeymoon.

Diane Bair for The Boston Globe

The Aruban specialty dish keshi yena is baked in a Gouda shell.

Diane Bair and Pamela Wright can be reached at bairwright@gmail.com.