A satellite image of the Galapagos, with labels

[from late November/early December 2008]

Pete Schedler being the first and only friend thus far to visit me (I guess I didn’t exactly move to Missouri…), I did my best to research the best Ecuador had to offer, emailing out fairly descriptive lists of attractions throughout the jungle, Andes and coastal regions.

Then after less than one hour and less than two beers, everything else has been tossed to the floor of Finn McCool’s and we’re leaving for the Galapagos Islands instead the following morning.  The Islands shouldn’t need much in the way of an introduction — they’re Ecuador’s number one attraction, if not the world’s.

Sure, the cost can be a bit prohibitive, but I’d planned on hitting the islands up from the start (hence: “Galapa-going away parties”) and Pete, an “employed person,” was all for making the most of his “vacation.”  Weird stuff.  Tourism shops throughout La Mariscal offer decent last minute deals, and based on the reoccurrence of the ship “Amigo,” it’s clear they’re all fishing from the same pond.  With unlimited time, I’d probably just head out there and wait at the docks for the best of the last minute deals, but the limitation of Pete’s eight days meant we had to maneuver things just right to make the trip work.

With a $350 plane ticket just to get to the islands in the first place, followed by the hundred dollar admittance fee for non-Ecuadorians (Note to anyone planning to visit the islands soon: the already outlandish fee is set to double next year according to officials), we probably should’ve just splurged and spent another hundred or two getting a boat upgrade.  It was a fantastic trip, flooded with facebook-worthy photo ops, but the two aspects of the trip apparently most affected by money spent are the guide and the food, both of which left a little to be desired.

Still, all the staff were friendly enough, which made sense given that our boat was the “Amigo.”  The majority of Galapagos trips come in four and eight day varieties, generally on the same ship.  For the eight day-ers, this means about halfway through the trip, a chunk of your fellow travelers bail, to be replaced by a whole new set of island-hoppers (for better or worse).  There are about twenty primary islands that get visited, each with their own fascinating — if oddly bleak — characteristics that’ve been compelling tourists to drop in since before Darwin started stirring up the theological pot.

Clearly this table finch evolved a specialized beak capable of processing empanadas

Despite the intimate connection that Darwin and the islands share, we don’t get much in the way of thought-provoking information on the naturalist or what it was he found so compelling about the place.  Our guide’s limited grasp of the islands (or English for that matter) make him less than adroit at placating our curiosity, and the Darwin Research Center on Santa Cruz (one of four inhabitable islands in the cluster) only has on area devoted to visitors.

Darwin arrived at the islands in 1835 on the HMS Beagle for a brief stop in an around-the-world voyage, that was very much like my own in almost no way.  No major epiphanies hit at the time — he was mostly interesting in geology then, with animal specimens being more of an afterthought — but he did immediately take note of variations in finches (now “Darwin Finches”) and tortoises from one island to the next.  While similar in size and coloring, the beaks changed depending on the most desirable prey on any given island.  Back in London, his notes and collections left the man questioning “the stability of Species,” which in turn led to Darwin later writing The Origin of Species, a light and completely uncontroversial piece of literature.

One last thing to note before getting into things: “Four day voyage” is a bit of a misnomer.  The first day doesn’t really begin until around one in the afternoon, and the fourth day ends when passengers are dropped off by the bus station at 9:30 in the morning.  It’s “four days” only in the most basic “Technically, you kind of see the sun four separate times!” way.

Galapagoing

The plane touches down in Guayaquil for an hour, dropping off, picking up.  A white mist seeps out from the ceiling as we depart for the final leg of the journey, disinfecting, sterilizing; the uniquely specialized evolution of life there is as delicate as it is compelling, and the introduction of new predators of any size could drastically affect the fragile balance of things.  The Darwin Research Center chronicles an entire list of now extinct flora and fauna, eradicated not directly by men but by the introduction of foreign plants, animals and insects to the ecosystem.

Waiting at the dock for the Amigo. Us, not the sea lions. They're just lazy.

Darwin Finches fly up to our table fearlessly as we wait for a guide that never arrives.  He’s picked up everyone else in the group already and they’re starting off the day swimming while we’re checking out overpriced postcards and snacking on empanadas, but we’re waiting where we’ve been told to.  Another drawback to the budget deal is that the smiley, well-organized people loudly gathering people together are not gathering us.  It’s an awkward, confusing start, but there are only so many possible launching points from the island so eventually we just grab the shuttle to the docks, spotting the Amigo almost immediately.  It’s the least sexy of the three ships in the small bay, but there’s still a rustic, seaworthy charm to her.

A sense of passive unease grabs me as we scope out the other occupants — a cluster of four couples in their 50s or early 60s.  They greet us with warm, relaxed smiles and seem kind, but I’d been hoping for at least a few, preferably female, that were closer to our ages.  My fears are quelled a bit as the other half of the passengers (those that had gone swimming for most of the morning) return, comprised mostly of twenty-somethings.  For the rest of the trip, everyone would get along and fraternize swimmingly, though there’d be a clear, unspoken clustering of passengers into two disparate groups between the younger and older during any.

Buenas tardes, Amigo

Down below, the crew present themselves to us, and vice versa.  Rounding through a semi-circle, the passengers state our name and country of origin to rousing applause from the crew.  I’m one of the last to go, and the first from the States.

“My name’s Yancy and I’m from Los Estados Unidos,” smiling warmly.

<clap>

Not “<clapping>”.

“<clap>”.

A single clap.  I’m not looking for a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner in Spanish or anything, but come on there, hombres.

Pretty sure it

Food is simple, but generally not bad, typically with the traditional meat/starch/veggie combination, which is at least a step up from the standard Ecuadorian meat/starch/single-piece-of-lettuce-masquerading-as-a-veggie plate.  But every day provides three large, unique meals, never overdone or with less than pleasant looking ingredients.  The only night that stood out negatively did so for wholly American reasons: Thanksgiving dinner (not listed as such anywhere, of course, or even pretending to be one) was comprised of a small chicken breast, cubes of potatoes and some slivers of eggplant.  It was also the night we pressed through the roughest seas, inducing a ship-wise seasickness that only a few fought through to finish their meals unaffected.

Thanksgiving dinner ‘08: One piece of chicken, half chewed, spit from the aft deck after running topside for air.

"Look. There! A cloud!"

Our next day’s adventures are plotted out in passable English each night prior to dinner by Lenny, our guide.  The typical day consisted of two photogenically idyllic stops, each lasting several hours, punctuated by a 2-4 hour gap while making our way to a new location, during which time we’d either drink or read heavily (those being the only options).  Our guide’s tour-guiding abilities remind me much of my approach towards college: before each trip out to a new location, he’d be cramming madly from a book about the Galapagos, and upon confidently answering any question later asked of him, most listeners were fairly certain his answer was complete and utter bullshit.  He wasn’t terrible.  He knew things.  He was passable.  Just as I, eventually, graduated college.

“Lenny, how long can that iguana stay underwater?”

A stony-eyed, empty gaze back at me accompanied by a pause.  An abnormally long one.

Finally: “It can stay under for.. 17 hours.”

17?  Exactly 17??  Come on.  At least try, Lenny.

The bar

Beer and wine on board are cheap by US standards, but after living for a while in Ecuador, two bucks for a beer is nearly double what I’d expect to be paying, and wine costs even more.  Against the rules, Pete managed to get a bottle of Grey Goose vodka onboard, though it mostly stayed tucked away until the final night, likely the cause of our oversleeping and missing the dinghy back to port.  Luckily it decided to make two trips.

Despite the above snarkiness, we’re in the Galapagos — it’s obviously going to be an incredible trip.  In the grand scheme of life on the planet, these are very young volcanic islands, leading to a derth of variety to the plantlife and few trees.  The sparseness of living things here and the near-desert climate lends a certain bleakness to the islands that’s both beautiful and oddly ominous at times, like when a place seems too quiet.

All that said, I’m letting the pictures do most of the talking from here on out:

Topside, these birds ("skates") would fly within feet of our heads. They tend to follow the boat, fighting pelicans for any food thrown overside from the kitchen.

Squat, round islands like this seemed constantly in the distance due to how prolific this shape of island is in the Galapagos. Few of them have life or get tourist visits.

Our first stopping point. In the afternoon, we'd head inland by dinghy to birdwatch.

Re-enacting a scene from Titanic

Schedler and I in the ocean. More small, uninhabited islands in the distance behind us

From the dinghy, we get a great vantage point to many of the local birds, including the pelican...

...and the infamous Blue-footed Boobie!

The following morning we head out to the nearest island, climbing to an observation area with some fairly epic vistas of the dark, arid land.

Shortly after leaving the island, we'd be swimming in the section of perfect blue water to the right

Prior to swimming, though, we did get to see this fairly shy guy: our lone meeting with a penguin

Knowing Galapagos was a strong if not definite destination in the course of my travels, I was prescient enough to pick up an underwater camera prior to leaving the States.  I’ve mostly been very happy with my Olympus, but right around the end of the Galapagos trip, I noticed the battery cabinet was taking on water, enough so that one of my batteries was destroyed.  Luckily the camera itself still functions, and I feel relatively comfortable with it exposed to rain, but I won’t be swimming with it again unfortunately.

It performed perfectly on this trip, however…

This is one of the water iguanas that can stay submerged for exactly 17 hours

Shark Attack!

The sea turtles were surprisingly nonplussed about being molested while swimming. Or possibly they're just slow...

But the grand prize winner in the “coolest thing to swim with in the Galapagos region” goes, bar none, to the sea lion.

With most of the group a good fifteen minute swim away, a sea lion swims directly up to Ellie, an English girl I’m swimming with (who taught me, by the way, that “French toast” in England is known as “Eggy Bread”), and myself.  Rather than just brush by as if by accident, the sea lion, a female, darts between us and proceeds to torpedo through the water, spiraling constantly as though this is all a game.  And it probably is.  We give chase, only to have the creature pull a 180 and suddenly be the one in pursuit, as it literally swims circles around us.  It never quite gets in range for either of us to reach out and touch it, but it never gets more than a few feet past us either, often turning around to look us in the eyes with a glance I can only describe as “intensely curious.”

Ellie and I decide the others have to get in on the hot sea lion action and guess correctly that she’s enough into us to follow us for ten minutes to the others.  We swim along as it considers its graceful aquatic dance between us.  The others are equally taken with her — how could you not be? — and she must feel similarly, as when the time comes to re-board the dinghy, she’s still with us.

They're fairly cute on land too. Just far, far, far less graceful.

Santiago Island had a massive lava outpouring long ago with a high metallic content, leading to some fantastic natural formations.

Build-up of gases would lead to these mini-volcanoes, the molten sphincter frozen in place for perpetuity

No life here beyond insects and crabs

Day three brings us to some new islands, once again both gorgeous...

...and bleak

Besides more sea lions, this island’s claim to fame seems to be iguanas.  Orgies and orgies of iguanas.

The ocean: afternoon...

...and sunset

Schedler and I oversleep the next morning, missing the dinghy back to dry land entirely.  The problem’s exacerbated by the small room — two bunkbeds huddled over one another, neither more than six feet long (I’m 6′4″) and even less floor space, such that only one of us can get dressed and packed at a time.  Couples looking for a romantic getaway to the Galapagos might want to look into a slightly bigger ship, as the quarters would be less than ideal for any hot island action.

Speaking of hot island action, our first and only stop in the morning is at the Galapagos tortoise refuge, and one of the first sightings there involves a pair going at it hot and heavily.  If by “hot and heavily,” I mean barely moving at all.  In the realm of large animal sex, watching tortoises in action is about as devoid of movement as two creatures can get while still copulating.  The female sits motionless on the bottom, head pulled in defensively with a look of profound confusion, discomfort and even a bit of fear in wide, glassy eyes.  The male, meanwhile, has somehow gotten his slow, awkward body upon her at a 45 degree angle, with his head partially outstretched with a look on his face that could only be described as “curmudgeonly.”  And about once every other second, his leather neck and head rises.  Then drops.  Then rises.  And on, and on.  No other movement anywhere on his visible body.

I think those two spring chickens were in their 70s or 80s.  Galapagos Turtles are the oldest land animals, clocking in at times in the upper hundreds.  Approaching, the male immediately jumps off the female, which is a shame, but no reason for me not to go for the photo op.  I assure you, i did not kick the male turtle off, as this picture seems to imply.

"Scram. It's my turn.."

Having seen little else of the island (despite having the time to do so), Schedler and I separate from both those going to the airport and those returning to the boat to spend a last day soaking up whatever Santa Cruz might have to offer.  Both of us being SCUBA certified, that was our first option, but as all the locations are far enough away to warrant leaving by boat at eight in the morning, our window of opportunity had closed on that.  The island has several restaurants that’re higher in quality than standard Ecuadorian vittles, but far more expensive as well, bordering on “American” prices.

The "domesticated" sea lion, right after biting Schedler for posing next to it on the bench. This guy was way crankier than any we met out in the wild.

TGIMcSeaLionBite

Other than a visit to the marginally interesting Charles Darwin Research Center, the rest of the day’s fairly uneventful.  After having tracked down a spot known for good waves, Pete’s set to go surfing the next morning.  Sleeping in a bit’s fine by me, though.  It’s “vacation.”