A voyage around the Galapagos
I've endured a lot of blue-footed booby jokes this week.
I started writing this week’s newsletter in possibly the silliest café in the silliest place in all of Ecuador – silly being bougie, and silly being “I can’t believe I’m actually here right now, having a fancy coffee in the middle of the Pacific Ocean” – that is, all the way over in Puerto Ayora, on Santa Cruz island in the Galapagos.
Yes, my coffee journey continues (for shame) and while on the one hand I am devastated to leave these magical islands tomorrow, on the other I’ve just paid $5.70 for a cappuccino. That’s US dollars, to be clear. After eight unbelievable days aboard the Cachalote Explorer, I find myself here in Santa Cruz, alone for the first time in almost nine months of travelling.
Dave and his mum are flying back to Quito, from where Ann will return home to the UK tomorrow. I'm in the Galapagos for one more night as I have a couple of meetings scheduled with some of the scientists stationed here at the Charles Darwin research centre. I do so love to turn every adventure into a work deadline after all… it is the freelance journalism way! But put away the tiny violins, it’s not so bleak – I get to spend another day in paradise, after all.
For sure, my solo mini-break has its perks. You wouldn’t believe how much time Dave and I spend trying to find places in new towns that will serve both a “fancy hot drink” and beer with an atmosphere that we can both agree on in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. Now nothing can get in the way of my overpriced coffee. But it’s a strange feeling all the same – and reminding me of all the best and worst things about backpacking solo through Central America 11 years ago.
For example: I want to go to the beach and have a swim. So I will! Nobody to discuss or negotiate with, I can do exactly as I please (not that Dave has ever turned down a beach, I should clarify). Except: who will watch my stuff while I swim? And then there’s the sad fact that a woman alone will always solicit unwanted attention from local dudes. [Epilogue: I did indeed go to the beach… nobody stole my stuff, but I did get accosted by two young men who wanted American girlfriends to learn English. Sorry, dudes.]
Some things have changed since taking my trip around Central America when I was 23. For one thing, I have enough cash to afford a nice room on my own – my time doing shared hostel dormitories is long gone. Apart from the time I accidentally made myself homeless in Margate by putting my flat on Airbnb during a train strike, but that’s another story.
Back in my twenties, I hated going for dinner alone. If I hadn’t any dorm mates to go with, I’d more often than not have a picnic in bed, or make do with a big lunch. And I don’t know why I felt that way – was there some kind of stigma in eating alone at night that didn’t exist during the day? Was I worried I’d look sad and friendless? Probably. But now I don’t care. I’ll find a nice place to eat, preferably something leafy and vegetarian since Dave isn’t here to complain, and I’ll take my book.
Yes, we took a cruise, and no it wasn’t cheap, but we did get a bloody good deal (did you expect anything otherwise?). Islas Galapagos are much pricier than anywhere else in Ecuador, inevitably so: we are more than 1,300km from the mainland out here and most things required for living must be imported. It’s an archipelago supported largely by tourism, and wealthy American tourists in particular will pay thousands for a cruise and many bucks for a coffee. Unfortunately, it also ramps up prices for locals, for whom the cost of living is more than double that of Quito, I am told (I’m probably not helping matters being in this café).
All of this being said, the islands don't feel at all overrun or ruined by tourism. Yes, on first impressions Puerto Ayora is a little like a pocket-sized Marbella with its many smart restaurants, boutique hotels and bars along the waterfront. But it's not a toy town, and there are no crowds. Walk away from the main strip and Puerto Ayora feels distinctly “local”: the hostel I'm staying in tonight is backed by a sports field used by school kids and older ladies’ aerobics classes alike.
Outside of the town, things become progressively quieter, and away from the residential areas of Santa Cruz and Isla Isabela, the surrounding islands are mostly uninhabited, undisturbed and wild. It's possible to take day trips from Santa Cruz to see some of them, but most are only accessible by authorised cruise boats (it feels wrong to say “ships” since they tend to be small, hosting only a dozen or so people) – and even then, visitor groups may only make landings at a handful of points designated by the Galapagos national park.
It’s impossible to put into words just how amazing the past week has been – so I won’t do it a disservice by attempting to regale every minute. In brief (ha), Dave, his mum and I flew from Quito to Baltra airport back on the 19th of June. From there, we were picked up by Juanito (“little John”), our guide, and made our way to the Cachalote Explorer with a few stops on route to check out the resident giant tortoises (some of whom are more than 250 years old!).
We made the Cachalote our home for seven nights. She’s not the fanciest of ships – no comparison to our experience in Antarctica in February – our cabins were below deck, noisy, and reeked of engine fuel, a smell I didn't expect to get used to but sure did. Even so, she (yes, I’m calling the boat a she) has a certain charm, with old-school wooden interiors and a proper captain’s wheel made out of dark and heavily-polished wood. Retro! In fact, the Cachalote spent the first decades of life as a fishing trawler, which explains the heaviness of her very portly-sounding generator that soothed me to sleep each night. But the beds were comfortable and the showers hot, which is a step up from many places we've stayed in Latin America.
There's no such thing as a zero-carbon trip to a place like the Galapagos, but research shows that taking a small cruise boat like ours is a much more environmentally sound option compared to, say, flying between islands or taking multiple day trips by boat. It became clear while we were on it that boats like the Cachalote are heavily monitored and regulated in terms of things like waste generation and disposal, and we were asked to use the biodegradable soap provided rather than our own products, limit showers, and so on. Deet insect repellant and plastic bags are banned upon entering the Galapagos, although the big airport scanners didn’t catch mine out, admittedly. The fact the Cachalote has effectively been upcycled from a fishing boat is an added bonus.
Our route took us north from Santa Cruz to Isla Santiago to see a volcano charmingly named Chinese Hat, because, well, it looks a bit like a Chinese hat. From there we headed west to the tiny uninhabited island of Rabida and down to Isla Isabela, the biggest of the Galapagos islands, where we followed the coastline round and up to the far west of the archipelago and its outermost island of Fernandina. Then, north to Vincente Roca Point, where we crossed the equator and the converging currents, before rounding the top of Isla Isabela and returning back down to Balta via Isla Bartolomé and Santiago once again. Here’s a picture to illustrate all of this in a much more palatable way:
Something that did feel reminiscent of our Antarctic voyage was the routine we fell into – and what a joy to discard all responsibility and decision-making for a week, asides from which drink to order at the bar. Each morning began with breakfast at 7am, announced by the ringing of a little bell. Like Pavlov’s dogs, we appeared upstairs in the saloon, mouths watering, to gorge on eggs in their many forms (me) and enjoy pancakes, tropical fruits, granola, yogurt and fresh bread. I even took my coffee bravery to the next level by getting into the filter stuff on tap (very good compared to ordinary filter coffee, I was reliably informed – this is Ecuador after all).
After breakfast, we'd obediently wash and prepare for the first landing of the day. This meant hopping into two little dinghies (or pangas, as they are known locally) which taxied us to shore on a nearby island. From there we’d take a gentle stroll (or, on occasion, a precarious leap across a lava tunnel) to see endemic plants and animal species. Here is a non-exhaustive list: marine iguanas (freaky little guys); snakes (apparently nothing to worry about because they’re stranglers not biters); blue-footed boobies (true story); the excellently-named Sally Lightfoot crabs (after a real person, apparently!); lots and lots of turtles and a metric tonne of other birds, fish and marine mammals including my faves, the sealions, spotted chilling on shore. Every walk was a field trip excursion filled with facts supplied by our excellent guide, and every walk revealed something new about the unique environment of each island, some of which are effectively babies at less than one million years old.
I really enjoyed learning about the many quirks of evolution. The big reason why scientists past and present get so fanatical about the Galapagos is that the islands have a unique make-up and have been extremely isolated for much of their existence – in a way that very few other places in the world still are. Hawaii for example used to be home to plenty of endemic species (ie, those that are only found in a particular geographical region and nowhere else in the world) but mass tourism has led most to die out. The Galapagos were left undisturbed by humans for much longer, and so it's still possible to see thousands of sub-species of plants and animals that exist only in that particular place – the vermilion flycatchers that live on Santa Cruz island for example are genetically different to the ones living on Fernandina or Rabida. They’ve all adapted slightly differently to their island’s specific food sources and microclimates. Which is how Darwin managed to put the pieces together on evolution theory back in the day.
Marine iguanas are a very fun and famous example. These freaky little sun worshippers lie in great scaley piles on the rocks of Fernandina island among others, all facing upwards to the sun to create a scene reminiscent of the Rapture. They are thought to have floated over on driftwood from the mainland many millennia ago. Here, they adapted to the food sources available to them, figuring out along the way that the seaweed was the tastiest thing. And so you have it – the only iguanas in the world that have evolved to be competent swimmers. And it is properly weird to see them scooting along in the water with you, tails zigzagging like snakes on land. (Side note: Isla Fernandina is where the famous iguanas vs snakes scene was filmed for the BBC’s Blue Planet II series a few years ago. If you haven't seen it [where have you been?!] You need to click here.)
Land excursions were typically followed by snorkelling, always my favourite part of the day. The water was cold – not what you'd expect for the equatorial Pacific, necessarily – on account of the Humboldt current coming up all the way from the Antarctic, one of four major currents that converge here (it's also what brings so much diversity to the islands, so we can't hate it). As with the walks, every snorkel brought something new – one day it was bullhead sharks, another day enormous 12ft manta rays, other days sealions, penguins, fur seals, and so many enormous schools of huge, rainbow coloured fish. Personally, I couldn't get enough of the sealions – because they are really the dogs of the sea (I actually saw one carrying a stick!). One memorable snorkelling session was completely hijacked by a playful sealion who kept suddenly appearing from the depths, clearly very much enjoying startling us by blowing bubbles in our faces with lightning speed.
On days when the journey time allowed it between islands, we'd have a second snorkelling session after lunch (always at 12pm, always announced by the ringing of the little bell, always abundant, with fish, chicken, salads, homemade cheeses and all of the carbs). There were days when those of us who could handle the cold, ie, we three Brits and a hardly Californian couple, stayed out pottering along the coastline for more than an hour at a time.
Our late afternoons typically came with another walk on land, often up to a viewpoint to marvel at the brand new landscapes still being formed by lava and the two major tectonic plates moving beneath us. Dinner was at 7pm, but we did our best to squeeze in a cocktail beforehand. Juan would write out the plan for the following day and instruct us without irony to “consider going to bed early” at barely 8pm. To my amazement, a lot of people did, exhausted from the day’s activities no doubt.
Halfway through the week we crossed the equator, putting Dave and I back in the northern hemisphere for the first time since leaving Spain last October (hello, summer!). After several days loitering just south of the line, our ship's captain summoned everyone to witness the GPS clock tick over to zero latitude, just before sunset on the day of the equinox (but which one?! Was it summer or winter?!) The ceremony that ensued – Juanito leading a singalong on guitar to “Happy ‘Quator”, sung to the tune of Happy Birthday – was somewhat hysterical. But to sit in the centre of the globe and suddenly see a manta ray jump out of the water and seals porpoising into the sunset was a very magical feeling. Not long after, I was the one to spot a lone minke whale (still flexing those Antarctica whale-spotting skills) and the atmosphere among the group was merry, even asides from the cocktails.
And it was a nice crowd on board, only 13 of us, everyone refreshingly “normal” (no casual billionaires here, unlike the Antarctic cruise) and excited to be there and to see wildlife. Well ok, there was one 27-year old girl from Monaco but she was down to earth – as much as one can be after growing up in Monaco – and very excited about the wildlife.
And then there was Grace, who could never really be described as normal. At 88 years old, Grace put us all to shame with her ability to scale volcanoes, hop into pangas, and kayak and snorkel in the coldest water without complaint. We all fell a little bit in love with Grace. She's from Arizona, but has lived a thousand lives all over the US and other parts of the world, too. She hitchhiked around Europe alone in the 1950s before training in chemistry and working on the fallout of the H-bomb. Because of that she developed cancer, survived against the odds, launched several different businesses and art projects, got her pilot’s licence after meeting a series of boyfriends who flew private planes (“what if they'd had a heart attack mid-air with me in the passenger seat?”) before falling in love with a woman named Carol, whom she lived with until Carol passed away a couple of years ago.
Now Grace travels the world by herself and apparently fears nothing. We joked that she could try skydiving, but it turns out she already did that last year. Our fellow shipmates are campaigning for me to write a book about her. I'm working on her for a news feature to start with… she's not yet convinced, but watch this space.
Travel bits and tips from this week
We took an eight-day cruise on the Cachalote Explorer with Enchanted Expeditions, booked via Blue Sky Galapagos.
Our guide was the fantastic Juan Tapir (Juanito) – an Ecuadorian naturalist of more than 35 years. Everyone I’ve come across since has confirmed he’s the best in the business. Completely unrelatedly, he has 20 siblings(!) and about 90* godchildren, for whom he brings supplies from the mainland every time he travels. He is very much a local celebrity, and no trip to town went by without some fan of his coming over to pay their respects.
The cheapest way to see the Galapagos Islands is to turn up in Santa Cruz and peruse the travel agencies in Puerto Ayora to pick up a last-minute deal. Especially at the moment, when not as many people are travelling to Ecuador (and you have to fly from Quito, there is no boat from the continent). We may have done this had we not been planning a trip with Dave’s mum – but there are obviously no guarantees.
Another thing to be aware of is that you have to have an exit date planned and proof of departure before arriving in the Galapagos (which could limit your scope with last minute cruises).
The other way to see the islands is to base yourself in Santa Cruz or Isabela and take day trips to other sites. But this can be costly and result in a lot of time spent in transit.
The flights to the Galapagos are expensive – that’s unavoidable, unfortunately. LatAm and Avianca fly from Quito with a stopover in Guayaquil. In ordinary times you could fly direct from there, but the coastal region is currently off limits for tourists due to the security situation in western Ecuador.
We ate like kings and queens on board all week, but I drank overpriced coffee in Islander café (Puerto Ayora) and found a menu del dia at El Chocolate restaurant.
I’m staying at El Arco de Darwin (because one way or another, everything in the Galapagos is named after Darwin).
Oh! We did had a cocktail while stopping off one afternoon in Puerto Villamil: it was a pisco sour (Ann finally got to try one) at El Faro.
Loved this, as ever. Also: the world needs to hear more about Grace