Machu Picchu and the Galapagos

This post that has almost nothing to do with bladder cancer, other than the fact that I'm still alive. File this one under "the joys and travails of life."

Christmas Day, Sunday December 25

Our trip to Machu Picchu and the Galapagos is a celebration of Spencer and Kirsten graduating from college. Spencer graduated on December 21 with a Bachelor of Independent Studies, combining biology, psychology, and social work. His capstone project drew on those disciplines to better identify adolescent traits that can predict a propensity to abuse alcohol or drugs. Kirsten, meanwhile, is on track to graduate in May 2017 with a Bachelor of Social Work. Both are in the process of applying to MSW programs. We decided to take the trip now because Spencer is planning on thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail next spring, which will take 4-5 months, so a trip with both after Kirsten’s graduation would not have been possible. All four of us have wanted to go to both places, so why not?

As I planned the trip, I learned how difficult the logistics would be. Machu Picchu and the Galapagos are two of the more difficult places to get to in the modern world. To get to Machu Picchu, we had to fly eight hours due south to Lima, connect to a flight to Cuzco, then travel 3-4 hours by train (there are no roads to Machu Picchu). Then to get to the Galapagos, we had to return to Cuzco, then fly to Lima, then fly to either Quito or Guayaquil, Ecuador, then fly to the islands. The Galapagos flights are deliberately timed to require an overnight stay in Ecuador, usually coming and going. Also, both places require licensed guides for many places, ensuring more money flows from the pockets of the gringos to South America.

Our travel began with a red-eye flight from DC to Lima, departing at 9pm. The plane was packed and none of us got much sleep. We landed at 5am in Lima, and groggily shuffled off the plane.

Monday December 26

While waiting in the Lima airport for our connection to Cuzco, Peru, Kirsten tried to do a nebulizer treatment for her asthma, which recently has flared up. We could not get the machine to work with the new transformer we had packed (Peruvian outlets look like US outlets, but use 220 volts). Eventually I found an outlet where the nebulizer worked – for about 5 minutes – then it died. It turns out that I had fried the machine because the voltage was 220. I emailed Andean Treks, the company coordinating the Machu Picchu portion of our trip, and asked them to track down another nebulizer. They responded promptly, and by the time we landed in Cuzco later that morning, they had figured out how to get a new machine that worked on both 110 and 220, and which Kirsten has daily while in Peru. We tossed the old one along with the non-functioning transformer and were on our way.

Our first day’s itinerary called for us to be met at the airport by a driver and guide from Andean Treks and take a tour of Cuzco and the Sacred Valley, then stay overnight in Ollaytatambo, a town in the Sacred Valley.

The city of Cuzco is in the mountains of southern Peru and is over 11,000 feet above sea level. It was the center of the Inca Empire, and had several magnificent temples built with huge finely carved stones joined without mortar. Through a combination of guns, germs, steel, treachery, and duplicity, in the 1530’s Francisco Pizarro and less than 200 Spanish soldiers, heavily aided by the Catholic Church, led a genocidal campaign that destroyed the Inca Empire, killed millions of indigenous people, stripped a country of its material wealth, used religion as a tool to control the survivors, and set a course for Peru that it is still struggling to overcome nearly 500 years later.

Northwest of Cuzco is the “Sacred Valley” that contained dozens of Inca cities. The mountains surrounding the Sacred Valley still have thousands of stone terraces to provide additional arable land for farming. Almost all have been long abandoned since the Spanish killed or enslaved most of the indigenous population. The Incas had created a series of trails connecting those cities and terraces, with several leading to the religiously significant complex of Machu Picchu. A few of the Incas who survived the initial Spanish genocide destroyed the trails leading to Machu Picchu, and the city was unpillaged by the Spanish. The jungle reclaimed it, where remained hidden for nearly 400 years until it was rediscovered in 1911 by American archeologist Hiram Bingham.

Our tour started with the ruins above Cuzco: Saqsayhuaman and Qenko, a large Inca fortress and temple complex. The Spaniards destroyed most of it by using the stones to build cathedrals, churches and other buildings in town. We explored the partially restored ruins, learning about the Inca culture from Marie, our guide.  We were provided box lunches that we ate on a grassy site adjacent to the ruins.  Then, crossing a pass 12,200 feet in elevation, we descended to Pisaq and visited the local market.  As we drove west along the river through the countryside of corn fields and small farming communities, it started to rain. It was dark by the time we arrived in Ollantaytambo, where we checked into our hotel, Hotel Pakaritampu.

Spencer kept his own trip diary, and with his permission I’m including his description of the day:

Cuzco is a beautiful, rugged town.  There's definitely pockets of extreme poverty around the city, but it didn't feel dangerous.  Every house has a tin roof or a roof with shingles.  So many houses are uncompleted here, and look kind of thrown together! Such a different feel than more developed countries.

So far, most of the people we've encountered here speak English! I was a bit surprised by that based on my experience visiting Colombia last year, but I guess it makes sense since tourism is huge here and we are basically only in the tourist-heavy areas, so most of the people we're interacting with have learned English because it is essential for their business.

Do they honk at white people here or something?  While we were on the sidewalks of Cuzco, like ten different cars beeped their horns at me or my family members.

Marie and Sebastian took us up into the mountains above Cuzco, and we walked around some old temple ruins.  The altitude really hit me - we were more than two miles above sea level! I was light headed and out of breath but recovered quickly.

The ruins were part of an old religious and military structure, and the stones at the base are HUGE! They were moved from miles away using ramps (no wheels!) crazy.

After the ruins, I got to hold a baby alpaca! It was SO. FRIGGIN. SOFT. We also got introduced to how alpaca wool is used to make clothes, and how to spot fake alpaca wool!

 There are dogs all over in Cuzco!  They were all over the hillside when we were doing our ruins/alpaca tour.  We sat down for a lunch break and were surrounded pretty quickly by five dogs.  Kirsten and I didn't mind :)  

Don't know if they belonged to anyone, but they were very friendly and pretty well-groomed!  There was one adorable mutt I took a picture with.  I wanted to take it home with me so bad. 

 

Driving through the mountains was BEAUTIFUL. We wound in between towering mountains and down into the Sacred Valley. 

They should call it corn valley.  Corn is growing everywhere! People live in houses in little communities right on the very steep slopes of these mountains, and I saw lots of children running and playing. It made me reflect how different life must be growing up in such a place.  One of the things I love about international travel -- you realize how big the world is and how many people with a wide variety of lives are in it.  We drove to Pisac, a charming little town in a valley.  We hit a market there, and I got two gifts for $3!

We passed through the nearby town of Yucay, where the locals were having a town festival.  Do these people know how to party!  There was a big yard packed to the brink with Peruvians eating, doing traditional dance, and playing soccer.  In the yard adjacent were about 10 inflatable slides that were about 30 feet high that children were gleefully sliding down.  I wanted to jump up in that! But we had to keep driving.

An hour and a half later we hit the town our hotel is in. Our hotel is so lovely, and we got a hot, delicious meal at the restaurant, plus hot chocolate that was surprisingly bitter but delicious!

Now it's off to bed -- we are hiking to Machu Picchu tomorrow, where we are staying the night at a hotel there!  The day after tomorrow I am doing my big crazy hike to the top of the mountain overlooking Machu Picchu where I ca overlook the ruins.  So excited.

                                                                                               

Our guide gave us a Pre-Hike Orientation Meeting to review packing and luggage issues, cash needs, weather, and pickup arrangements for our Short Inca Trail Hike.  Visits to Machu Picchu are tightly controlled by the Peruvian government. No more than 2500 people may visit the site each day. As I was booking our trip, we all agreed that it would be interesting to walk the last six miles of the Inca Trail into Machu Picchu, stopping to see the other Inca ruins along the way. The “full” Inca trail is a 4 or 5 day trek over a couple of mountain passes over 13,000 feet high, but we didn’t have either the time or the inclination to do that. After talking it over with Jennifer, Spencer and Kirsten, I booked us for the one-day or “lite” Inca trail instead.

During our orientation, we were told to pack a small/medium backpack of only the items we’d need for the next day’s hike (windbreaker, extra layers, personal items, hiking poles, water (2 liters), boxed lunch). Each person would carry their own backpack. We were told that there is no place to refill bottles of water on the portion of the Inca Trail that we were going to hike. We were told that we would leave the bulk of our luggage at the hotel, locked and labeled, as big bags are not allowed on the train.  We prepared a single bag of our necessary overnight and Machu Picchu items which would be carried by a porter to our Aguas Calientes hotel.

After the orientation, we had dinner. Jennifer and Kirsten both expressed concerns about doing the Inca trail hike. Kirsten’s asthma was continuing to flare up, and Jennifer was feeling her knee arthritis. I told them that they shouldn't go if they didn't feel up to it, but instead take the train all the way to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. They decided to sleep on it and make the final decision in the morning.

Tuesday, December 27

We slept in later than we should, scrambled to repack everything, and had to grab breakfast to go from the hotel. Jennifer and Kirsten decided that they would pass on hiking the Inca trail and would meet us in Aguas Calientes. We met our guide, then walked down to the Ollantaytambo Station and boarded the 7:05am Peru Rail train. After an hour or so ride, it stopped at the KM 104 trailhead.  Spencer and I jumped off the train and set off on out hike, while Jennifer and Kirsten stayed on the train.

 Led by Marie, our guide, the three of us crossed the river on a suspension bridge and cleared trailhead formalities, then started on our hike. I soon discovered that hiking the Inca trail was a really stupid idea from the Department of Bad Ideas. The first three miles of the trail require an ascent of about 2500 feet in elevation, from 6500 feet to nearly 9000 feet. Initially, I was feeling okay. Sometimes the trail was just a constant upward slope, but at other times it was a series of sharp steps. 

After a half hour I started feeling winded and like I couldn't get enough oxygen. I had never quite recovered my full lung capacity after going through my two different types of chemotherapy, and at altitude I noticed how less efficient my lungs were in drawing oxygen out of the thin air. I began to resent every downward slope, because that meant I would need to go back up another set of steps. As I slogged on, I got an earworm of the chorus of the theme song from one of the Twilight movies (“I have died everyday waiting for you/Darling don't be afraid I have loved you/For a thousand years/I'll love you for a thousand more”). From my high school days of running (one season) cross country, I knew that once a song was stuck in my head while I was running, it was almost impossible to dislodge. I tried changing the lyric to “I have died every step walking on you/Oxygen don’t be afraid I need to breathe you/For a thousand years/I’ll walk here for a thousand more". Eventually I managed to shift to the old Table Graces hymn, “For health and strength and daily bread we give you thanks O Lord”, over and over, my walking poles and steps moving in rhythm with the cadence. Every few minutes I’d have to stop and catch my breath. Whose idea was this? I asked Spencer. If I find out I’m going to kill him.

After four hours and a rise over 2000 feet, we reached the ruins of Wiñay Wayna, a concave mountainside site that consists of two groups of major architectural structures on lower and upper terraces. We paused to eat lunch, but the only thing I could get down was a banana. I drained most of my water, and regretted not bringing more. Around the Wiñay Wayna structures are dozens of agricultural terraces. A long flight of fountains or ritual baths drawing on more than a dozen springs runs between the two groups of buildings. Unfortunately, I had to ascend the 300+ steps from the lowest terrace to the top to continue on the trail. At one point, my right calf knotted in a severe cramp, and I had to stop and massage it out.

We passed through the camp site behind Wiñay Wayna and were the last hikers to make it to the 2 pm trail check point before it closed for the day. (Hikers need to advance purchase hiking permits and have a licensed guide, and there are multiple check points along the way to ensure compliance.) From that point, the trail undulates along below the crest of the east slope of the Machu Picchu mountain. After about 3 km, we reached the “gringo killer” stairs, a steep set of stairs leading to Inti Punku, or the "Sun Gate". I crawled up the almost vertical stone steps on my hands and knees, feeling both of my hamstrings tighten up. 

I got to the top of the stairs and drank the rest of my water in celebration. But then I learned there was still another km or so to get to the Sun Gate. By this time my pace was so slow we were in danger of missing the last bus down the mountain. I staggered on, praying with each step that I could finish the ascent. Soon my prayers shifted to my family members, and it became almost a meditative experience as my spiritual concerns transcended my exhausted muscles and compromised lungs: mortification by hiking.

I reached the Sun Gate (8,800 feet) at 4:15 pm. There was no time to admire the view of Machu Picchu because we had to hurry down the mountain so we could catch the last bus from Machu Picchu. I stumped down on deadened legs, Spencer and our guide waiting as I stumbled towards them. As soon as I reached them, they would turn and continue on. What about my rest? Eventually our guide abandoned us so she could hurry on to make sure the last bus would wait for us. I arrived at the classic photo spot overlooking Machu Picchu and was amazed to see it completely empty: the place closed at 5 pm, and all the tourists had left. I finally walked into the waiting area for the bus at 5:25 pm and collapsed.

Spencer obtained a bottle of water from the adjacent hotel, and I drained it in one long swig. The last bus was waiting – no tourists, just the last three workers from the national park, and us. As the bus rolled down the switchbacks, I fell asleep. Spencer roused me to walk across the bridge and switch buses, and we came into town. Our hotel was near the bus stop, and I sent Spencer to get three bottles of Gatorade and 2 liters of water. While the rest of the family went out to dinner, I showered, rehydrated, took 4 ibuprofin, and laid down on the bed.

When Jennifer returned, she had a carry-out box containing Peruvian lasagna. I tried sitting up from bed and instantly my hamstrings and calves locked up. It took 15 minutes of massaging to unlock them enough to stagger over to the desk and sit down. I opened the lasagna and found that instead of beef, the meat was “cuy” – guinea pig. I didn’t care, and slowly worked through it. I then fell back into bed and slept.

At 1:30 in the morning my neobladder was threatening to burst from the 4 liters of fluid I had taken while rehydrating. I tried to get out of bed and once again my legs refused to cooperate. I laid back down, trying to stretch, every movement like stretching a water balloon. Eventually I was able to make my way to the bathroom. For some reason, I didn’t think to wake Spencer and have him help massage out my cramps. I took some more vitamin I and returned to my bed.

Kirsten said that I should be proud of myself for completing the hike, but I felt more like I had barely avoided a stupid self-inflicted death, which is nothing to be proud of. The moral of the story is, when traveling, don’t be stupid. If there is an easy way, take it.

Wednesday, December 28

We awoke at the ungodly hour of 5am to shower, get ready, have breakfast, check out of the hotel, check our luggage, and get to the buses back up the mountain before the rest of the tourists. I was surprised to find my legs were functioning. We walked to the bus stop and found that hundreds of other tourists had the same idea. The line snaked on for more than 4 blocks. We joined the queue, which took 40 minutes to shuffle to the front.  My aching legs protested with each movement. We boarded the bus and zig-zagged back up the mountain and into Machu Picchu.

It was a cloudy day and the vistas were shrouded by fog and clouds. 

Our guide gave us a private tour of the most important sites within the Machu Picchu ruins. For more information, read theWikipedia entry, but here is the photo of us there:

Spencer had a special ticket to climb Machu Picchu Mountain, the tallest mountain adjacent to Machu Picchu. He went off at 10am, and the rest of us finished our tour. Our guide then left us to go back down to the village with instructions to meet her at the hotel by 3:30pm to catch the train back to Cuzco. The three of us were hungry, so we went to the café by the entrance gates, and ended up having a two-hour lunch. We found Spencer at 1pm, who reported that the hike up the mountain was almost 100% stairs, and the summit was shrouded in clouds. I felt so disappointed that I didn’t have a ticket to join him. NOT!

We saw that the line for the bus back down to Aguas Calientes was even longer than the line to go up, so I volunteered to stand in the drizzle while Spencer ate lunch and talked with Jennifer and Kirsten. An hour later, I could see them as the line drew close to the bus pickup. It was a chaotic end to an anticlimactic day.

We met our guide at the hotel, collected our overnight bag, and made our way to the train station where hundreds of tourists were trying to figure out which train to board, with little help from the employees. Our guide finally figured out which train was ours and we boarded the 4:20pm Peru Rail #504 Train to Ollantaytambo. We met our driver and van, retrieved our other bags, and were driven to Cuzco and our hotel, Hotel Rumi Punku. Kirsten was winded from her asthma so she rested in the hotel while Jennifer, Spencer and I found some dinner and brought her back some food. We all were noticing the effect of the altitude. Our extremities were tingling and we each had a headache.

Thursday, December 29

Today was an open day to explore Cuzco. Following is Spencer’s recap of the day:

We slept in today! I got close to 9 hours of sleep and woke up feeling fresh and excited to explore a new city.  While I don’t think I’d want to live in a big city (it’d wear me out), I love exploring them.  Especially new cities in foreign countries.

My family and I hit up the free breakfast at the hotel (which was good quality- unlimited coffee and they cook you eggs any way you want them), and we made a plan to check out the main square of the city (Plaza de las Armas) and see la Catedral and maybe some other nearby sites. I really like Hotel Rumipunku.  It’s constructed with the rooms arranged around a square, open-sky stone courtyard, with lounging furniture arranged under the roofed areas.  I’ve noticed this courtyard type of construction seems to be really common here in Cuzco.

I immediately found myself vibing with Cuzco! Cuzco apparently is the oldest continually inhabited major city in the Western hemisphere. It’s been continually inhabited since the Incas founded it. Side note, Cuzco’s original, “real” name, was Cosco, which means “Center of the world.”  According to Marie, Cuzco means, “duck.”

We headed for Plaza de las Armas, and my mom passed a street artist who was laying out on a blanket some tiles she had painted.   My mom instantly fell in love with the tiles, and stopped to check them out.   

She picked one with a Machu Picchu theme, another with the Andean cross (a common design in Peru- she had gotten a rainbow necklace in the shape of the cross earlier), and another with a sun design.  My sister picked out three she liked, which were like the ones my mom liked.  20 feet later, she got seduced by a group of Peruvian women dressed in brightly colored traditional garb standing with a very cute, furry alpaca.  They wanted 2 soles (the Peruvian currency- each sol is worth 29 cents) and they’d pose for a picture.  So they posed and my mom snapped a few photos and handed one of the ladies a 2 sol coin.  The other ladies started clamoring for a 2 sol coin for themselves too, but they didn’t make that clear before my mom took the picture, so my mom shuffled on despite the ladies getting a little mad at her.

That is one thing that was a little awkward in Cuzco.  Being white, everyone assumes you’re a tourist and that you have money.  And so many of the locals are trying to get money whatever way they can- I mean, who can blame them?  Tourists loaded with cash wanting a piece of Peruvian culture and little things to take home, and if the locals meet that need, they get easy money?  Makes sense to me.  But this also means that walking through the tourist-y parts of Cuzco you’ll get 15 solicitors or more an hour (conservatively) coming up to you asking if you want to buy this piece of art or these sunglasses. If you try to be nice about it, most of them will stay glued to you, thinking your politeness is interest, or that there is a chance you’ll become interested if they show you the right pair of identical sunglasses or they tell you they were handmade by their grandfather.  The only way to go about it is to say “No.” It usually takes between 1-3 nos to get a solicitor to get the message.  So that’s the one part of Cusco I didn’t like.  But the solicitors here are nicer than some of the ones I’ve experienced in cities like Rome.  A lot of them wished you a good day or said “okay, maybe later” (which I thought was a little optimistic).

The other thing that creates an obstacle for some tourists (i.e. my whole family besides me) is the altitude.  While I wasn’t too affected by it, Cuzco sits at about 11,000 feet above sea level, actually significantly higher than Machu Picchu.  Obviously this means the air is thinner, and my mom got winded just walking a block.  We all felt at times tingling in our extremities.  The altitude slightly affects your circulation.  Nothing too bad for us.  Just some tingling, and some of the veins in Kirsten’s hands were more visible.

Also, Inca Kola is a big thing here.

We checked out Plaza de las Armas, which was lovely.  The big Catholic cathedral, La Catedral, was the dominant building, but there was a fountain with an Incan king statue in the middle.  The plaza was grassy, with benches that we chilled on happily after checking out La Catedral and the connecting churches (which unfortunately cost money).  Inside the cathedral was very ornate, with gold all over, and covered in intricately crafted paintings of Christ being beaten and crucified that absolutely dripped with Catholic guilt.   

My dad and I complained to each other about Catholicism’s shortcomings and hypocrisy -- like how a religion that was supposedly founded on the ideals of a journeying healer that renounced wealth and preached humility built a ridiculously ornate and lavish church using the stones they stripped from the sacred temples of a people they conquered and enslaved -- but I digress.

After some chilling in the sun we decided to head back to the hotel, where my dad would nap, and mom, Kirsten, and I would apply sunscreen and then head down to the artisan market down the street to look for deals.  On the way back, we got sucked into an artist’s co-op.  We looked at backpacks and other gifts.

That night, we hit a Peruvian chicken place where you get a quarter chicken, fries, and unlimited salad for 15 soles (under 5 bucks).  And the chicken was SO. GOOD.  Great find.  If I had that food at that price near me, I’d eat it like every day.

The plaza at night is beautiful.  Christmas lights were draped from the balconies of buildings along the perimeter.  Dogs trotted around, looking for food.  All the dogs I’ve met here are nice, probably because they’ve learned to associate being nice to people with getting food. Works for me.  A retriever mix trotted up to me as we walked home through the plaza, and I stooped down to pet it.  It then approached Kirsten, who pet it too.  Then it started following us home.  Though Kirsten and I both felt the desire to take it home with us, give it a collar, and have a play pal for Nephi (really Kirsten wanted to adopt every dog in the city), of course we couldn’t do this.  We were worried about having to shoo the dog away, but as we approached the hotel entrance, our canine friend was diverted by a pile of garbage.  Doggo find dinner.

Friday December 30

Today was a day of transit with limited sightseeing. Our morning flight from Cuzco to Lima was scheduled to depart at 8:40am, and we were strongly advised by Andean Treks and our hotel staff to arrive two hours in advance. We’ve learned that Peruvian logistics sometimes reach the best of the 1980’s, but mostly are mired in the mid-Twentieth Century. We pulled ourselves out of bed at about 5am, gathered our stuff and met over another excellent hotel breakfast. Our taxi got us to the airport by 6:40am for the princely sum of 15 Soles, or about $4.50. Upon arrival at the Avianca counter, however, the agent informed us that they had just learned that there was a problem with the equipment and that it would take at least seven hours for a replacement plane to be brought into Cuzco. She said that because I had Gold status in the OneWorld Alliance, she would endorse our tickets to fly on the next Latam flight to Lima, leaving at 10:05am. She also gave us a voucher for breakfast at one of the in-airport cafes. I thanked her for her courtesy and professionalism.

That still meant that we had to wait for 3½ hours at the Cuzco airport. We tried to find a quiet spot but would have rather slept in. All of us were feeling a little oxygen deprived, with tingling in our extremities and a bit of a headache. Eventually we boarded the Latam flight – another cattle car since other Avianca passengers had also received ticket endorsements. As we took off, I tried to think of another airport where we fly out of such a narrow valley with mountains above us on each side, and could not bring one to mind.

Our plan was to stash our bags at the Lima airport and spend the day exploring Lima Centro – the heart of the old city. We took only one backpack containing water bottles, sunscreen, and cameras. Upon exiting the baggage area, we were verbally assaulted by taxi drivers jostling for our business. We said we wanted to go to Plaza de Armas, and were quoted 55 Soles. The ride to downtown was uncomfortable – the traffic in Lima is each man for himself. Lane markings are mere suggestions; obeying traffic lights seemed to be optional; and vehicles used the shoulders and sidewalks as part of the road. The taxi had no air conditioning, and an hour of breathing diesel exhaust and the dusty Lima air (the second-driest capital in the world, after Cairo), combined with the 85 degree heat, had us feeling bedraggled by the time we were disgorged at the Plaza.

One of the stranger places we visited was an old Augustinian Monastery founded in the mid 1600’s. 

The Augustinians in Lima were heavily influenced by the style of construction in Seville, which in turn was influenced by Moorish designs. The complicated geometric tiles lining much of the abbey were made in Seville. The monastery also had 11 massive paintings depicting the Passion of Christ, painted by Reubens or perhaps some of his students. I could have spent hours just examining those canvases and Reubens’ use of light and darkness to tell a story. 

Beneath the monastery were catacombs containing the bones of an estimated 70,000 persons. The bones – mostly femurs and skulls – have been arranged in geometric patterns, the most common of which was (wait for it) herringbone. One large pit contained a circular pattern of skulls and bones. 

Why did the monks do this? The only reason that was offered was that they did it in Rome.

From the monastery, we tried to enter the park along the river, but it was closed for rehabilitation. So we wandered over to a large outdoor market, where everyone was selling yellow stuff for New Years’ Eve. 

According to NPR,  it’s a tradition in some South American countries to wear yellow on New Year’s Eve in hopes of good luck for the coming year. We dodged the hawkers and made our way to a recommended Chinese restaurant where we had an excellent dinner.

We asked our waiter to call a taxi to take us to the airport. Befuddled, he conferred with several of his colleagues, then returned with a slip of paper that said Uber. We were ready to go now, so we just walked out and hailed the first taxi. The driver quoted us 40 Soles to take us to the airport, so we piled in. The drive back was worse than the drive out. Rush hour, cutthroat driving, no AC, moving 10 feet at a time then sitting for a while. Twice we came within inches of being broadsided. Fortunately, our driver was either unwilling or unable to go more than 35 KPH, and had the slowest acceleration of any car on the road. While this meant that other cars were constantly darting in front of us then slamming on their brakes, for us it was slow and steady. But once we got within sight of the terminal, however, the driver stopped and (we assume) told us he could not go to the curb. After several attempts by us to get closer, we bailed out and walked the rest of the way.

From what we saw, Lima is a combination of the massive humanity of New York City, the traffic and pollution of LA, and the poverty of Mexico City, all swirling around in a clogged cesspool. It was not one of our favorite cities. We agreed that six hours in Lima was enough for a lifetime. But getting out of Lima meant that we had to wait another three hours at the airport. Ecuador’s airline, Tame, was utterly disorganized, changing the line queues, pre-screening each passenger by laboriously hand-writing the name and passport information, and only then being allowed to approach the counter. The line moved at a glacial pace. When we arrived at the counter, we were told that we had to check our rollerboards, even though they all were legal carry-on size, and that once on the plane we saw several other passengers wielding even larger rollerboards. That meant we had to reconfigure our bags and backpacks to remove breakables in our checked bags. We then returned to the same waiting area where we had spent four hours on Monday, only the volume was even louder (probably between 90-100 decibels). By this time, all of us were feeling out of sorts. We eventually passed through security and I set off on a mission to spend the last of my Soles, since I was so done with this country.

Once we took off, our flight from Lima to Guayaquil, Ecuador was uneventful, except that Kirsten left her iPhone in the seat back pocket and didn’t realize it until we got to the hotel. The Guayaquil terminal was clean, new, and efficient, and we rapidly cleared immigration and customs. Our shuttle driver from the Marriott Courtyard was waiting for us, and in no time we were asleep on the nicest beds we had had on our vacation. Too bad it was for only 6 hours, because . . .

Saturday, December 31

Our flight to Baltra Island in the Galapagos was scheduled to leave at 8:40am. We recklessly ignored the advice to be there two hours early, instead arriving back to the airport at 6:50am. Plenty of time to pay the $20/pp Galapagos tourist tax (Ecuador uses US dollars as its currency), pass through security, and find some breakfast.

The primary Galapagos airport is on Baltra, a small island north of Santa Cruz island. The US built it as an airbase during WWII to protect the western approaches of the Panama Canal, and after the war turned it over to the Ecuadorian government. Arriving tourists must pay a $100/pp Galapagos park fee (90% of the islands are national parkland), have their bags scanned and searched for non-native fruits, seeds, animals, Donald Trump supporters, or other dangerous or invasive species. We were met by Juan, a tour guide from Galapagos Alternatives, the company that was coordinating our experiences on the islands. We boarded a shuttle bus to a ferry to cross a channel to Santa Cruz Island, boarded a GA van, and started our first Galapagos tour of the Highlands of Santa Cruz, then checked into the Mainao Inn.

Here is Spencer’s recap of the day:

After clearing security, we met up with our tour guide for the day, Juan, an affable young man native to the Galapagos. His whole family is from the island.  I learned he got his Bachelor’s in eco-tourism, studying at the university in the Galapagos, and he then studied an extra 6 months to become a certified tour guide, which he said he thought was probably one of the best jobs in the world.  He was very friendly, and passionate and knowledgeable about the ecology and geology of the islands!  He guided us to our bus and to the ferry, which took us to an island adjacent to the one that had the airfield on it, where we’ll be staying the next 2 nights.  The island’s name is Santa Cruz.  He then showed us a couple of giant sinkholes, several hundred yards wide, and several hundred feet deep.  He explained how the shifting of the plates and lava movements had built up pressure and created the necessary conditions for the area to cave in on itself, leaving the sinkholes.  I didn’t follow everything he said, but got the general gist.

The ecology of the Galapagos is really cool.  For instance, on the lower altitude areas of Santa Cruz, there is little moisture, so little grows.  However, as you ascend up a few hundred feet, the plant life totally changes.  Because of how the volcanoes shield certain islands, the areas where the wind is screened by the volcanoes have less life and less green.  But areas that are exposed to the wind (which there is a lot of, since we’re on the open ocean) receive the humidity and minerals that are blown in, and so more grows in these areas! There’s so little I understand about how all this fits together, but it was very interesting hearing Juan talk about it.  This would be a great place to study ecology!

Juan then took us to a farm where a bunch of wild giant tortoises roam around freely.  These suckers are friggin’ HUGE! We saw some males weighing over 400 pounds.  Apparently on this island they can get up to 600 pounds.  My mom was having a field day (she loves turtles and tortoises).  Kirsten and I teased her a little bit. I took pictures of her taking pictures of the tortoises, who were busy eating grass and not caring about the humans.

Apparently the tortoises not only get huge (especially the males), but can live up to 150 years (200 in captivity)!  Once they pass the age of three, they have no natural predators, so there are giant tortoises EVERYWHERE.  Reach the age of three, and you’re golden.  Just roam around wherever you want, eat grass, have sex, live to 150.  Doesn’t sound like a bad lot as far as living in nature goes.  Also, tortoises don’t have parental instincts.  They just lay eggs and leave them.  Kiddos are on their own from day one.  So tortoises may seem like deliberate, wise creatures, but my impression from these facts are that they are really party animals that have no strings attached to anything.  Like, “I made it to three! I’m golden!”

After tortoise-watching, the kitchen at the farm made us a snack- including blackberry juice and cheese empanadas. I forgot how much I love fried dough and cheese. Then we went to our hotel.  It’s lovely!  Shared balcony areas with tables where we can play cards, cute little rooms, palm trees, and perfect weather. We really are in paradise.

At this moment, I’m chilling on my bed at our Santa Cruz hotel, relaxing at last, looking forward to a day of snorkeling, beach chilling, and swimming tomorrow!  There’s different beaches available for swimming and snorkeling, and a Charles Darwin research lab (these islands are where Darwin developed his theory of evolution).  There’s an area that apparently has a lot of iguanas, and an area where you can snorkel between two cliffs.  Apparently there’s really good restaurants here, too. I’m excited to check out the different beaches, see the wildlife, and employ my GoPro while snorkeling! (I’ve figured out the basics but most of the features I’m still ignorant about).

Tonight is a big New Year’s celebration! There are bands playing at the pier from 6 pm tonight to 10 am tomorrow.  Kirsten and I are gonna check that out! We are tired from the last couple days of travel still, so don’t think I’ll be able to go too hard.

Our contact here in Santa Cruz is named Javier.  Javier runs Galapagos Alternatives, the company that has arranged all of our logistics.  Before I met him, I had heard him described as “the boss” of the company, so I was for some reason expected a somewhat loud older man.  Instead, Javier turned out to basically be a soft-spoken Ecuadorian surfer boy with curly hair.  He has a very cute 5-year-old daughter that he brought with him to our hotel one time.  She plopped herself in his lap and called him “Papi.”  I think little kids are about 3.7 times cuter with accents or when speaking another language.

Javier sat down with us at our hotel for 10 minutes and explained what to expect in the next couple of days, and what there was to do on the island.  Basically, New Year’s Day was a free day for us.  We could go stay at some of the beautiful beaches, we could go snorkeling in some of the nearby bodies of water, we could walk to the Darwin research lab, and there was a foray of apparently delicious restaurants available.

Well, that evening, we got dinner at a very tasty grill.  While Kirsten and I opted for the pork ribs (which were recommended), mom and dad got seafood, and we quickly found out that the sea food here is to die for (which makes sense, we are on an island in the Pacific).

Kirsten and I decided to go out to see the New Year’s celebration on the island.  Javier had hyped it up a little bit, saying that bands were playing from 6 pm until 10 am the next day.  He had also spoken of a “widows contest,” where men from the island, who had been dressed up as widows wearing dresses and wigs and crying and asking people for money all day, get judged by the audience to see who’s the best widow.  It’s an annual New Year’s Eve tradition here.  I haven’t heard of anything like this in other Latin American countries, so I assume it’s a Galapagos thing.

Kirsten and I walked through the streets of Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz island.  It was a pleasant little surf town, with a couple of soccer fields that it seemed that the locals played on.  One of these soccer fields had a small wooden bleacher section, so I guess that maybe there are some competitive community soccer games that people spectate at here.  The economy seems to almost entirely be based on tourism to the islands -- working in restaurants, constructing buildings, being a tour guide or sailor, or being a fisherman seem to be the most common jobs around here.  Santa Cruz is not the biggest island in the Galapagos but has by far the most people -- over 10,000 residents.

Kirsten and I talked as we walked but pretty quickly, as we got close to the pier where the celebration was being held, the crowd thickened.  A stage was set up by the pier, and the widow contest was underway.  The “widows” strutted across the stage, and a man holding a microphone who was emceeing the whole thing called for the crowd to cheer for their favorite.  Kirsten and I navigated to a spot in the middle near the back of the crowd where we had a clear view of the stage.  We noticed that almost everyone was dressed up besides us. I was wearing shorts and a black tank top, and most of everyone else was in nice clothes.  The young women especially were dolled up- dressed in tight dresses with hoop earrings and ten-inch heels.  A group of young partiers in front of us were getting bottle service standing in the crowd.  Literally, a man walked by them and called out their name, they gestured him over, and he handed them a bottle of Rose or some other expensive alcohol.  Kirsten and I exchanged slightly smug glances.

On stage, one of the widows was pulling up “her” dress to reveal men’s shorts underneath.  Another had a VERY hairy chest.  When music played, the widows all started dancing slutty, to the amusement of the crowd. I had a good time just watching all of this go down.

After the crowd had chosen a winner, the man with the mic began speaking in Spanish, very little of which I followed, but it sounded like he was talking about the year in review.  Kirsten and I kept looking at our phones as he continued to talk.  11:55. 11:57. 11:58.  When is he gonna shut up?  He finally shut up just before 11:59 as the crowd continued to chatter.  I pulled out my world clock app on my iPhone and watched the final seconds of 2016 ticking away.  We got down to 15 seconds.  Are they gonna count?  10, 9, 8... NO ONE WAS COUNTING!  Kirsten and I awaited the big, HAPPY NEW YEAR! at midnight, but none came!! My iPhone clock hit midnight and I threw my hands up and was like “YAY!” but only a few other people in the crowd followed suit.  What the hell?? Kirsten and I exchanged puzzled sentiments.  Then, before 12:01, about 40 people in the crowd of a few thousand started counting down, and yelled once it hit 12:01.  Then the microphone man said, “Feliz Nuevo Ano!” and about a third of the crowd started clapping and cheering half-heartedly.  Kirsten and I exchanged incredulous glances. What a letdown!

That’s when the fireworks show started.  At first, it was just a couple red flare rockets shot up into the air.  Kirsten and I were about to deem this the saddest New Year’s we could ever conceive of, but then the fireworks started getting better.  There were some awesome ones that exploded three different times in one shell.  After 10 minutes of staring at pretty explosions, the show ended.

Kirsten and I got the vibe that the night was getting started for most people.  It seemed like everyone was headed to an after party. And after that, then it’s the hotel lobby.  But Kirsten and I were tired, and gotten our curiosity satisfied, so we skipped the after parties and went straight to our own hotel lobby.  And then our hotel rooms. And then our beds.  To sleep.

January 1, 2017

Today was a free day to explore Santa Cruz island. We slept in, then ate breakfast provided by the hotel. All of our hotels have provided breakfast, which is very convenient. We considered our options, including exploring the Charles Darwin Center, exploring the town, or going to one of the several nearby beaches. We decided to make it a beach day, and selected Tortuga Bay Beach, which the Rough Guide called “one of the most beautiful beaches in South America.” We planned on buying lunch at a deli, but everything was closed in the morning since it was New Year’s Day and apparently the locals had partied until the sun rose.  We decided to make do with our granola bars and water, and walked to the beach. It ended up being a 4 km walk in the hot sun. We walked through what looked like an Arizona desert, with forests of cacti, palo santo and matazarno trees. It felt good to get into the ocean after that walk.

Tortuga Bay has a long white sand beach with a rough surf. At the far end of the beach there is a short path to a protected bay that is as calm as a swimming pool. We hung out at both beaches and relaxed.

I tried snorkeling but the water was very cloudy with only 3-5 feet of visibility. By mid-afternoon I was hungry and ready to head back, and learned that there were boats that would carry us back to town for $10/pp. Spencer and Kirsten wanted to stay longer, so Jennifer and I took the boat back to town, had some lunch, and took naps.

Spencer wrote about dinner:

That evening we to a restaurant area called the “kiosks.” What a find. We got there and found that all the restaurants along this one street filled the street with chairs and tables, and all you did was find a table to sit at, and the restaurant nearest you would send someone out to take your order.  All the restaurants were similar, specializing in seafood.  And the seafood was good!  We sat in the central area and watched the cooks fry up fish that had been caught that day on the grill about 10 feet from us.  I ordered breaded shrimp, which was bangin’.  Mom got a grouper fish.  They fried it up in tinfoil, threw some spices on it, and brought it out to her.  You could tell by tasting it how fresh it was.  I ate mom’s fish’s eyeball to gross everyone out.  Overall this was the best meal I’ve had so far on this trip.

Monday, January 2

We were picked up from our hotel at 7:30am to take a day trip to Santa Fe Island. We were joined by 8 other tourists, boarded a 40 foot cruiser, and chugged for a couple of hours over remarkably calm seas to the uninhabited island of Santa Fe. Our visiting site was a protected bay, home to sea lions, Galapagos land iguanas, and a large variety of sea birds including the Galapagos swallow-tailed gulls. We took a zodiac to a wet landing on a beach covered with sea lions. Wrote Spencer:

Sea lions are now one of my favorite animals ever.  They’re basically like water dogs.  I first noticed one chilling on one of the little boats tied up to one of the docks.  It was laid out on the deck of the boat, resting.  The way they sprawl themselves out wherever they decide to lay, which could be anywhere, is so funny (when we got to Isabella the next day, the first thing I noticed was a sea lion passed out on a park bench).  

Then I noticed one on a nearby dock.  A tourist couple was behind it and the sea lion was blocking the way to get to the mainland.  As the couple approached from behind it, the sea lion literally craned its neck and looked at them over backwards.  The man slid past it first, but his girlfriend was anxious.  Her boyfriend offered his hand to help her get by, but as she took it and started to walk by, the sea lion started barking and hilariously waddling past them to go farther up the dock.  The couple had a good laugh, and so did I.

It was a 2-hour boat ride to Santa Fe, but it was well worth it.  When we reached the sandy shore, a colony of sea lions awaited us.  They were sprawled out in the sand, and some of them were floating lazily in the water nearby.  These sea lions had zero fear of people.  Maybe because they’ve been so well-protected by the fact that only guided tour groups are allowed on the islands, and all the tourists that come by do is take pictures.  But we could walk right up to them.   

The sea lions were cuddling together for warmth.  I loved how their mannerisms were similar to dogs.  They scratched their itchy heads with their rear flippers, and when two sea lions lied together they bit playfully at one another like dogs.  I was standing, watching a lone adolescent sea lion lying on the sand, when it began slowly sliding across the sand towards me. I thought it would stop, but it came right up to me.  It pushed its head towards my leg, and I instinctively flinched, as I heard that sea lions could bite.  But this one didn’t seem to have bad intent, and it didn’t.  It started nuzzling up against my leg and cuddled up against me.  I was in love.  Our tour guide soon told me to back up and keep at least a meter away, which I did, but honestly I wanted to lie down and join the sea lion cuddle party.  I looked over at one sea lion which waddled over to another that was lying on the sand shivering.  It lied down next to it and put its flipper around its friend.  I died.

We then were led by our guide over an unpaved trail and rocks, among cacti growing up to 10 meters high, and sighting the Galapagos hawk, finches, frigate birds, canaries, and the sand-colored Santa Fe iguana.

We also found sea lions a surprising distance above the shoreline. The highlight of the day was going snorkeling in the lagoon. The water was crystal clear with visibility of over 10 meters. We saw all types of fish, many sea turtles, and best of all, sea lions who would swim up to us and check us out, then spin around as if they wanted to play. It was a great introduction to the sea life of the Galapagos.

The only discordant note of the day was the captain’s decision to return to the north end of Santa Cruz island, by Baltra Airport, making us take an hour-long shuttle bus ride back to our hotel, instead of returning us to the town of Puerto Ayora. That added an extra 2-3 hours on the outing, and precluded us from going to the Charles Darwin Center as we had planned. The explanation was that the next day’s sailing would go north of Santa Cruz island, so the captain wanted his boat up there, and didn’t care about inconveniencing the passengers.

After striking out on our first two choices for dinner, we ended up ordering pizza to go, took it to our hotel room, and played family card games while we ate. Sleep soon overtook us.

Tuesday, January 3

This morning we moved from Santa Cruz island to Isabela island. We were picked up at 7am, taken to the main dock, and boarded a 30’ cabin cruiser, along with 18 others. We were told that this is how the locals traveled from island to island. We sat shoulder to shoulder as the boat raced at 30+ kph over the open ocean. Fortunately, the water was calm with only routine swells, but it was still a hard ride of over two hours. When we finally pulled into port, Kirsten said “Again! Again!” I was the only one who laughed; everyone else looked at her as if she was crazy.

In Isabela, we were taken to the tiny town of Puerto Villamil, went to the Volcano Hotel and met Emilie from Galapagos Bike N Surf, our new representative for our three days on that island. She is a perpetually cheerful French Canadian who moved to Galapagos 5 years ago and with her Ecuadorian boyfriend opened a shop offering equipment rentals and guiding. She papered us with daily briefings and happy, laid-back attitude. Puerto Villamil is the smallest town of the three that we stayed in, and a beautiful white sand beach was right across the street from the where we were staying. We found some lunch at the local deli, then the kids went to the beach while Jennifer and I walked to the tortoise rescue and breeding center. We learned how there was a volcano eruption on Isabela Island in 1998, and about 20 adult tortoises were rescued from the impending lava flow that destroyed their habitat. Since then they have been breeding the tortoises, releasing some of the juveniles after they reach 3 years of age (and are essentially impervious to any natural enemies), and keeping others so the population can be rebuilt.

Along the way to and from the nature center, we walked on a boardwalk over salt marches, white mangrove forests, and cactus fields, spotting iguanas, brilliant pink flamingos, blue herons, flightless cormorants, and many other birds.

For dinner we gathered at Coco’s Surf and had excellent fresh fish while sitting outdoors and enjoying the cooler evening breeze. Each of our hotels have air conditioning which is welcome during the day, but the Galapagos evenings are pleasant, usually in the upper 70’s with a slight breeze.

Wednesday January 4

Another early start: our activity started at 7:30am. We took a 45-minute boat ride with about 6 other people to “Los Tuneles” – a protected series of coves formed by lava flows into the ocean. On the way we saw a large number of manta rays, some over 20 feet across, rolling upside down at the surface. We also saw golden and sting rays, as well as sea turtles mating on the surface.

At our destination, the captain carefully guided the boat into a lagoon, navigating underwater shoals of lava rock. We snorkeled off the boat around the lava flows, including swimming under arches and between walls of lava. In addition to the usual brilliant array of fish, we spotted dozens of sea turtles.

We also two large sea horses (each almost a foot tall), and a large group of rays.

Best of all, we swam less than 5 feet from several white tip sharks. Spencer in particular liked the idea of swimming with the sharks, and he had a big grin on his face after we surfaced. We have not done that much snorkeling with our kids before, and they are very much enjoying that aspect of this trip.

After two different snorkeling trips and a quick lunch on the boat, the captain slowly steered the boat through a labyrinth created by the interaction of lava flows and ocean currents. Narrow channels of water interspaced with lava islands and serpentine paths created pristine lagoons where turtles, sharks, and fish could be easily seen from the boat. We moored at one point and trekked across the rough lava to observe blue footed boobies doing their silly mating dance. We also saw a blue heron nest with the mother standing guard over her newly hatched chick. The only unfortunate aspect of the day was that no one brought their cameras (except Spencer’s GoPro, which had no more battery left), because we thought it was just a snorkel activity and not a nature walk.

We returned, napped, found a Shawarma place for dinner, then played more family card games.

Thursday, January 5: Spencer’s 26th Birthday!

We got to sleep in today, because today’s activity didn’t start until 9am. We were joined by 3 other people for a bay tour of Los Tintoreras park near Puerto Villamil bay. We took a boat ride and spotted the Galapagos penguin, flightless cormorants, blue-footed and Nazca boobies, and of course sea lions. We went ashore and walked a circular path through an other-worldly lava-blasted zone of at least 5 acres in size which turned out to be the perfect iguana habitat. We saw hundreds of those artifacts from the Jurassic Period, all of which were totally oblivious of our presence.

Eventually, we came to a narrow channel that was full of white-tipped sharks, which is why the park was named Los Tintoreras (“The Sharks”). I told Spencer we were going to swim in that channel, and he was very excited to dive in. He was most disappointed when he realized I was kidding.

We did, however, snorkel in a lagoon on the far side of the island, and saw sea lions, white-tip sharks, rays, sea turtles and reef fish. Once again it was a lot of fun. Once again we returned to the hotel and napped, either in our air conditioned rooms, or on the beach. We watched the sunset on the beach as it turned the sky brilliant hues of orange and red.

For dinner, Spencer selected the restaurant, Cafetal, which only opens by appointment. The owner must have trained at a high-end restaurant, because the food exceeded anything I’ve had in DC, NYC, or any other city for that matter. Perfectly prepared and presented seafood. Plus Spencer was presented with a slice of chocolate cake with a large sparkler for his birthday. 

I told him that this was a birthday against which all others could be measured.

Friday January 6

We had nothing scheduled for the morning, so we slept in, had a late breakfast, then oozed across the street to lay in the beach hammocks of the Sunset Bar. The kids laid in the sun while Jennifer and I dozed and wondered whether we should return to civilization, or just stay in Puerto Villamil.

Alas, our schedule called for us to fly from Isabela to San Christobal Island, so Emilie collected us at 1pm and took us 2 km to the almost vacant airport, which apparently handles only a couple of flights per day. We loaded up into a vintage BN-2D French turboprop. The captain turned around, looked at his 8 passengers, and gave the shortest safety briefing ever: “life vests and boats are under your seats. If something happens, listen to me.” All righty then! It reminded me of flying with my dad in his Cessna 195. We flew about 80 miles in 45 minutes, which would have been an uncomfortable all-day transfer had we done it by boat. 

On San Cristobal Island we were met by our last host, Gina. She took us to our hotel, Casa Iguana Mar y Sol. It was a residential bed and breakfast that had been designed and built by the owners, who took obvious pride in their craftsmanship. We were shown around the town, picked up our snorkeling gear, and generally relaxed in the afternoon heat. The boardwalk was full of sea lions, and we amused ourselves by watching them bellow, bray, snort, nuzzle, and cuddle.  For dinner we ate sushi at Midori, which was very good, except it took more than an hour to get our food after we ordered. Time runs at a different speed in the Galapagos.

Saturday January 7

Today was our tour of a remote beach and Kicker Rock/León Dormido. Most beaches on San Christobal can only be reached by boat. We boarded with 8 others and chugged up the coast and into a protected lagoon. We walked on the beach for a while, then snorkeled off the beach around the lagoon. We saw lots of reef fish, a few turtles, and a couple of sea lions, but all in all it was not one of our better snorkeling locations. The visibility was not as good – maybe 10-15 feet – and we’d been spoiled by our other places.

We made up for it by going to Kicker Rock, however. This 150 meter tall volcanic plug has split in two, creating a deep, narrow channel between two sheer cliffs plunging into the sea. 

We first swam into a smaller channel that tunneled under the island, then turned and swam parallel to the island until we got into the larger channel. The ocean was brilliant, clear, and turtles and fish were everywhere. Lichen and algae made the reefs around the rock brilliant blue, red, and yellow. In the channel, we saw ghostly shapes of sharks swimming at the periphery of our sight. In places the currents were so strong we could scarcely make headway against them, so we changed course and let the current carry us back around the rock, our boat trailing us. After more than an hour, we started straggling into the boat, enthusiastic about what we had seen. It was a highlight of our trip, and a great way to end our outings.

We ate lunch on the boat – a surprising good concoction of wahoo fish, rice, and vegetables – then basked as we returned to port. True to form, we returned to the hotel (stopping for ice cream along the way) and took a nap to recover from the day’s exertions. For dinner, we went to ChrisBurger, where we each had a sloppy sandwich, then returned for some card games.

Sunday January 8

We slept in this morning, knowing it was our last day in the Galapagos. We packed our bags then walked over to the Interpretation Center, which told the history of the Galapagos. Human attempts at colonization were usually driven by either utopian dreams (which always were short-lived) or dystopian grimness (the worst prisoners from Ecuador frequently were shipped here for inhumane treatment). Only in the 1960’s, with the creation of scientific research stations and the rise of tourism, did the Galapagos get anything more than a rudimentary structure. Today the islands are trying to balance tourism with sustainable practices, with the balance point still to be determined.

On that note, we returned to the hotel, did our final packing, and were picked up at 11:30am to go the airport for our 1:45pm flight to the mainland. We checked our large bags through to DC, and when we landed in Guayaquil, Ecuador at 4:35pm, we put our backpacks in a locker and took a taxi to the Malecón 2000, the 2.5 km long boardwalk-style park along the Guayas River. It was a festival-like atmosphere, filled with families enjoying the kiddie rides, sights, large Ferris wheel, food, and people watching. 

We browsed about for several hours, had a leisurely dinner, then returned to the airport for our red-eye flight to Miami. It took 1½ hours to clear immigration and one second to clear customs.

Having officially reentered the US, Kirsten went to catch her United flight to Denver – she’s checking out an MSW program in Denver – and the rest of us flew home to DC. The pilot announced that the temperature was 15 degrees F, with 20 mph winds, so it was a rude reintroduction to the Northern Hemisphere and winter.