Monday, April 21

This morning we are docked in the harbor of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on San Cristóbal Island. Although Puerto Baquerizo Moreno is much smaller than Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz Island, it is the administrative capital of the Galápagos. This is because San Cristóbal, being the easternmost island in the archipelago, was settled much earlier than Santa Cruz. Indeed, Santa Cruz was pretty much uninhabited until World War Two brought the construction of the first airfield in the Galápagos on nearby Baltra Island. Since that time, San Cristóbal has also gained an airfield, but due to Santa Cruz’s central position for the tourist industry, San Cristóbal has steadily lost ground to its younger sister.

Those of us who are also continuing on for the full week cruise (ourselves and the two English ladies) disembark early – before the crowd of passengers that are leaving us at this port. The panga picks its way through the multitude of small boats anchored in the harbor and docks at a jetty in the center of town. Although it is only 8:30 in the morning, it is very hot and activity on the streets already seems to have slacked into midafternoon somnolence.

My eye is immediately caught by a construction crew in the process of adding a third story to a bank building. They are in the process of pouring its concrete floor. Instead of manufactured metal frames and scaffold to hold up the deck on which this concrete floor is poured, the supports are wood. But not the straight and planed 2´4’s or 4´4’s that you might see the U.S., or the rectangular interlace of bamboo poles that you might see in Hong Kong, these supports are cut tree limbs. Each is about 3 inches in diameter, still covered in bark and as crooked as is typical for a tree limb. They also are not of equal overall length (and certainly not of equal linear length due to their crookedness) because some butt against the deck vertically, while others are at skewed angles. But together, they apparently keep the deck up and level. All in all, the construction quality in these island towns seems to be fairly good – and certainly of a much higher standard than I saw in São Paulo where the universally held view among contractors seemed to be that there was no construction flaw that a good coat of stucco wouldn’t fix (or at least, hide).

We board a minibus that is propelled by an unmuffled 40 horsepower motor. This engine is to get a real workout as our destination is a newly constructed tortoise preserve on the far side of the island. This will require us to gain about 500 meters in altitude crossing the interior highlands, before descending to about 200 meters on the south side of the island.

Our guide for this excursion is Geoffrey. He is unique among the Santa Cruz’s naturalists in that he is a native of the islands. Indeed, he grew up on San Cristóbal in a small inland settlement that we pass through on the minibus called, optimistically, El Progreso. Subsistence agriculture is about the best that these hinterlands accomplish. The buildings are dilapidated and the few that remain inhabited suggest that their occupants are very poor. As tourism replaced agriculture as the mainstay of the islands’ economy, most of the inhabitants of these inland settlements migrated to the towns along the coast. Geoffrey’s family followed the same pattern, and his father became a boat captain. But Geoffrey is still considered a oddity among the tourism elite of the islands – both because there are very few native-born Galapaguenos and because these islanders are considered to be backward and uneducated by the mainland Ecuadorans. But Geoffrey is none of these things. He has attended college – which is a requirement to become certified as a naturalist. Eric and Jeffrey look with interest at the school that Geoffrey attended while growing up in El Progreso – a wall-less structure that looks like a park picnic shelter.

The road over the mountain is extremely rough. Its gravel surface is being graded, widened and paved, When it is done, it will be beautiful, but we bounce our way over its current washboard surface and generate billows of dust. Whenever a vehicle comes from the opposite direction, we close the windows to keeps at least some of it from entering our lungs. I’m beginning to believe that the same mechanic that removed the muffler from our minibus must also have disabled its springs and shock absorbers.

After descending to within a couple of kilometers of the southern coast, the road terminates at the base of a small hill. A wooden staircase of a couple of hundred steps (I counted them) leads up the hill to an observation platform. Thankfully, once we reach the platform, a breeze picks up that keeps down the mosquitoes that bothered us on our climb up the stairs. From this platform there is a beautiful vista of the southern coast of San Cristóbal Island. One can see distinctly the vegetation bands: brown and dry by the coast, green increasing as you go up the mountainside, and lush at the top where the mountain summits are enveloped in clouds. Although masked by the tree tops and vegetation below us, wavy strips of green reveal the paths of streams making their way down to the ocean. Several mockingbirds alight on the platform handrail and we watch them peck around. The prize these birds are looking for is fresh water. Here and at all the beaches we have been instructed not to give them a drink because this is equivalent to feeding the wildlife – a definite no‑no in the Galápagos.

We backtrack a few kilometers to the Galapaguera de Cerro Colorado. Unlike the Charles Darwin Research Center on Santa Cruz which is a private foundation, this preserve is being constructed and run by the Ecuadoran government (Parque Nacional Galápagos). Its purpose appears twofold. One is to help protect and propagate the tortoises, the other is to spur tourism and economic development on San Cristóbal – similar to how the Darwin Center’s attractions have been the nucleus of such development on Santa Cruz.

Although the Galapaguera’s buildings are still under construction, we immediately prefer this preserve to the Darwin Center. While the Darwin Center seemed to be a dusty, crowded zoo, the Galapaguera is still unvisited and its tortoises roam in greener, more natural environments. Indeed, we see only two other visitors at the preserve that morning. No doubt this will change as the road over the mountain from Puerto Baquerizo Moreno becomes fully improved and paved.

We walk about a hundred meters back into the tortoise area to their feeding platform. Here we come across a group young tortoises eagerly scarfing down leaves. All is peaceful until an old bull saddleback tortoise comes tromping in from the underbrush to claim the choicest feeding position on the platform. His arrival causes most of the previous incumbents to move to the periphery of the platform (which is about 8 by 12 meters in size). A few of the younger tortoises that don’t clear out immediately are charged by the bull and they quickly scatter. While these animals typically move rather ponderously, they are also capable of reptilian quickness – at least for a few steps. We continue to view the tortoises for several more minutes before returning to our springless minibus.

Upon returning back over the mountain to Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, we have an hour to wander around before the panga will arrive to return us to the Santa Cruz. We encourage Geoffrey to spend this free time to visit his mother who still lives in town, but we believe he goes to visit his girlfriend, instead. The main street of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno is about four blocks long. We cruise the shops where the prices are a bit less than in more touristy Puerto Ayora, and buy a number of tee shirts and souvenirs. We also buy and write a few post cards. Richard goes over to the Post Office and with his laughable Spanish purchases some stamps which he hopes are for correo aéreo back to the U.S. Evidently, large denomination stamps are not commonly stocked by this post office, and each post card requires being pasted with a banner of four small denomination stamps across its top. (And speedy postal service appears not to be a priority in the islands as it takes just about a month to the day for these post cards to reappear at their addressees’ homes in the U.S.) But when we turn on Barbara’s AT&T Wireless cellular phone while we are in town, it takes just a few seconds before we are informed that it has found a compatible network and that there are two new voice messages waiting in Barbara’s mailbox. Clearly electronic communications have eclipsed postal communications – even in these remote corners of the world.

Our panga ride back through the harbor and out to the Santa Cruz passes by a number of anchored small boats that are inhabited by basking sea lions. We see one being evicted off of its resting place by a returning owner. Upon reaching the Santa Cruz, we scope out the eighty newly arrived passengers. A few of them seem to have kids similar to ours in age. On the whole, this group seems to be younger and more Spanish-speaking than the group of older and more English or German-speaking passengers whom they are replacing.

The Santa Cruz weighs anchor at 12:30 in the afternoon and heads for Playa Ochoa on the north side of San Cristóbal. This beach is protected by a rock breakwater and initially appears to be rather sterile compared to the other beaches that we have visited. We see hardly any sea lions and just a few Sally Lightfoot crabs. The newbies, of course, think this sparse display is just fabulous – but we are blasé. However the beach sand is deep and clean, so we are happy. Eric, Barbara and Richard do a little snorkeling along the breakwater, and are rewarded with a profusion of large, pie-shaped fish with yellow tails – along with an occasional blue or orange interloper. The yellow tails may be surgeonfish, but I am unsure. I also see a parrotfish.

After a while, a group of four or five sea lion pups arrives to liven up the action among the swimmers. They dart in and out of groups of bathers. Several come within a few feet of me, but since I do not have the underwater camera with me, I cannot record it. Eric and Jeffrey spend a long time climbing over and playing on the rocks of the breakwater.

A little later, Mom and I take a panga ride through the narrow channel that separates the north shore of San Cristóbal Island from a smaller islet called Isla Lobos (sea lions are called “wolves” in Spanish) that shelters Playa Ochoa. We see a number of frigate birds perching on trees on the islet and flying above us. A few of the males are even displaying their famous red neck pouches and flapping their wings vigorously in attempts to attract the attention of passing females. These birds are the most agile and acrobatic of all of the major Galápagos birds, but they are cursed by the lack of a preen gland adequate to waterproof their feathers. Thus, they cannot dive for their food – and typically must harass other birds into giving up their hard-earned catches. Because of this, they are called kleptoparasitic. Their lack of waterproof feathers also prevents frigates from alighting on the sea to drink. Thus, they drink by flying extremely low over the water, and dipping their long beaks into the ocean to suck up liquid. It is a strange behavior, indeed. The closest analog that I can think of is a forest fire-fighting aircraft that skims along the surface of a lake picking up water for its tanks to drop on the flames.

Appropriately, the channel between Isla Lobos and San Cristóbal is a big nursery area for sea lion pups, and many of them are in the water frolicking around our pangas. They grab and pull on the painter line that has been thrown into the water and nibble on the rope netting that covers the pontoons of the panga. When the ready availability of mother’s milk relieves you any hunting or gathering obligations, there is a surfeit of time available for play. I guess the same is true of human children.

Among the new passengers who joined the Santa Cruz in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno is a videographic team and a still photographer who have been hired by Metropolitan Touring to create a promotional video and illustrated publicity brochures to promote their Galápagos cruises. The still photographer’s name is Raul Gil and he is on our panga. He continually juggles at least two cameras. One is fancy Canon professional digital camera that probably has about 8 or 12 megapixels. Although it is an SLR that takes interchangeable lenses, he generally keeps it equipped with its standard length lens. Another camera is Canon’s top of the line professional film camera. With all of the grips and power winders on it, it looks a lot bigger than an ordinary 35mm SLR. A procession of lenses fly on and off this camera body. One of them is a monster 600mm telephoto. With additional tele-extender and electronic image stabilizer devices interposed between the lens optics and the camera body, this bad boy is roughly the size of a howitzer barrel. In Baghdad, aiming such a lens could get you shot. Geoffrey refers to it as a “James Bond camera.” Yet this and other lenses are being snapped on and off the camera repeatedly as salt spray washes over the panga. I, on the other hand, contort my body protectively over my cameras every moment that I am not actually looking through their viewfinders.

We reboard the Santa Cruz and skip the briefing that is being offered to the new passengers in order to escort our children to their early dinner seating. Here, the only down-note is that the chef simply cannot be persuaded to follow explicit directions as to how the kids’ food should be prepared. Tonight pizza is offered for the kids’ dinner – which is great. We request that it be prepared only with plain cheese – no sausage, no onions, no anchovies, nothing else – just cheese. But when the pizza arrives, its cheese surface is pockmarked with sliced olives, green peppers and mushrooms. Although it is surely delicious, it is just not what our univore kids will accept – even if you spend ten minutes picking all of these extras out of the cheese topping. Of course the Santa Cruz’s chef is not unique in his determination to serve kids’ food in the fashion that he, the producer, not the consumer, feels is most appealing. I can’t tell you how many times we have been in a restaurant and asked for a plate of pasta for our kids with nothing, repeat, nothing, on top of it – only to receive a plate that has been drizzled in butter or topped with a sprinkling of parsley or grated cheese. I guess such willfulness is just in chef genes.

Our dinner, on the other hand, is great again. The highlight is an appetizer consisting of a crêpe pulled up into a little pouch and filled with cèpes. This pouch is gathered at the top and tied shut with a “string” sliced from a scallion. Not only is it exceptionally pretty, it is delicious as well. Later, as the kids watch a DVD down in the stateroom while we go up to the top deck to look at the stars.

Overlooking the south shore of San Cristóbal	Tortoise preserve on San Cristóbal
Barbara and Mom	Eric
Arrival of the old bull saddleback	Big dogs eat first (or at least, best)