Thursday, April 24

We are anchored in the harbor of Puerto Ayora off Santa Cruz island when I am awoken this morning by a small war going on between Eric and Jeffrey. Given that floor of the cabin is completely occupied by pieces of luggage in various stages of packing, this means that their primary avenue for attacking and retreating from each other comes from leaping from one bunk to another (upper to upper being their favorite). After getting them dressed, I shoo them out into the corridor, where I suppose they go to terrorize Mom and Barbara’s cabin (bad), or terrorize other passengers (worse). I then set about to complete the transfer of our possessions from the various nooks and crannies of the cabin into our luggage. The bags are then piled into the corridor – where they likely constitute an impermissible hazard to the speedy evacuation of the ship in the event of an emergency. Our instructions are that all passenger bags must be placed in the corridor by 8 AM for collection by the crew. This allows us to pack all of our nightclothes and toiletries – and is a much more civilized procedure than the demand made by large cruise ships that all bags be ready for pickup by the previous midnight.

After breakfast, we are part of a small group that disembarks early. It consists of the Clarke five and the two English ladies (Elaine and Frances) that have been on the boat with us since we departed from Puerto Ayora seven days ago. In addition, our group contains a Swiss family of five that joined the boat three days earlier in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno. After hopping off the panga onto the dock, we are given five minutes to make any last minute purchases before our small group is transported to the central highlands of Santa Cruz island. I head straight for the grocery store and purchase its entire stock (which is about four units) of mini-cans of Pringles. For reasons not well-understood by Barbara or I, these items are enticements of the first order for entreating our children to act in a civilized manner.

Our little group of twelve has been split away from the remaining 75 or so Santa Cruz passengers because we are to visit a wild tortoise preserve in the central highlands. For the rest of the passengers, all of whom joined us at Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on San Cristobal island, this is their first (and only) visit to Puerto Ayora. And for any visitor to the Galápagos, that means an obligatory excursion to the Charles Darwin Research Center. But we have already made this pilgrimage a week ago, so we are being sent to a different preserve. This consideration is a very nice touch by Metropolitan Touring. It would have been easy enough just to keep us with the main group and take us to the CDRC for a second time, or simply let us roam the streets of Puerto Ayora for a few hours until the main group’s CDRC tour was over, and then take us all en masse to the airport. But instead, we are awarded a non-duplicative activity. Very classy.

But the reason for the inclusion of the Swiss family in our group becomes clear from our conversations with them as our minibus begins to climb the road out of Puerto Ayora, Although this family had not boarded the Santa Cruz until it had reached Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, they had been scheduled to board four days earlier in Puerto Ayora at the same time as we and the English ladies started the cruise. Unfortunately, the family’s flight was delayed leaving Switzerland and they arrived in Ecuador too late to catch last Thursday’s flight out to the Islands.

This was just the tragedy that I had worried would befall us due to our own tight connections. And now with the clarity of hindsight from our previous week of island visits, the loss would have been even more unbearable – missed visits to the fabulous geography and wildlife of Isabela, Fernandina and Española. These islands contained sights that were not even close to being duplicated by those offered on the last three days’ of visits. Bulletin to all future Galápagos travelers: don’t tempt fate by allowing only an eight-hour interval between arriving in Ecuador and departing for the islands. It’s too close for comfort, and the penalty for failure is too severe. Arrive in Quito or Guayaquil at least one full day before your scheduled departure for the Galápagos.

Anyway, due to their late arrival in Ecuador, Metropolitan Touring put the Swiss family on the next available flight to Baltra and housed them in a hotel in Puerto Ayora for several days and took them on side trips to nearby sights before ferrying them to Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on San Cristobal island where they joined the Santa Cruz for the first time on Monday. During their stay in Puerto Ayora, they had ample opportunity to visit the CDRC, so had no need for a return visit. The family was from Fribourg – not far from where I went to boarding school at La Tour-de-Peilz in French Switzerland. After discussing the irony of meeting up with someone in the Galápagos familiar with their home neck of the woods, they asked me the question I had been dreading. How were the western islands that they had missed? How did they compare with the eastern ones that they had seen? Never capable of being the perfect diplomat (isn’t that putting it lightly?) and saying that all the islands are pretty much interchangeable, I took that tack that the western islands were really no better than the eastern ones – they were just “different.” And the principal difference between the missed western islands and the eastern ones was that the western islands were more wild (“sauvage”). I doubt that this explanation assuaged much disappointment.

Once we turned off the main road and into the El Chato preserve, the ride becomes extremely bumpy. We are close to one thousand feet up in the highlands. Although this results in only slightly cooler temperatures than those down at sea level, the perceived temperature drop is magnified by the mist that hangs over these altitudes. Because the tortoises roam freely throughout this preserve, there is no corral like at the CDRC where you can expect to see your favorite specimens. One must rely on the guide’s knowledge as to where to look. Fortunately, the guides have some cribs to help them. They are in the preserve every day, and know where they last saw a tortoise. And since well-fed tortoises don’t roam too far at any one time, there is a good chance that a tortoise will still be in the general vicinity of where it was last spotted.

The first tortoise we come across is similar in size to the mature males we saw a week earlier at the CDRC. The next is an immature tortoise that still has its growth rings. These “rings” are the striations in the polygonal segments of its shell that represent a year’s worth of growth. As the tortoise matures (say at 40 years of age) these striations smooth out and disappear. Thus, you can tell the age of younger tortoises, but once they reach 40 or 50, all bets are off. You cannot tell how old they are. Would that we humans should be so fortunate.

A number of passionfruit are lying on the ground close by the tortoise, and at the guide’s direction, a member of our group rolls one in front of his nose. Presently, he (all tortoises are “he’s” until we are notified to the contrary) extends his neck and proceeds to grab the passionfruit and chop it up in his mouth – with many bits of pulp and rivulets of juice trickling out his cheeks. As this messy chopping business completes, he then swallows the passionfruit chunks in big gulps.

While this display seemed destined to be the highlight of our tortoise-viewing at the El Chato preserve, it was soon trumped. The next tortoise we encountered is a true giant. Surely the most massive imaginable. This guy is easily 50% larger than the first tortoise that we encountered. His shell was well over three feet wide and four feet long. If the first one (who was similar in size to the large ones at the CDRC) weighed 300 pounds, this guy must have gone close to 500. He, too, is happy to be rolled a few passionfruit, and provides the same gluttonous show as had the juvenile. Altogether we got some very good photos.

Retracing our path, the minibus leaves the tortoise preserve and heads north over the highlands to the Itabaca channel separating Santa Cruz from Baltra island and the airport. At the ferry terminal we meet up with the rest of the Santa Cruz’ passengers fresh from their visit to the CDRC. As we wait for the ferry in the midday heat of the islands, we reflect on this magnificent experience. There are no “if onlys” or “all in alls” in the evaluation. The trip was great, period. During our pre-departure planning we made our arrangements anticipating that this visit would be the only one we would ever make to this remote corner of the world. Thus, we chose a seven-day cruise to all of the “big” islands, and not a three or four day quickie to a subset. But already the wheels are turning in my head as to what I would like to do on the next visit. Perhaps instead of traveling on a “large” cruise ship like the Santa Cruz, taking a smaller twelve to twenty passenger boat for a more intimate experience. Making an extended visit to Isabela where you take a two-day hike or horseback trip to the top of the Alcedo or Sierra Negra volcanoes and see tortoises roaming in their calderas. Taking a scuba diving trip to try to get a better shot as seeing some hammerheads or whale sharks. Or maybe just an extended stay that allows you the opportunity to soak up more of the many magical places a little while longer, without the necessity of moving on.

In any event, we finally reach the airport where we have a bit of time to kill before the plane arrives. We spend it looking through some of the souvenir stalls for a few knick-knacks to bring back. We buy a number of small wooden figures of sea lions, tortoises, frigate birds and, of course, blue-footed boobies. Although the prices seem inordinate to the simplicity of the figures, we don’t regret it. Better that the extra revenue stay within the limited economy of the islands. I also find the archipelago map that I covet, and quickly purchase a copy. All in all, there have been relatively few opportunities for shopping, so this is our “blow out.”

As we complete our passage through airport security, there is a disturbance immediately behind us. A cigarette lighter has been discovered in the pocket of an Israeli tourist. For some reason, the security guards think that I am just the person capable of explaining to this passenger that such items are forbidden. I attempt to do this without much success. He states that he has had this lighter on his person throughout his multiple flights from Israel to Ecuador and out to the islands. Why all of a sudden is it forbidden to return with it? Lacking knowledge of the precise aviation security rules of Ecuador, I cannot offer any further explanation. The tourist then suggests his willingness to let the pilot carry the lighter and return it to him after landing on the mainland. The security agents refuse. He then exclaims that he will not be parted from his lighter, and that instead he will just stay in the Galápagos. At this point, our flight begins to board and mindful of the open-seating policies of TAME, we don’t dawdle in running for the airstairs. I guess the lighter fracas eventually gets worked out because the Israeli tourist does enter the plane’s cabin just before the door is closed.

As on the way out to the islands, TAME airlines is very efficient. The plane departs on time and a light meal is served. We have a brief stop in Guayaquil and arrive early in Quito. We collect our baggage and Metropolitan Touring delivers us to our new hotel, the Río Amazonas Internacional. It looks nice and modern, but as we look more closely at the rooms’ fit and finish, it is clear that the building was constructed on the cheap. But it will serve our purposes fine. It’s location is right in the middle of the Mariscal. This is the main shopping and tourist section of Quito. Later, I learn that the locals call the Mariscal, “gringoland.” But since that is what we are, the location is appropriate.

In the waning afternoon, I walk down to the Galasam tourist office to finalize arrangements for our next two day’s of Quito-area tours. Tomorrow we will all be going to see Quito’s local attractions. On Saturday, Barbara and Mom will be going north to the famous Indian market in the town of Otavalo, while the boys and I will travel south down the Avenue of the Volcanoes to see the most renown of their number, Cotopaxi.

Because of the boys’ disdain for all of the excellent food served to them on the Santa Cruz over the past week, we have agreed that they can choose their own menu for the evening. Their choice is pizza. The hotel room’s Yellow Pages informs me that a Pizza Hut (ugh!) is close by, which is exactly what they are looking for. Barbara and I accompany the boys there, where they proceed to devour that food icon that no longer knows national boundaries: a medium cheese with pepperoni. In addition to the food, they are impressed by the pair of guards standing sentinel across the street, protecting the local franchise of Pollo Campero (“Country Chicken”). One is armed with an Uzi submachine gun, the other with a 12-gauge shotgun. They are accompanied by the guard dog of choice in Quito, a very large Rottweiler.

After returning to the hotel and parking the kids, we adults set out to seek our own dinner. We find a local Ecuadoran restaurant called Mama Clorinda’s. Due to Barbara’s squeamishness, we forgo ordering the classic Andean delicacy of deep fried cuy (“guinea pig” in English). Barbara also declines another menu selection entitled, “cattle tongues.” The food that we do have is good, but does not match that of the Santa Cruz. That night our sleep is still bothered by the altitude, but not nearly so much as the night we arrived a week earlier.

Barbara in Richard, Eric & Jeffrey’s quad cabin	Mom & Barbara’s more civilized double cabin
M/N Santa Cruz (Pierre Thomas image)	Juvenile tortoise (notice its growth “rings”)
Mammoth giant tortoise (notice, no “rings”)	Mammoth giant tortoise eating a passionfruit