Las Vegas Review-Journal (Sunday)
GALAPAGOS ISLANDS OFFER WILDLIFE AND WILD LIFE
Wildlife-rich islands are more tourist-friendly than you think
Adeeply tanned woman on the side of a dirt road called out to a pair of bikini-clad tourists pushing bikes. Her voice rose over the slapping waves and hoots of encouragement rising from a nearby slack line.
“Happy hour at 5 o’clock,” said the bar’s husky-voiced proprietress. “We have pina coladas, beer, a bonfire and guitars.”
If we were playing Name That Destination, her shout-out for cheap cocktails, combined with the pool-blue ocean and beachy dress code, would direct most pushpins to Mexico, Belize or Costa Rica. However, the marine iguanas lounging like Sports Illustrated swimsuit models on volcanic rocks and the sea lions bobbing in the waves divulged the tropical location.
To paraphrase a boozy vacation mantra: Somewhere, even on the Galapagos Islands, it’s 5 o’clock.
In most minds, a trip to Ecuador’s micro-animal kingdom doesn’t typically involve such terrestrial diversions as drinking discounted brews around a fire or tiptoeing on a tightrope. But a “Beach Blanket Bingo” streak runs through the islands, shattering the notion that the Galapagos is all animals and no party.
“Hey, Mark from the dive boat!” an English architect messaged me after a scuba trip off San Cristobal. “The bar is El Barquero. See there you at 9.”
Many travelers tour the area by cruise or expedition ship (about 70 of them ply the waters) and follow a military-strict itinerary. Because of national park regulations and ship constraints, visitors typically spend a predetermined amount of time roaming each island, often under the parental gaze of a guide. The passengers sleep and eat on the vessels and rarely socialize with locals beyond chatting up the crew and park staff. Many tourists don’t even realize that 25,000 people legally reside on the archipelago.
Four of the 19 islands — Santa Cruz, San Cristobal, Isabela and Floreana — are inhabited and rest comfortably on the pillars of tourism. All offer hotels, restaurants, bars, tour outfitters and souvenir shops curtained in bluefooted booby T-shirts and tote bags. In 2007, the Ecuadorian government began to encourage land-based travel. The push is working: A report by the Galapagos National Park Directorate and the Galapagos Tourism Observatory discovered that in the first half of 2015, a majority of the 113,613 visitors, stayed on one of the islands, an 8 percent rise from the previous year. For a week in early January 2016, let the records show that our group of four stayed in familyrun hotels on Santa Cruz, Isabela and San Cristobal; ate at local restaurants serving seafood caught from the front-yard ocean; and traveled between islands via ferry or light aircraft. Our closest encounter with a cruise ship was seeing it from the shoreline.
“I think the land is a thousand times better,” said Claudia Hodari, who runs Casa Rosada on Isabela and advertises her drink specials vocally. “It’s cheaper and more fun. And you see 80 percent of the same animals.” (Note: Some islands, such as Fernandina and Marchena, are accessible only by passenger ship.)
The benefits of land-dwelling are plentiful. You will pay less for more independence. You can participate in the daily rituals of the Galapagos community. Your patronage directly supports the islands and the locals. (Foreign companies own some of the larger ships.) You can avoid the crowds. And, most important, you can swim with the sea lions any time of day — including before, after and during happy hour.
RUBBING SHOULDERS WITH WILDLIFE
So many mammals. The dock in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, the main port town on San Cristobal, was a logjam of bodies and a clamor of sounds. Small motorboats unloaded budget travelers standing at half-mast beneath heavy backpacks. Families and couples costumed in masks and snorkels boarded excursion boats. Surfers hoisting boards threaded through the crowd. Sea lions flopped on wooden benches, squeezing out the two-legged species.
The easternmost island is home to the capital of the Galapagos; the second-largest population (about 6,000 people); one of two main airports (the other is Baltra, a ferry ride from Santa Cruz); and several sea lion colonies. Hence, the animal parade. You can escape the masses and find a sandy crescent of your own or hide out by the hotel pool. But those who don’t want to retreat like a giant tortoise can easily plunge into the jumble of arms, legs, flippers and fins.
You don’t need a boat, just a couple of U.S. dollars. Nor do you need a set destination, just a delight in ambling. Water taxis hustle through the harbor, picking up and dropping off passengers like public buses.
Driver Jose Bellano set off with two surfers from Russia and a man who needed a lift to an anchored vessel. He wore a walkie-talkie clipped to his orange polo shirt and frequently answered his cellphone, barking Spanish into the receiver. He scooped up an Israeli surfer at a pier, avoiding children in street clothes tumbling off a concrete platform. A few kids in the water clung to the bow. Jose clucked at them as if shooing away pigeons.
His primary customers on that January afternoon were surfers and our quartet of Americans, which included a photographer and two videographers from North Carolina. Daniela, a researcher with the Galapagos Science Center and a surfer, said usually foreigners hail water taxis to the break; locals paddle out from the beach. The waves were supposed to be epic over the next few days.
Jose veered as close to the cresting waves as possible, and the surfers hopped out. They negotiated a time for a return ride. He backed up the boat a few yards to avoid getting thwacked by the surf. As we softly bounced in place, he cut up a pineapple and passed around the candy-sweet wedges, using the flat side of the knife as a serving platter. We watched the surfers until Jose got a call for a new job. On the trip back to shore, a seal pup attempted to jump into the boat.
Without a ship to call our own, we had to continue hiring seaworthy vessels on San Cristobal. For a visit to Kicker Rock, the following day, we also needed a guide to accompany us to the snorkel and scuba site (required for protected natural areas), and I needed a refresher course on diving hand signals. All the better to know what lurked beneath us.
The boat ride took about 45 minutes, but on the open water, I noticed the two volcanic cone formations much sooner. Bluefooted boobies and frigate birds perched on the rocky ledges zoomed into focus. The ocean was as clear as sea glass, but it wasn’t revealing the identities of its inhabitants.
Inside the cabin, a dive master named Alex offered some clues. He demonstrated the sign for eel (squiggly wormlike motion), sea turtle (lock fingers and flap pinky and thumb), eagle ray (billow arms) and shark (hands in prayer shape on forehead). When Alex placed his fists on the sides of his head a la Princess Leia hair buns, I could almost hear the silent scream underwater: Hammerhead!
For the first dive, we dropped about 50 feet down and hovered over a pair of white-tipped sharks. Alex wiggled his pinky and thumb, and a sea turtle drifted by. A sea lion crashed through the surface of the water, leaving a stream of champagne-like bubbles in its wake. I came mask to mug with an eagle ray. All around, jellyfish dangled like translucent party streamers.
On the second dive, we noticed a funnel shape moving slowly through the water like a tornado. Thousands of black-striped salema flashed their silvery scales. Daniela swam into the column, and the fish swallowed her up. I stuck my head into the overcrowded school and the bodies parted, creating a wormhole into another world. I wriggled through and looked back at the portal. It had been sealed shut.
CHANCE MEETINGS
One of the greatest perks of staying on land are the casual runins with wildlife. On Santa Cruz, I spotted giant tortoises grazing in the grass on the way to the ferry. On supermarket runs in Puerto Ayora, the island’s main town, I would pass a statue-still marine iguana basking on the curb. All around, finches would flit about my head.
At the fish market on Santa Cruz, humans, sea lions and pelicans all vie for the same prize. The cashcarrying kind typically receive preferential treatment, though the fishermen often share a piece of their catch with the pesky beggars.
“He’s just like a dog,” an English tourist said about a sea lion holding vigil under the filleting table.
Throughout the islands, enclosures are rare, which encourages close encounters. At El Chato, a tortoise sanctuary in Santa Cruz’s Highlands region, the slow crawlers wander in and out of the nature reserve, indifferent to the admission fee visitors pay to see them. Most, however, don’t venture too far.
“That’s Ingrid,” a guide said about a grande dame resting in a hole. “She’s 80 years old.” In response to the sudden attention, she retracted her head into her shell, releasing a whoosh of air that sounded like an angry hiss. Across the way, a 150-year-oldster luxuriated in a mud pit as raindrops splashed on his roof.
On occasion, the entire animal kingdom will share a singular moment. One starry night on Puerto Ayora’s waterfront, couples held hands and sea lions spooned on the wharf. Romance was in the air for all species.