MORE THAN JUST SEA LIONS
Galapagos friendly to tourists, too
A deeply 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 proprietor. “We have pina coladas, beer, a bonfire and guitars.”
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 are all animals and no party.
Many travellers 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. In 2007, the Ecuadorean 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 eight per cent rise from the previous year.
For a week in early January 2016, let the records show that our group of four stayed in family-run hotels on Santa Cruz, Isabela and San Cristobal; we ate at local restaurants serving seafood caught from the front-yard ocean; and we travelled between islands via ferry or light aircraft. Our closest encounter with a cruise ship was seeing it from the shoreline.
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. You can avoid the crowds. And, most important, you can swim with the sea lions any time of day
The dock in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, the main port town on San Cristobal, was a logjam of bodies and a clamour of sounds. Small motorboats unloaded budget travellers 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 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 harbour, 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. His primary customers on that January afternoon were surfers and our quartet of Americans, which included a photographer and two videographers from North Carolina.
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.
Without a ship to call our own, we hired 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).
We dove down about 15 metres and hovered over two white-tipped sharks. A sea turtle drifted by, and a sea lion crashed through the surface, a stream of bubbles in its wake. I came mask-to-mug with an eagle ray. All around, jellyfish dangled like translucent party streamers.
The high-speed boat from Santa Cruz to Isabela takes about 2½ hours, depending on sea conditions.
On the mid-size watercraft, passengers sat elbow-to-elbow in the cabin and on an unprotected bench outside. The ride was bumpy and downshifted from joyful to joyless.
When we finally arrived on Isabela, the defeated, seaweed-green passengers wobbled onto the dock and dispersed by foot and in pickup trucks that performed taxi duties. I trundled toward Casa Rosado, where happy hour was in full swing. Meanwhile, in the opposite direction, a sea-lion family flippered down the dirt road to the beach for a late afternoon swim.
Around the bonfire, I met an unexpected sector of travellers, the budget backpackers. Sophie and Jane, two friends from Australia, told me that a five-day cruise would’ve cost them $200 each per day. On Isabela, however, they saved money by staying in a hostel and drinking happy-hour beers.
I had first seen the pair at Concha de Perla, a secluded inlet near the dock. We had all risen early to
water aerobicize with the sea lions. But only one participant showed up, and he quit early, barking at a marine iguana to get off his rock.
The duo then pedalled off to the beach and ditched their bikes at La Playita. In the water, they were surprised to have company, including sea lions, sharks and birds.
I rented a bike and added the beach to my planned route, hoping for a similar play group.
We left Isabela in a fairy-size plane run by Emetebe, the interisland airline.
One of the greatest perks of staying on land are the casual run-ins 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 passed a statue-still marine iguana basking on the curb. All around, finches flit about my head like the enchanted forest scene in Snow White.
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.
Throughout the islands, enclosures are rare. At El Chato, a tortoise sanctuary in Santa Cruz’s Highlands region, the slow crawlers wander in and out of the nature reserve, but most don’t venture 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.