As of today, we are back on solid ground after 4 days and 5 nights of adventuring around and within what is the most otherworldly and mind blowing of all places I’ve ever been. I’m still involuntarily wearing my sea legs, I think I’m on a boat every time I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, and despite 5 days of not getting even close to seasick, now my weird boat brain is convincing me that I need to throw up overboard every 15 minutes. Curious things, our minds…
I’m not even sure how to organize or start these Galápagos Islands travelogues because all of the seafaring and sightseeing and sea lion-ing is starting to swim together into a blurry-edged Galapagos dreamscape, but I am going to try! My thought was to start backwards and see where that takes us, although fair warning that I may consider changing direction in the middle of the series. Since I know most of you are extremely concerned with the chronology and content of my personal travel blog and all.
San Cristobal was the fifth and final island we visited on our tour of the southeast islands, and maybe my favorite, but I’ll 80% likely change my mind tomorrow and say that the next island I’m writing about was actually the best. One of the most extraordinary things about being in the Galapagos is that each island feels unmistakably Galapagañan, yet each island feels unmistakably unique from the others. In San Cristobal’s case, it’s all rocks, scale and extremity in contrast with the gentleness or vibrancy of some of the other islands we saw. And it’s amazing.
Punta Pitt on San Cristobal makes you feel like you’re living inside Zelda for NES Classic; jags of sheer red-brown cliffs loom thousands of feet over your head and there are sparse little bushes that pop up everywhere like the ones your Link character used a candle to burn up in hopes of finding secret stairways (not recommended on San Cristobal).
If you walk up through a bunch of craggy underbrush, you are greeted by BOOBIES EVERYWHERE!!! But seriously, you are greeted by Boobies everywhere. Red Footed, Blue Footed, and Nestas. Their feet are amazing and look like bubble gum candy colors stretched over Daffy Duck feet, and they nest over fluffy little baby Boobies whose innocent looks belie a proclivity for fratricide – the babies regularly enjoy killing their younger siblings in order to ensure that there’s always enough food for them. Moral of the story: if your older sister tried to kill you often when you were younger by pushing you down the stairs when you weren’t looking, perhaps she is just channeling her perfectly normal primal instincts…
We also got to see a Blue Footed Booby mating ritual, and it’s exactly like the awesome Galapagos Documentary said it would be. These funny little birds talk to each other – the male whistles and the larger female honks (their vocals are completely distinct) – and then the male does a wing-spreading display over and over again and picks up little twigs that he presents to the female like gifts, while the female is somewhat bitchy back and acts like she has better things to do like clean her feathers with her beak. After a long time (you start to feel bad for the little guy who is clearly losing all his self-confidence), the female makes a wing gesture in return, and then they do this incredibly touching little hugging thing with their heads. In our case, the show ended here because it really seemed like they wanted us to get out of there so they could pick out a nice spot and mate without us invading their moment. I think I actually like birds now.
And then there’s the Galapagos oceanside. The water everywhere in the Galapagos is divine – almost eerily clear and untouched, and usually vacillating between Hawaiian Punch Blue and that Cornflower color crayon in the Crayola box that always looked way prettier as a crayon than it did when you actually colored with it (amirite, come on this can’t just be me). We’ve taken many dinghy rides (quit playin’ with your DINGHY!) on this trip, but the hands down best was around San Cristobal.
There aren’t many words to describe puttering your teeny tiny boat into a volcanic lava tube crag that towers 200 meters overhead and is aptly named The Cathedral for both its soaring skyward walls and the immeasurable feeling of awe you have when you’re just bobbing beneath it, or for floating on by the famous Kicker Rock that you’ve seen in photos so many times but whose glaring right angles and broken-off, spindly point always look like they are slightly doctored or photoshopped for drama. Being out in that Galapagos water can make a believer out of any faithful person who maintains that God and evolution cannot coexist.
And lastly, but oh, so not leastly, the goddamn sea lions. The SEA LIONS. These creatures will show up in every blurb I’ll ever have to say about the Galapagos, but to start here, snorkeling with Sea Lions was the best part of the entire trip. I am ensnared, in love, forever changed, united with my spirit animal, and so on and so forth. Not only do these joyful beasts take great interest in coming right up to your nose and checking out what you’re up to; all you have to do is dive down and take a few rolls in the water to get them to endlessly play with you and call over 6 of their friends to join in. Swimming with sea lions in the Galapagos is like playing Simon Says with little Cherub baby angels who are much better swimmers than you but willing to give your lack of skill a pass if it means you’ll hang around and play with them a while. The experience is life-affirming, and I do not say this to be clever or cute. It was one of my favorite experiences in all of my travel, ever, right up there with my Balinese Film Debut. And I’m still beaming.
So that’s it for Part 1/Day 5, more tomorrow when my Sea Legs stiffen up and I’m ready to pore through some more notes!
Ciao/Buenos Días/Hasta Luego….