I would love to say this entry is my one-year anniversary
entry from the beginning of the trip. I really would, and I guess I could, but it would be a lie. The actual
anniversary is on the 8th. However, I can't guarantee I'll have Internet access
to post on that day, and I don't want to be late,
so I guess we're celebrating preemptively? Yay? In any case, with one year
rolling around, we're getting ever much closer to the end of the trip, but
before we look at that, we continue our work in the Galapagos sun. (And trust
me, there's plenty of sun.)
I think it was Thursday that I started having some
revelations about my time here. Well, okay, revelations
may a bit of an overstatement, but the fact remains that I've figured some
things out. I'm very much in the camp that believes that everything that
happens is exactly what you need at the time. 'Cause here's the thing: this
whole adventure is ending not with a bang, but with a...well, not a whimper,
but somewhere in-between, I guess. Now, I keep making comparisons between my
time here and my time at Askari, mainly because they both involve doing
conservation work to restore a beautiful natural area to the way it was before
mankind came in and screwed it all up. And we use machetes. However, it is
different in many, many ways. Where to begin? Well, first of all, the volunteer
dynamic is much different, because people are coming and going so frequently,
that you don't really get the same sense of community within the group. Yeah,
you get to know some people, but at Askari, you felt like family. There is also the language issue (when the guy in charge
doesn't speak English, that is), but the main differences - which I've realized
is why my daily photo counts are low relative to the same number of days at
Askari - is that, first of all, there's not nearly as many animals around.
Sure, there are some tortoises and birds, as well as some sea lions in town,
but every day at Askari was literally defined
by animal sightings. And animals, being wild and unpredictable, meant that
things could go completely wacky for a day. Like I tell people, some of my
favorite/best anecdotes from the trip come from there. Second, and more simply,
our work was a bit longer and somewhat more varied at Askari. Not that I'm
saying I want to work longer hours (in this heat, I don't). It's just
different. At Askari, you'd only have the later part of the afternoon and
evening free, and since the community there was so self-dependent (we couldn't
just go to town, nor did we ever really need to), we spent a lot of time with
each other. It was a very dynamic environment, one to excite the senses. That's
not what we have here. By lunchtime, we're done,
and have the day free. Most people just read, write, or go to town, until it's
maybe about an hour before dinner, at which point we gather at the table and
have a discussion that lasts through the meal. But for a big part of it, it's a
much more solitary, and downplayed, experience. It seems like there's always at
least someone in one of the four
hammocks around the hacienda. But here's the thing: while it doesn't make for
the most exciting blog entries, it's still nice. In its own way, it's nice.
I've been making a big to-do that this is the end of my trip, and I am winding
down physically, mentally, and emotionally. In some way, the wrap-up is almost
beginning before my last few days in Guayaquil (the express purpose of which is
to do little other than upload photos and prepare myself to come home). By
being in a place where my senses are not being excited - or at least not
excited in the same way as at Askari - it is helping me to finish up the trip
in a good way. If I had been at Askari right before the end of my trip, I might
want to come home, even though I need to.
Long story short, don't take the lackluster events of this
series of blog entries as indicative of things not being good. It may not be an
action-packed finale, but it’s exactly what needs to be happening at the time.
Anyway, musings aside, Thursday began with another early
wake-up, and a relatively light breakfast. (Truth be told, everyone was getting
quite jealous of the vegans and their big bowl of breakfast fruit; it seems
often that they were getting better and more filling meals than the rest of
us.) Anyway, the primary job for the day was to feed the tortoises. So, I
believe a bit of context is required. First of all, if you ever visit the
Galapagos yourself in terms of just being a tourist and not a volunteer, do not feed the wildlife. It's
disruptive, makes them dependent, and as the signs say, they can feed
themselves. The reason we blatantly ignore this edict is because the
tortoises...well, they really can't feed
themselves. See, they were not always on this land. They had previously been
held in some kind of special preservation center, back when the island really
wasn't habitable for them anymore. Once Jose and the rest of Hacienda Esperanza
had managed to reclaim enough of the land from the invasive plant species, the
Galapagos government provided the land with a number of tortoises (whose ages
ranged from 25 to over 100), where they now live and move about. However,
decades of being somewhat dependent, and the land not being fully plentiful
with their food source, they really do need to be fed about once a week. So,
the workers go and collect the tortoises' favorite food, a large-leaf plant
called otoy. They then take it up to
the Buena Vista de las Tortugas, where we dump piles of the stuff for the
tortoises to gorge themselves for the upcoming week. And that was the task for
the day.
Anyway, to accomplish this, half of us would go up the hill,
and the other half would go in a taxi to pick up the plants. I was in the group
going up the hill, so we just walked up for the half-hour it took (noticing
that even this early in the morning, it seemed a bit hotter than before), and
then took a rest in the hammocks at the top. We waited there for a good long
while - twenty, thirty minutes maybe - before I figured that the other group
must have arrived. I mean, I didn't know for sure, but how long could it take.
I then asked Lucia, the only person who had done this before, where we were
supposed to go, and she said... down.
Yes, we walked all the way up the hill just so we could go down the other side.
"Was there any disadvantage for the people who took the taxi?" I
asked as we made our way down. Thankfully(?) it was a much steeper incline, and
so we got down pretty fast. We then saw our timing was pretty good, as we saw
people bringing in the otoy. We walked down the long path to get to the truck,
and saw that it had already driven off. In its place was just a large pile of
plants. Not wasting any time, I took as much as I can carry. And because I
don't underestimate my abilities - let's be honest, I overestimate them - my
"as much as I can carry" was about 60% more than what anyone else
had, and included a lot of roots, which, being quite solid, weighed a lot more
than the leaves and stocks. A couple of the other volunteers looked at me, one
literally saying, "You can't carry all that," as if that wouldn't strengthen my resolve. The two
workers (who I believe were Jose's cousins?) just laughed pleasantly and
nodded, calling me the group's caballo de
trabajo (workhorse). And indeed, I did manage to carry all the stuff to the
base of the hill, at which point I went to get more (including an absolutely
massive root piece which weighed down on my shoulder like a lead brick). Once I
came back with the second and last load, it was time to bring stuff to the top of the hill, which I did twice. The
second time, I again got the massive root piece, as well as three others, and
balanced them on my two shoulders. Not gonna mince words, it was heavy, but/and it was also clear
that/why nobody else wanted to carry them. However, it got worse when I got to
the top, because just as I was going to unload, one of the workers told me that
I had to take my stuff down to the other
tortoises, which were down about halfway on the other side of the hill. So, I
had just taken all these heavy things up a hill, and then had to go down
another one (which was pretty damn precarious, mind you) without taking a
break. And I could still feel the weight of those roots on my shoulders when
putting on my backpack later in the day. But luckily, once I had unloaded, that
was it for tortoise feeding.
As far as I could see, there were only four tortoises
present, but I was assured that there were at least ten on the island. However,
none of them, including the pair down the hill that were ostensibly anywhere
from 50-100 years old, seemed big if compared to some tortoises, but were
nowhere near to being the giants I had envisioned in my mind (and had seen
before in Africa). Even so, they were cool in their own ways. However, they
seemed extremely shy, retreating into their shells at the slightest
provocation. Perhaps some of them are old enough to remember the travesties
that had befallen their species, and were still shell-shocked by it (pun
intended and apologized for). In fact, only one of them seemed to like the
prospect of eating enough that he'd (she'd? I'm not totally sure) come out of
his shell to eat some of the otoy. Bronn, Sarah, and I were taking pictures of
these two when I noticed some blood on the ground. I looked up and saw a nasty
wound on the leg of one of the tortoises. Like, it almost looked as if it had
been bitten. And it was fresh, too. I took a picture to show to the workers, in
case it could be an issue. We then went back up and took a break, which really
ended up being a pretty long break (considering our impromptu photography
session was part of it).
Eventually, we began our second task for the day, which was
removing mora from the upper part of the hill. There wasn't much; you had to
walk from plant to plant, so I felt it was relatively simple. At one point, I
got to the barbed-wire fence separating the land granted to the Hacienda, and
the land that was still untamed national park. The difference was startling. On
the un-granted land, there was enough mora bushes tangled up to make Brer
Rabbit blush. On the granted side, almost none. You could tell the system
worked. And it also made me glad that I wasn't here when the whole place was like on the other side
of the fence. I was told about an early volunteer girl who had been at the
Hacienda for four months, and pretty much every day of those was spent clearing
fully-grown mora. I don't envy that girl. In any case, we got some nice views
out of the work, and we finished relatively early (10:45, or there-rounds), and
after resting a bit more, headed back down to the Hacienda.
I tried showing the tortoise injury photos to Jose and the
rest, but after an initial exclamation of surprise, nobody seemed to be
terribly concerned. Maybe this is something that happens often? I dunno.
Anyway, back at the Hacienda, I relaxed in the hammock for a bit (which is
where I came to the "revelation" mentioned earlier) before going
inside and doing a little bit of writing before lunch. We then ate - which I
did voraciously, because I was really hungry for some unknown reason - and then
I waited around for a taxi to head to town. Eventually one arrived, and Bronn,
Lucia, Julie and I headed over. I had a couple different objectives for the
day. The first was to, along with Bronn, book a Kicker Rock snorkeling trip for
Saturday. I ended up booking at, like, the one place I had not been to before, as they were the only $80 place that was open. After
getting that set up, we decided we might want to rent an underwater camera. We
found a place that offered this, and we decided to split the cost ($25 for 24
hours, which is pretty reasonable) and share the photos. I then went back to
the supermarket with the intention of buying more of the stuff that I was
planning on going through in the next week. Mainly, this meant apples and Maria
cookies (and this may be just a nostalgic thing - since Maria's were one of the
go-to cookies in my home during childhood - but I think those things are great). Sadly, their apple section was
completely pillaged, with only six sickly specimens left. I ended up getting
some overpriced strawberries instead. As for the Maria cookies, they just made
me upset. Last time I came to this grocery store, the cookies cost $0.89,
instead of the $0.80 on the label. Okay, I can chalk that up to transport
costs. But here, the lady literally cleared off the price on the register, and
typed in $1.00. She literally raised the price in front of my face! I know
there's a local price and a tourist price, but this was just so goddamn blatant
that I was about to complain. However, I'm not nearly as eloquent in Spanish,
and getting into an argument over eleven cents is the kind of thing where you
think that maybe you should just let go.
We then walked back over to the nearby cafe, which had not
only changed their WiFi password (which is understandable), but also raised
their minimum price for receiving said password. I ended up getting a piece of
pineapple cake and some ice cream, which was just some soft serve on a plate. I
used the WiFi to check my email, make sure everyone knew I wasn't washed away
in a tsunami, and post the last entry. I kept using my laptop until the battery
died, and then stayed on my phone until about 5pm, when everyone decided to
leave. During that time, I started to think that roommates Lucia and Julie
didn't like me all that much. Lucia had some precedent (with her being
terrified of me for no apparent reason a few days before), but Julie I could only
imagine got some of that resentment via same-room osmosis. Not that I'm really
bothered; it's more that I'm fascinated when people dislike me without me
giving them specific reason to. Anyhoo, we got a taxi back to the Hacienda (who
tried to charge us considerably more than the normal rate, but was able to be
talked down). When we got back to the house, I relaxed for a bit, and then
began writing, which I did for quite a while, until heading out into the dining
room, waiting for an already very late dinner (it was past 8pm at this point).
Dinner conversation seemed to revolve around the face that we'd only have half
our workforce on Friday, as everyone else was leaving. It also was brought up
that four new guys would be coming in (which I knew), and the fact that they
would be coming into my already-small room didn't make me terribly excited, so
I already made my plans to move into another room. Now I just need to be
prepared to act upon those plans. We continued talking until about 9:45, when
everyone started prepping for bed. (Although before I could go to bed, I was
asked, as the resident not-scared-of-insects guy, to remove a two-inch spider
from the girls' room. It was a tricky proposition, as he was fast and skittish,
but it all worked out fine.
Also, throughout all of Thursday, I was noticing that my
right eye was quite bloodshot. My only guesses were that I had gotten sunburned
in one eye, or I was getting something akin to pink eye. Only time would tell
if it was either. (Spoiler: it was neither.)
Friday was a day of transitions, but it began as every other
day began, with the sun rising, the rooster crowing, me waking up, and having
something good for breakfast. We actually were quite pleased to see a big bowl
of fruit available for everyone, and not just the vegans. (It's the little
things, y'know.) Now, we were thinking there was only going to be
half-contingent working this day, because Sarah and Ben were leaving for their
kicker rock trip, whereas Bronn and Lucia were just going into town to check
into their volunteer housing. However, somewhat unexpectedly, at 7am a taxi
drove up, and we got four new people. Now, I had known that there would be four
new people showing up on Friday. However, I had assumed that they'd be showing
up later in the day. I had also assumed - well, actually, we had all been
flat-out told - that it was going to
be four guys (four Chinese guys to specific), and that they'd all be sharing my
room. I wasn't looking forward to this possibility, because even though my room
has six beds, it is not made for six people and the stuff of six people. Two it
can do easily. Three, sure. Five? No,
siree. So I was pleasantly surprised to see that of these four individuals,
only two were guys. Also, none of them were Chinese; in fact, they were all
Danish. There was one couple, Elizabeth and Matias, and two others, Lina and
Sebastian (the latter of which is built like a Greek god, I'll just note).
Until we had people moving out, they'd be splitting up into the guys' and gals'
rooms, but before that was even really going into effect, it was time to work!
And hey, those Danish people could help us! So before they had any time to
unpack, or even stop to consider what they were going to need for the day, they
were being corralled into the back of the pickup truck (95% of all taxis on San
Cristobal are pickup trucks; it's easier to accommodate more people and stuff).
And with a wave to Bronn and Lucia, we were on our way.
So the task for the day was a little bit different than
normal. Instead of heading up to our usual haunting grounds of La Buena Vista
de las Tortugas, we were heading to the town of Puerto Chino (which oddly
translates to "Chinese Port"), on the opposite side of the island
from the main town. Our work was going to be community work, specifically
working on the local farms, the idea behind which would be that tourists care,
and also to help the farmers who are too poor to afford real labor. Our task
specifically took us to the yucca tree field, which was overrun by several
different types of grasses. With our machetes, we were going to have to cut
away pretty much everything that wasn't yucca. Now, while there is some
inherent satisfaction in knowing that you've helped some local people, I have
to say that this still felt like the most immediately unrewarding day thus far.
For one, it was easily, easily the
hottest day we've had so far, and making matters worse was the fact that there
was no breeze whatsoever. You couldn't even hear a leaf rustle, it was so
still. And so we were absolutely baking, and my clothes became drenched in
sweat. I do think it was probably a bit worse for the new folks, who had not
thought to bring more than a small half-liter water bottle. So by our first
break, they were quite in need, and I found the aqueous bank of Andrew
Schnorr's CamelBak was again making loans to all those in need. (This wasn't so
great for me, though, because I could have used every single drop myself.) And
then there was the fact that we were working on a farm that really didn't have
much going for it aesthetically. When on top of the hill, you could look out
whenever you were feeling a bit exhausted, see an amazing view of the
countryside or coast, and smile, thinking, "Yeah, this is worth it."
No such inspiration here. It was just hours of cutting grass. And you couldn't
even go nuts and swing with reckless abandon, because you risked hitting the
yucca trees. Long story short, it was hard. When we had a break, I had to take
the initiative to get back to work, and it was only after another five minutes
that everyone else could muster up the resolve.
When we were finished, everyone was completely exhausted and
sweaty (my clothes, in particular, were all a shade darker than they'd be in
more relaxed work). We then walked to a nearby shop and (I guess) restaurant of
the community. There, we saw a group of locals sitting around, playing cards
and drinking beers. I don't know if they were doing some work elsewhere in the
farms, but you got a feeling that the romance wasn't really there when instead
of working hand-in-hand with the local farmers, you're just doing your work
while they're relaxing. In any event, we all were attracted to the fridge full
of cold drinks. I borrowed a buck from the Finns to buy myself a very
satisfying Diet Coke. We then hung around, playing with a couple local puppies
until lunch was served then and there. It was a simple vegetarian pasta dish,
unfortunately served without aji chili sauce to spice it up. (That's one thing
I'll note about South American food in general [with probably Peru as the
exception]: it's horrifically flaccid in terms of spice, and hence I don't
think I'd ever rate it too highly on my favorite food types specifically
because of that.) We then began walking on a little post-lunch excursion. Our first
stop was a tortoise reserve that I didn't even know existed (as it's only
mentioned in passing in any guides I've found). Basically, tortoises are raised
from birth in a variety of environments (changing as they reach certain
sizes/ages) to help integrate them into living in the wild again, but only if
there is an area where it is appropriate for them to live (such as the
reclaimed areas on the Hacienda). We saw young yearlings, hardly four inches
long, to some that actually legitimately looked like the giant tortoises they are supposed to be. It was a very nice
surprise, I gotta say.
Afterward, we walked to Puerto Chino beach. It was about a
twenty minute walk from the tortoise reserve to the parking lot of the beach,
and then it was another twenty minute
walk from the parking lot to the beach proper. It was just a really long,
winding, and unshaded pathway that we had to go down to reach the prize. But
hey, at least it was a prize. The beach was a lovely place: it was pretty much
a cove, with outcroppings of rocks on either side. It contained a fine white
sand, you could walk out a hundred feet or so and only be up to your chest in
the water, and the waves were what I'd call perfect boogie boarding waves: not
too big, but big enough to have fun with. There were also two sea lions just
swimming and playing in the shallow water, not really caring about the people
there. And that may have been the best part; there weren't many people there to
begin with. There were maybe about four or five groups there, so there was not
even the slightest sense of crowding. Once we arrived, the first objective was
to find a shady spot, which we did in a small camping ground, completely
surrounded by finches. Finches, just sitting...watching...waiting. Anyway, everyone
got into something more appropriate for being in water, and after a good
slathering of sunscreen, we went out into the waves. The water was cool and
refreshing, and a nice counter to the heat of the sun. However, as anyone
knows, this can make you feel invincible to the sun's rays, which will end you
up with completely broiled skin. So I enjoyed the neat waves while I felt
comfortable doing so, and then went up to the rocks to see some blue-footed
boobies and get a good view of the area. The two new Danish girls joined me
(and, complete tangent, I should note that as of this moment, it is five Danish
folks and one American; needless to say, every time they speak in their native
tongue, I will assume it is about me), but again, because they didn't have enough
time to really think about what they were getting into, they didn't bring
sandals. I did, so I lent them - well, one of them - mine. And I could feel the
cost of chivalry with the heat on my feet. But still, I figured I could handle
it better since, well, I can generally handle stuff well. Once we got our views
and failed to attract the blue-footed boobies close enough for a great photo,
we went back down and just hung out in the shade until everyone was ready to
leave. But after finishing the long march back up the pathway, we found there
were no available taxis in the parking lot. So we just waited there for
another, I dunno, 45 minutes in the hot sun while one was summoned. (Well, I hid myself in the shade of a parked
truck.)
When the taxi arrived, I hopped in the back, and we drove
home. As would be expected when standing in the bed of speeding pickup truck,
it got pretty windy, so I was thankful (yet again) that my leather hat cord had
protected it from being blown away). We ended up arriving at the Hacienda at
about 4pm, where I got cleaned up, got my photos of the day's activities on my
laptop for sharing (since none of the Danish folk had thought to bring a camera
when we left in the morning), did some note writing (which is my initial blog
entry prep, and basically is what these entries would read like if I posted on
Buzzfeed), and then went outside to read in one of the hammocks. I continued
doing this - breaking often to have conversations with other folks in the
hammocks - until dinner, where everyone got together and talked. Apparently,
the new Danish folk were going to be cooking for themselves for pretty much
their entire time here, meaning that after the Canadians and Finns left, the
only people getting food cooked for us would be Julie and I, which made me
think we might be getting higher
quality stuff. Anyhoo, there was talk about going out to town to go to a bar
and nightclub. The new Danes decided to pass, as they were all tired
(understandably so, and since I did the same on my first day, I couldn't
judge), and so did Ben, who was tired as well. As for me, I wanted to go out,
to wish well all the folks leaving, but since I had to get up the next day, I
didn't want to stay out too late, so I wanted to leave as early as possible.
Unfortunately, since some folks had to pack, we didn't end up leaving until
9pm. As such, I was just sitting around, twiddling my thumbs for an hour until
the taxi arrived.
The taxi ride over was actually one of those beautiful
moments that happens infrequently and without expectation. There were too many
people to sit inside, so I had to hop in the back. I was the only one back
there, so I figured I'd just lie down. And so we drove for ten kilometers in
the balmy warmth of the night, with me lying down in the back of a pickup
truck, watching the stars in the sky. Aside from a few moments where the
poorly-paved road caused some serious jostling, it was an incredible and
intimate experience, and (not joking) a tear almost came to my eye. I could
have stayed like that forever, but had to get out once we reached the bar.
There, we met Lucia (Bronn was already in bed at his new volunteer hostel), and
sat down at an outdoor table. Everyone except me got a drink (I wanted to get a
milkshake, but they were out), and we just sat there for a couple of hours,
talking. All the while, I was looking around at the people patronizing the bar.
Aside from the obvious scumbags that were frequenting the pool table (which I
described as bolsas de escoria), the
whole place was just filled with...I dunno, just too much misappropriated youth
energy. There were some locals there, but the majority of people were
foreigners, which seemed to either be students at the island university (which
I can guess is probably not the most intensive in terms of academics) or
volunteers living in town, doing whatever. I don't know what exactly it was
about it, but it just made me laugh how pathetic everything seemed. For
example, the blonde girl taking off her hipster glasses, replacing them with
some aviator sunglasses, and posing as though taking a drink from a giant
inflatable bottle of beer for a photo. That singular moment made me remember
how goddamned different I always was with most people of my own age range. But
I had this weird notion come over me, a piece of bad high school poetry:
"Everyone here is just ghosts in my eyes. And I'm just a ghost in
theirs." We inhabit the same place, and see each other, but it's basically
as if we don't exist, and they'll never remember me, and I'd say I'd never
remember them, except that I'm writing about them here. But the point remains.
Anyway, we stayed at the bar until midnight, having
discussions that ranged all over the place (though one thing I found
interesting is that it was basically divulged to all of us that the Canadians'
relationship was ending after this trip, because it turns out it was only a few
months old and just wasn't working out; I'd call this the "Amazing Race
Effect", because it always seemed as though there were fresh couples on
there that end up separating, because what better way to test your
compatibility than by traveling - not only do you have to deal with stress, but
you have to deal with someone else
dealing with stress). Anyway, when the clock struck, I tried getting us all to
go home. However, Jose - who had spent most of the time silent, occasionally
noting at the number of chicas in the
bar, and cheers-ing anyone with a bottle/glass - suggested we go to the
nightclub with him and his son. I was partially looking out for the other
people in the group, so I recommended to Sarah that she should probably head
back, since she had to wake up earlier than I did. However, the
"it's-my-last-night" mentality is a strong one, so she asked me for
half an hour. I agreed, so we all went to the nightclub. Once inside, while
everyone else was getting drinks and "dancing" by moving their
shoulders around, I made the most of the situation by dancing... my kind of dancing. As is common, it got
a lot of attention, I had one dance off, and I think the DJ even called me out.
I was also hoping that I could show the locals, who are obsessed with cervezas
and chicas, that I needed neither to enjoy myself. (I don't think the message
got through.) But, once 12:30 hit, my presence changed on a dime from "the
wacky guy dancing with his flip-flops on his hands" to "the serious
guy saying it's time to leave". I again tried to extol the virtues of
getting a good night sleep when you have to wake up in five hours, but there was
some resistance from Julie, who wanted to stay later. Knowing I wouldn't see
either Sarah or Lucia ever again, I gave them a proverbial tip of my hat (the
real thing was back home), and got a cheap ($7 for past-midnight is cheap) taxi
back to the Hacienda, where I just went straight to bed.
I woke up early the next morning to the sound of music and
what I assumed (correctly, I later discovered) was goat carcasses being removed
from the fridge near my room. I tried falling back asleep, but before I knew
it, my alarm went off and it was time to get up anyway. However, it wasn't the
brightest of starts to the day, both literally and figuratively, because for
the first time since I arrived in the Galapagos, it was raining. And it was
raining hard. Thankfully, it
dissipated at the Hacienda by 7:30, but I was concerned that there was rain all
over the place, and that this would churn up the sea water and reduce
visibility. (Also, that there would be additional rain during my snorkeling
attempts.) I was able to push that thought out of my mind, though, with a truly
grand breakfast, consisting of eggs, some sort of deli-sliced meat, toast,
queso fresco, something I can't remember, and fruit. I didn't know what the
trip would have in store for me, so I ate what I could. All of a sudden, I
heard the taxi arriving. It was a half-hour early, which wasn't good for the
Danish group, who were supposed to join me, but were still eating breakfast.
Thankfully, the driver was willing to wait, and so we all headed to town
together, which meant it only cost a dollar per person. Once we arrived, I
wished them well for their day (they were going to meet up with the rest of
their tour group - thirteen additional girls - who were doing social volunteer
work in town), and then headed off. I walked to the diving place, where I met
up with Bronn. We got our equipment, and then waited until our scheduled
departure at 9am. As it turns out, this departure was just from the shop, and
we walked over to the dock where, after some more waiting, we got on a boat. Even
though it had just been the two of us at the shop, the boat had a full
contingent of twelve passengers, so I can only imagine multiple agencies
contribute to the passengers of each boat.
We had to wait a while for it to be our boats turn to get
permission to depart, at which point we headed out to an area where there were
some sea lions. Apparently, despite the fact that my body is exceptionally
buoyant (making it difficult for me to dive), I was among the best swimmers in
the group. Aside from Bronn and I, there was a group of Canadians who were
competent, but constantly worried about the temperature of the water (which was
cold, no doubt, but not that cold),
and a group of older Ecuadorians, who actually couldn't swim at all, and thus needed life jackets,
floatation rings, and the like. As they guide, Miguel, probably was concerned
about the overall abilities of the group, he had us snorkeling in some shallow
water to see how everyone fared. It wasn't too bad, to be honest; some of the
sea lions came out and were swimming around us. One actually went through my
legs at a point. Unfortunately, not all were quite as friendly, and some lady
who seemed like a guide for the Canadians, was actually bitten by one. Not
deeply, but still, yeesh. After this, we got back on the boat, and made our way
out to Kicker Rock. It was a wet ride for the people in the back, as the splash
from our own wake kept getting thrown upon us. (I even used my snorkel mask for
a while to help keep my eyes clear.) Once we reached the rock, guide Miguel
began yelling at us to get into the water. He proved to be an exceptionally
rude guide, especially to Bronn and me, often yelling at us to do things while we were in the middle of doing them.
Anyway, we got into the water, and looked around the rocks. There was a large
variety of fish, and a larger variety of colors. In fact, it was probably more
colorful than the Great Barrier Reef section I visited. It was pretty nice, and
Bronn and I swapped possession of the underwater camera we had joint-rented.
Unfortunately, we weren't able to swim through the crevasse between the two
rocks, as the current was too strong for the abilities of a lot of the group.
Instead, we just into the boat, drove around to the other side, and hopped in
again. Now, one of the main appeals of Kicker Rock is the possibility of seeing
hammerhead sharks. Now, I didn't see any hammerheads. In fact, I only saw one
shark in total, and it was distant, partially obscured, and swimming away.
However, this wasn't too much of an issue for me, because I had an even better
encounter when Bronn and I separated from the rest of the group. There, we came
close to a giant sea turtle, which I almost consider a cooler animal than a
shark. And when I say "close", I mean that for over a minute, I was
swimming in sync with the guy, less than a foot-and-a-half away. It was
awesome, and very reminiscent of a similar experience I had in Maui. The sea
turtle surface three times, and then eventually swam down, down, too far and
fast for us to follow. At that point, we had to get back on the boat.
We then drove to our second destination of the trip,
Manecitas Beach (which may not be the actual name, but is pretty close, and I'm
too lazy to look up the real one). I spoke with the Canadians on the way, in
particular one girl who seemed worried about what her major should be in
college. I assured her that it didn't matter, and wasn't worth worrying about
before your first year, unless you really
want/need a professional job. Anyway, when we reached the beach, we had lunch
(on the boat - no food was allowed in the national park). It was...decent, I
guess, but nothing worth writing here. We then had a half-hour to do whatever
we wanted to on the beach. Bronn and I took a walk with our camera, and headed
down the shore. At one point, on a rocky outcropping, we saw a couple of huge iguanas that just necessitated
attention. We got close and took some pictures. Then, I decided to tempt fate
by getting a little bit closer. Unfortunately, I'm guess Mother Nature felt I
was getting a little too close, and
so she added some extra moss to the rock I was stepping on. At that same
moment, my long-suffering guardian angel was on his first break of the trip
(that, or he just got tired of my BS), and so I slipped stupendously. Arms flailing, legs going in odd directions, hat
flying off, the works. My hat was okay, but I didn't come out unscathed. I got
a big bruise on my rump, and a cut on my right hand, but my left foot got the
worst of it. I had a cut on the tip of my big toe, one incision on the heel of
my foot (which has since proven the most annoying), and a couple oozers on the
side of my bony ankle. Thankfully, nothing seemed irreparable, but my main
issue now was walking with a foot of open wounds along a beach covered in sand
and, worse, shards of broken shells. It was a delicate process, I'll tell ya
that much. Still, I managed to get back to where everyone else was, and sat
down in a shady spot (I was determined not to get burned, as the Canadians had
been practically radiating heat when they returned from their own Kicker Rock
excursion). Unfortunately, this had its own problems, as we were getting
attacked by horseflies. I'm not sure if you've ever been bitten by a horsefly,
but take my word for it: it hurts. Thankfully, it's so painful that you can
feel it in progress, and get immediate, sweet revenge. After killing off
several antagonists, Bronn and I spoke more, until it was time to get back on
the boat. The cut on my heel was already being problematic, as there was sand
stuffed into the skin pocket, like a pita sandwich. I needed to use the water
and some vigorous scrubbing with some sea moss to get it out.
We drove back to the port, and that was the end of the trip.
It was 2:45, so we were technically earlier than the advertised 3pm return.
It's kinda funny, it was shorter than what was promised, and we had fewer dives
than promised (one real one, instead of at least two), and I got injured during the whole affair, but on the whole I was
pretty happy with how it all turned out. The couple of really nice encounters
we had, combined with the fact that we had the foresight to get the underwater
camera, really made it a neat little trip. Well worth the time and money, I
felt. In any case, we immediately went to return our masks and flippers to the
diving shop, but found that pretty much every other place at the moment was
closed, since Saturday siesta lasts a lot longer than normal day siestas. I
even tried going to the WiFi cafe, and found that they weren't opening until
"3pm" (which ended up being 3:45). In the meantime, I was just
sitting around, waiting and getting a cheap but welcome ice cream bar in the
heat. Bronn, meanwhile, went back to his hostel to look at other things he
could be doing (and, in a small-world kinda way, he had met the thirteen Danish
girls that were traveling with the other four Danes). Then, unexpectedly, Julie
came and sat down with me. I asked her how her night had gone, since she hadn't
come home. Her answer was...not terribly encouraging. Apparently, she had left
the nightclub at 3am (all other volunteers had left before then). When they
couldn't get a taxi, she went with Jose to an apartment, where she tried going
to bed. However, Jose, full of beer and Galapagos machismo, tried multiple times to make a move on her. It
got so bad that she ended up sleeping on the floor to get out of the situation.
Now, this story obviously took everyone who has heard it (who I think you can
assume is everyone named from here on) as horrific in its own way. The general
consensus is that while Jose may not have had any malevolent intentions, his
actions were unacceptable on multiple levels, and its due in large part to the
really uncomfortable culture that seems to be widespread amongst all men in the
Galapagos (and while I can't personally vouch, I've heard it’s similar for
mainland Ecuador). The general idea is that "I'm a man, I gotta be manly,
and get all the women, and so I just have to go for it." It's obviously
not one that I could ever get behind, but this particular case is made worse by
the fact that Jose is forty-plus, and Julie was younger than me. Also, him
being our boss? Yeah, that's an issue and a half. Needless to say, it's hurt
all of our perceptions about the program, or at least the leadership of the
program. I personally feel that it's partially an issue of non-action (in the
sense of people not holding Jose and the other locals off, telling them that
their constant jokes and encouragement of womanizing doesn't fly), so I wrote a
letter (well, a speech), which I'd have to trust Google to translate, to read
to Jose to let him know that this kind of stuff wasn't okay. I would only do so
if everyone else felt comfortable with it, because I didn't want to make things
harder for the other volunteers. But yeah, while I'll continue my term here for
purposes of helping the island, I'm not sure you'll be finding any glowing
reviews of Jose (or his son, who I also heard was making some forceful moves at
the nightclub) any time soon.
Unsurprisingly, Julie was feeling a bit melancholic, so I
offered to get her a coffee at the place we were at. Unfortunately, the cafe
may have good WiFi, but otherwise it's notoriously terrible, as proved by the
fact that despite the lengthy menu, the only thing being offered at the time
was cold drinks from the fridge. Not wanting to spend any more time there, we
transferred to a table at the store next door, which had a much more lenient
owner, and offered very slow, but actually free, WiFi, enough to check emails.
We spoke a little while longer, and then the Finns showed up to join us. They
had moved into their hostel for the day, and were now planning to enjoy a few
days on the island before taking a boat to Isla Isabela. And, after a bit more
time, Bronn rejoined us, and we all just chatted for a while. (We also said
hello to Julie's father [I think], who she was Skyping with.) The group had
been planning to get pizza at 6pm, and I was originally planning on passing,
since I felt like I should get back and clean up, but it was already 5:30pm at
this point, so I decided to stay. We then tried to find a pizza place, because
with Ecuadorian time, it would take a half-hour for any order to be prepared.
Unfortunately, "Ecuadorian time" also has to do with open hours, and
we were told the pizza place wouldn't be opening until 7pm. The others decided
to go get a beer until then, but this was pushing it pretty late for me, so I
just decided to go back to the Hacienda. This proved easier said than done,
since there didn't seem to be nearly the number of taxis as there was during
the week. Also, I've heard that if you don't have a girl in your party, it's
much more difficult to convince a taxi to take you, and I found that to be
true. I was walking - well, limping -
through town to find a taxi, and when I got to one, they would give some give
some excuse as to why they couldn't take me. The most egregious one was a guy
that I'm 80% sure I've actually driven with before. He said he didn't know
Hacienda Esperanza. I said it was near Hacienda Tranquila. "No se."
("I don't know.") I said it was 2km after the town of El Progresso,
literally one of three actual towns on the island. "No se." He said,
and then rolled up his window and drove off. It ended up taking me a half-hour
to find a taxi that was willing to take me, and he actually did so without
trying to overcharge me.
Back at the Hacienda, I decided I should first move into my
new room (the Finns' old room), so I hauled all my stuff over, piece by piece.
(I definitely seem to have more stuff when it's all unpacked.) I then took a
shower, only in the middle of which did I realize that I had forgotten my
towel. Thankfully, I was alone for the moment, so I could make it to my room
without any concerns of modesty. Back in my room, I finally got to make some
good use of my first-aid kit (the first time since South Africa, I think?). I
sanitized all my cuts, and then double-sanitized
them using high-alcohol-content swabs (and hoo boy, that stung). I then
bandaged it all up. Unfortunately, now I was finding that it was hard to walk
on that foot, not just because of the cut on my heel (which was at the moment,
like a pita sandwich of blood) but because it seemed as though I might have
twisted my ankle before and not realized it. I looked around my room, and saw a
broom. I unscrewed the handle to make an improvised cane/walking stick, and
then spent the rest of the night hobbling around like some old kung-fu movie
guru and/or Yoda. I looked into my options for dinner, but was feeling especially
lazy, so initially poured myself some cereal and was content for that to be the
meal of the night. However, one of Jose's brothers (Eduardo, I think?) came in
and offered to heat up some already-made pasta and potatoes for me. After
eating, I hobbled back to my room, where I wanted to write, but just had no
energy to do so, so just hung around and watched some videos. I spoke to a
couple of the Danish folk who came back for the night, but they had to get to
work moving their stuff into a new room, so I let them be. I then just relaxed
a bit more until my eyes couldn't stay open anymore.
I was hoping to sleep in until 9am the next morning, but the
light and sound outside meant that I was getting up at 8am. Still, it wasn't
horrible, as it meant that I was able to have breakfast with everyone. And my
foot was feeling somewhat better. Not enough to walk normally on, but enough that I didn't need my makeshift walking
stick. During breakfast, it seemed like everyone was planning on going to the
distant beach, the one that requires a two-hour hike to get to. I had been
considering this throughout the week, but since I had at two beaches in two
days, I wasn't particularly insistent on getting there. And now with my foot,
it was sort of a foregone conclusion that I'd be staying home. So I thought I'd
make the most of it. I started out by playing my harmonica in the hammock,
something that's been long overdue. I then did some laundry in the shower,
which I promptly hung in laundry line in back (at which point I immediately
became resentful of two pairs of panties using up four of the best clothespins.
Once I was finished with that, everyone was gone. So, I went in, and just
relaxed, keeping as much pressure off my foot as possible, and then wrote. And
I spent most of the day writing. In fact, I'm pretty much fitting in a good 30%
of the day in these couple sentences. It...it wasn't the most eventful of days,
you guys. At lunchtime, Eduardo came back in and made me a fantastic meal (I
think he's probably the best cook on the Hacienda), and then I just spent the
rest of the afternoon writing and checking my laundry (and struggling to keep
Ardia the dog from getting inside the house). Eventually, a cloud came in with
a light rain, and I had to rush to get the remainder of my dry laundry inside
before it got wet again.
Folks who had gone to the beach began trickling in at 5pm. The
general consensus that I heard from them is that the two hour hike each way was
extremely challenging, and that the beach was not necessarily worth it (well,
it varied from "maybe worth it" to "definitely not").
Apparently, though, the worst part though is that they were misinformed about
when and how they were coming back. They thought they'd be returning at 1pm by
mule to have lunch. Instead they headed back by foot at some later point
(probably after 3pm), and so none of them had eaten. As such, Sebastian, the
first one back, asked to "buy" dinner from Jose (remember, it's not
included for them) and to have it made "pronto". When the rest came
in, in various shades of red, they sat down with the same sense of exhausted
resignation. In any event, we spent the next several hours at the table
talking. I lent my laptop to help with some photo transfer, dinner was had, and
more talking was done. I found it interesting that the Danish folk didn't seem
quite as impressed by my adventures when I mentioned them in passing as almost
anyone else on this trip. It's not like I'm trying
to sound impressive (well, maybe a little bit), but there was never a real rise
out of any of them. My guess would be that their trip into the Amazon forest
was their own buffer: it seemed like the ultimate adventure that nothing could
quite live up to. That, or maybe I'm getting weaker in my anecdote telling? Who knows, but it mattered little,
because there was a sudden influx of mosquitoes in the room when we were
talking, possibly spurred on by the moister environment. Once we all got some
repellant on, we continued talking, which somehow got me showing Askari photos
at one point. Once everyone was packing up to go to bed for the night, I looked
over some of the photos again, and then looked through my two end-of-the-month
videos. Such nostalgic feelings; I really do miss Askari in some ways. But
we're not at Askari, so gotta focus on the present. Specifically, the one week
left in the Galapagos. It may very well prove to be an interesting week, but
we'll see.
Oh, and I should note that I know Bronn's name is actually Bram, but I like Bronn better, so I'm
not going to retrofit my old posts, nor will I reflect it in future posts.
Because.
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