Day One: Flight from Quito to Baltra, Ferry Crossing to Santa Cruz, Galapagos Islands
We left “La Cartuja” at Leonidas Plaza by taxi, then Quito by plane, flying out across the Pacific Ocean 525 miles to a site I’d dreamed about since 1973. I first encountered the Galapagos while reading Herman Melville in American Literature at SUNY at Buffalo. I was literally spellbound by the descriptions of whaling adventures and allusions to fantastical visions. I decided to put the islands on my list of places to visit. A year later in Albany while working the reception desk at the College of Saint Rose during the day and taking classes in the evenings to get my master’s in English Education I came across an application for the Peace Corps. I remembered Kennedy starting the program, speaking about public service, and I remember visitors to high school talking about their experiences in Peace Corps in the 60’s. I also noted that Ecuador was on the list of countries to apply to, so I secured my chances of getting there by applying to Columbia and Peru as well, to teach English. I figured I could hop a freighter out to the islands on a school break and fulfill my desires. I sent in the application and was assigned to Mali, which isn’t in the Pacific. When I saw that Timbuktu was a real city in the Saharan nation, I accepted, changing my dreams in a flash of visions of hot sand and camels from one of black salt beaches and tortoises. But the idea remained in my mind and on my list until Lester and I went in 2010 for two weeks. My expectations were realized a hundred times over. The Galapagos, Melville’s Encantadas, were as marvelous and beautiful as I could have wished.
Our plane landed on Baltra Island, where the WWII USA airstrip had been built. We took a seven minute ferry from the shore of Baltra to the main island of Santa Cruz and got into a bus for the ride to Puerto Ayora.
First we stopped half way across the island, up in the highlands of Santa Cruz, to hike to “Los Gemelos”, two collapsed craters that were lush with green plants in the spring. Our naturalist explained some of the local geology, plate tectonics and volcanic activities with arm sweeps to the vast lands surrounding us. The islands are so tiny on the globe, but so immense in their isolated beauty. I had the feeling once again of familiarity of flora mixed with a uniqueness of space that transported me out of the twenty-first century back to the days of Melville. But he didn’t have a bus and water bottles waiting for him—and I did.
First we stopped half way across the island, up in the highlands of Santa Cruz, to hike to “Los Gemelos”, two collapsed craters that were lush with green plants in the spring. Our naturalist explained some of the local geology, plate tectonics and volcanic activities with arm sweeps to the vast lands surrounding us. The islands are so tiny on the globe, but so immense in their isolated beauty. I had the feeling once again of familiarity of flora mixed with a uniqueness of space that transported me out of the twenty-first century back to the days of Melville. But he didn’t have a bus and water bottles waiting for him—and I did.
We formed a party of eight travelers, a guide and a naturalist—a British couple, two American-Hindu young men, a mother and daughter from Monaco, and a South Dakota couple. Our naturalist was from the Galapagos, our guide from the Mainland. The road is paved and smooth, the trip to Puerto Aroya comfortable and too quick. We left our things at the Red Mangrove Inn and boarded a small boat for a tour around the bay to a wet landing where we had lunch after wading ashore. We hiked around to another bay where there were iguanas everywhere, dune-desert plants and cinder paths for rough walking. It was immersion into sand and salt, somewhat disconcerting but with trust in our guides all was extremely enjoyable.
The iguanas were as disinterested in us as the guide books said they’d be. So were the hammerhead sharks and rays in the ocean, pelicans along the rocks. The iguanas didn’t bother us if we headed towards their nests in the sand but our guide was there to forbid it. No touching any animals or plants in the National Preserve. And we were okay with that. We were still at Day One and in awe of everything. Wandering and walking on the sandy beach offered us the chance to breathe the air reserved for seafarers, almost uncluttered by any dry dust, spores or mold. We were at the equator where the sun shines down, straight and hard, burning winter wrapped skin within hours. I’d forgotten to pack sun block and looked the part of the careless traveler by suppertime.
We waded back out and climbed the ladder into the boat, maneuvered out of the bay and back to Puerto Aroya in time to clean up for supper. Afterwards, the earth turned sufficiently to plunge us into equatorial darkness. We went to our room to rest after a good meal, repack and be ready to go by 6 a.m. the next day.
We waded back out and climbed the ladder into the boat, maneuvered out of the bay and back to Puerto Aroya in time to clean up for supper. Afterwards, the earth turned sufficiently to plunge us into equatorial darkness. We went to our room to rest after a good meal, repack and be ready to go by 6 a.m. the next day.
