WE PARTY LIKE ITS 1999...

Up late with the rest of the slackers--Ron made spectacular omelets from “our” eggs—Nick is fascinated by the rooster and chickens his caretaker keeps—especially the rooster, which he refers to endlessly as his cock. He’s just so British. There’s no other excuse for it.

Nick took us to a village up in the mountains, where, in his memory, there is a rebellious, free, old-fashioned hippie enclave he greatly admires, and a pretty scenic spot just beyond. Ron and I both got an extremely heavy case of bad vibes—we definitely did not want to go into that village, especially since we’re dressed like middle-aged, middle-class American tourists, cameras and all, and the people we’ve met on the road were not particularly friendly. We looked like we were on assignment to capture the natives for National Geographic. An argument ensued, nobody won, and I stepped in someone’s outdoor toilet. Enclave, my foot.

Mercifully, we left, and drove way up the mountains into the national park to walk and hang out--prickly bushes, biting ants, gorgeous, gorgeous views. We came down and shopped in tourist shops in the villages below--Ron and Nick scored, I did not—I fell in love with rugs and pottery, none of which was portable.

Late as usual, we managed to break a bottle of wine just as we headed out the door to Brenda’s. We cleaned up the glass a bit and left a puddle on the floor (surprise! When we came home, it had been completely absorbed—those Spanish floors are thirsty, an they do love their wine.)

We were met with an enthusiastic group of folks who—according to Aussie Dave, who left relatively early with serene Di—often party like it’s 1999. Ainsley was a total charmer, though I didn’t get much chance to talk to him or Claire; goofy, funny Andy left early; also in attendance: Nick’s caretaker, the ruggedly yummy Helinick (so named as to not confuse him with “our” Nick; “heli” because he was a helicopter pilot). Also in attendance for far longer than was necessary, an attractive but increasingly drunk woman, dubbed “la Boracha”, who insulted everybody, one by one. She was entertaining, I’ll give her that. Rita and Nikki showed up later, and the party was still rolling into the wee hours. Brenda’s property is beautiful, and blessed with a plant I had never seen the likes of, a plain-looking leafy bush that only gave off its divine fragrance after sunset: though I don’t remember the exact words, it was rightfully named something like “beauty of the night”.

Check out the video: https://vimeo.com/70760985

Punta Moreno, Is. Isabela

Hard to believe, but I've already lost sense of what day it is. I find myself content to watch the sea out of the window of my cabin. We had a busy day today. First, we motored all night--a 14-hour trip--to Punta Moreno on Is. Isabela, the largest island in the archipelago and our southernmost point, where we hiked into a pa hoe'hoe lava field that looked like melted licorice frosting on an enormous cake of sand. Every surface was covered by marine iguanas; it took profound attention to not step on one. They're big as chihuahuas, with a disdainful expression fortified by their frequent need to snort out a stream of salt from their nostrils--a by-product of living on a diet of ocean algae. These iguanas have developed special glands that filter the salt, and they nod their heads to bring the salty stream to the nostrils. Other iguanas--and frequently, our legs and feet--got a shot of the crusty white. The females are smaller and darker, but just as pugnacious-looking, in a feminine way of course. We walked a distance on the sand and encountered more sea lions and their puppy-like babies, including one that was alone. 

Death is a constant here--occasional decomposing carcasses feed the struggling multitude. Skeletons of a seal and whale were equally picked clean. We went out on the pangas (motor launches) later to snorkel. The water in the cove we chose was murky, with poor visibility--the Galapagos, relatively speaking, are young volcanic islands, and there is plenty of ash in the water, stirred up by a choppy current in the western archipelago. I fear I'm fated to never get close to a tortuga. Others spot penguins, rays and plenty of turtles, while I drift among the tropical fish--pretty, but not exciting.

 After lunch, we motored to Punta Espinosa on Fernandina island, the westernmost of the large islands. We walked through a forest of sorts--dry, brush-like trees, some with bright yellow flowers, and a pretty, poisonous tree that could have stood in the Garden of Eden, the manzanillo. The temperature away from the shore soared, and sweat dampened a lot more than my upper lip as we marched along the dusty trail. In the forest, the twittering of Darwin finches could be heard among the trees. 

We spotted several tortoises, one so close to the trail we almost had to step over him. 

We also encountered a few land iguanas--so different from their marine cousins. One in particular was bright yellow; his diet consisted of yellow flowers from the trees.

Some passengers went for a snorkel from the beach later, and I dipped into the water, which was as murky as this morning, a little rough, and full of seaweed. I came back in, took off my gear, and contented myself with a swim close to shore. Returning snorkelers told tales of rays and turtles, and I was annoyed with myself for not going out further. I swallowed too much water when I first went out and struggle with memories of nearly drowning as a teenager every time I set foot in the ocean. Several of the young people (and one of the intrepid oldsters) swam to the boat from shore--600 yards.

Tonight, a peaceful (or as our guide Fabrizio Maldonado would say in his charming accent, "pissful") night.  Fabrizio, born to a couple of elementary school teachers here in the Galapagos, is fervent about ecological protection of the islands, and incredibly knowledgeable, which makes up for the occasional absence of "first class" hosting skills by the crew. I think any lapses are due more to inexperience than intention; each crew is hired anew for each tour, though most of our seven-member crew (plus Fabrizio) worked together before. We motored all last night over rough sea to get here, and now we're bedded down in a cove until morning.

A shield volcano on Isabela

Picture this: on front of us, the shield volcanoes of Isabella island form deep gray mounds against a near-black sky. What keeps the heavens from their habitual darkness is a brilliant white moon, set high above the island. On the sun deck, the wind is blowing steadily from the south; like everything here on the equator, it's a mix of hot and cold. The moon is so bright, it lights a wide swath of water rather than a narrow beam. If you stare down at the light on the water, and let your eyes go slightly out of focus, patterns form: a kaleidoscope made from bits of black paper and silver leaves. Orion, my namesake is overhead, but there are bright stars here that only are seen by eyes in the southern hemisphere. The breeze brings the scent of the land--dry vegetation and rotting earth, and the clean smell of the sea.
 

I'm on my Way/Galapagos

 

This morning I fly from San Francisco to Houston, then Houston to Quito, Ecuador. My anxiety level was such last night that I woke up with a stomachache at 1:30AM, managed to doze until 2:30, then gave up and got up. The airporter didn't leave until 4:30AM, so I dealt with a cranky cat and assorted compulsive actions, like reboiling my eggs because I left them out (I ended up eating one and throwing the other away in the Houston airport. I just couldn't face another egg.). One real gift--and I recognized this with enormous gratitude as the universe watching out for me since I did ask for help--I remembered that the second half of my flight itinerary had a little "check in" button after it, and I had only checked into the first half, to Houston. I got up, turned on the computer (all the while accompanied by Ozzie's yowling over my strange behavior) and took another look. I got the confirm number and went to check it against the one I already had, only to discover that my passport was nowhere in my bag. I had laid it on top of the cabinet when I repacked, and I might have left it altogether. Disaster!

The first flight from SFO started out in the dark at 6:45 and I tried to sleep through the bad stomach with little luck. The gasses in the body expand with the canned air pressure in the cabin, and apparently I had plenty to expand; ginger ale helped. 






When I looked out the window, the dawn formed a thin red line on the horizon in front of us. The ground below was perfectly clear, a study in Chiarascuro; white snow and black trees, stitched together by a few thin roads. The wrinkled terrain looked like carelessly dropped velvet. 


That broadened into something extraordinary--a series of mountains and deep canyons, and a river so wide in places it was a tin foil-bright lake.
Considering we were 30,000 feet up, those were some mountains! It was exquisite in the sharp light of dawn. I took some shots out the plane window, though I doubt the pix will do justice. After a while, arrow-straight roads began to appear, so long and thin, you could have darned a giant's socks with them. Then further signs of human taming of the landscape...neat squares and circles connected by lines. I wonder what that wonder was:-)


***
During a very dull 4-hour layover in Houston, I met a friendly, studious-looking guy while waiting for the Quito flight. An Ecuadorian, a university teacher...he wanted to show me around, but he's working the only day I'll be in town. Hard to determine whether he was just friendly or hitting on me. Most likely the former. He wanted to give me his phone number--I had to let him know my phone doesn't work outside the US, much to my disgruntlement (It's one of the reasons I bought an iPhone, but only iPhone4 and above can take international SIM cards). We chatted about the recent election; he said most Ecuadorians like President Rafael Correa, but few know that he's shutting down a number of colleges in the country, and eliminating career tracks. I didn't know that education, even higher education, is free in Ecuador, at least for now. A recent article on RT asks, "Is Ecuador America's new enemy number one?"


***
We've begun our descent into Quito. It's a four-hour time difference (all together, counting the 2-hour difference in Houston). I've been in the air a total of 10 hours, plus a 4-hour layover. However, I made every flight. Another part of my adventure begins. I'm looking forward to seeing southern stars--another first.