Day Seven: Miles of Mustard

A very blissed-out Hanuman in our room at Karauli Palace

Bumping along the highway and its assorted dirt-road turnoffs, I couldn’t help but notice the trees, which were bereft of leaves and most branches. At first I thought, “Well, it’s winter.” Then I realized the tree branches had been cut as high up as a man (or woman, most likely) could reach—for fuel. We passed numerous bright green and yellow mustard fields, huts made of rushes, and cleverly stacked piles of “poop chapattis”:  bullock dung patted into neat pancakes of burnable fuel. The air smelled like wood smoke rather than what one would assume.

We arrived at the village, and our stay for the night, Karauli Palace, the estate of the former landowners (who still live on the property). It was, hands-down, absolutely fantastic. The grounds were immaculate, and included stables, cowsheds, orchards and a lovely and productive garden. Our room was decorated in red and white with beautiful red-mirrored spreads plus a long satin pillow in bright red, and a heavy carved-wood door that locked with a funny old padlock. Outside the heavy door: a wide lounging bed with a futon-like mattress and more satin pillows to nap on. The room was lovely except for the odd position of the toilet and the bucket shower not five feet from each other; when you took a bucket bath (shower would have been worse) the marble floor became as slick as a Bollywood hero. Since broken legs would have cramped all our styles, wet towels on the floor were the perfect antidotes. After lunch in the sunny courtyard, we repaired to our rooms or to the outside lounging beds for a rest; I went to the little shop on site and had my hand hennaed. Interesting process, and very relaxing…

Later that day, the group walked into the village of Karauli to the Hindu temple to witness the fire ceremony—the ritual worship of Lord Krishna. Night was falling, and we were the main attraction all the way through the village. I literally shook hands with dozens of little kids who would shyly come up and say, “Hello”. Everyone stared, but in India, this was commonplace.

There was a puppy in the street when a tractor came along. It ran over his tail (not harming him apparently) and the rest of us stood in horror as the double wheels of the tractor were about to crush him; a quick-thinking boy bravely reached under the oncoming machine and threw him aside. The puppy squealed in protest, and the boy walked away as though nothing had happened.

We reached the temple just before the fire ceremony.

Me and "the hand"-- I'm looking pretty blissed-out myself.
photo by Joe Trinidad

To see specific reviews of guides/travel companies, places to eat, stay and shop in India, see my custom guide to the golden triangle on GoGoBot.

Delhi, Day One: Preparation is Futile

Masala Mutts--they're everywhere

Everyone I know who has traveled to India told me some version of “It’s overwhelming/dirty/desperately poor”. Or they kept quiet and rolled their eyes. Nothing prepares one for the sensory overload. In some travel guide or other, I learned I should ignore the plentiful cab drivers that hovered just outside the new airport doors (no admittance without a boarding pass, which made getting back in a little tough). I overheard a family say they were headed to the police booth and I tagged along behind them; at the stand, I paid my 320Rp ($6.10). Immediately a taxi driver who claimed to be “my” driver grabbed my receipt and ticket. I showed him the printed address of the hotel: he looked puzzled and recruited a buddy to help figure it out. I didn’t think until later that perhaps English lettering may not have been all that easy to decipher for these fellows—especially when I learned a lot of kids are pulled out of school early.

Feeling paranoid, I grabbed my suitcase, hopped out of his cab and went back to the prepaid police line, where they pointed out the number written on the top of the receipt (duh). I went to the appropriate stall number, and caught a cab. Late at night, the pollution was alarming. The driver kept coughing and the air was so thick it looked like heavy fog.

All the cabbies were blameless: I was to find that the address Intrepid tours had given me for the hotel was a general area—the many-blocks-long and wide Channa Market in the section of New Delhi know as Karol Bagh W.E.A (West Extension Area); the street the hotel was on—like almost all the streets outside the fancy areas of Delhi—was a partially paved dirt road with no name. We drove around for a bit, asking various passersby where “Suncourt Corporate” was, and finally found it. Then I performed my first faux paux of the trip (at least the first one I knew about)—I tipped the driver 10Rp, and he looked at it incredulously. I got used to that look, when I found it didn’t matter how much or how little—but still, it was too little by a good 40Rp, as I was informed by the man who showed me to my room when I asked about tipping etiquette (Lesson one: EVERONE gets a tip, and 30Rp is considered cheap, 50Rp just OK). I had my first ice-cold bucket bath that night (“Just let the water run for five minutes”—famous words repeated at several hotels)—there was squatting seat, a big bucket, a small bucket and a shower; it was less painful to soap up and just rinse the slippery bits than stand under the icy flow. I was also introduced to what we Intrepid travelers (I had booked a tour with Intrepid Travel out of Australia) came to call “the garden hose”. A short hose with a press-type handle, the garden hose is attached to the wall in all classy bathrooms, and it’s de rigueur to give yourself a shot after using the toilet. Don’t judge me—I came to love it. This, being a tourist hotel, provided hand-rolled, carefully wrapped and taped toilet paper. I didn’t know it, but I was already being spoiled.

To see specific reviews of guides/travel companies, places to eat, stay and shop in India, see my custom guide to the golden triangle on GoGoBot.

Last Day/Puerto Ayora

We awoke to beautiful dawn light illuminating the little town of Puerto Ayora, on the south end of Is. Santa Cruz. We said our farewells to the crew, and after a short panga ride to the dock, made our way through town to the Darwin Research Center. The center is concerned with keeping the varied species of land tortoises and iguanas from extinction; that's already happened on five of the archipelago's islands. You may have read about "Lonesome George", the last of his kind on one of the northern islands. Though he was brought to the Center and presented with a number of attractive female tortoises, he simply wasn't interested (the locals joke that he was gay. Or maybe it wasn't a joke). He died in 2012. One of the problems of attempting to interbreed animals from different islands is sterility in the offspring; even if the breeding "takes" with live young, the animals often die when they reach mating age, or they are unable to successfully reproduce. Though the islands don't seem that far apart physically, apparently the specialization that Charles Darwin noted has lasting effects.

A two-year old

The Darwin Center is a pleasant park that provides walkways threading through the grounds; we passed tortoises that were only a few inches in length to massive oldsters (they can live to be around 100 years). El Diablo, in spite of his unimpressive appearance, is the Center's champion. He mates with every female presented to him, usually successfully. What a guy!

El Diablo is very tired

We waited in town for a bus that took us through the lush, green highlands to the north part of the island; from there, a short ferry ride brought us back to Baltra and the airport. I met up once again with my Israeli friend, who stayed in Puerto Ayora the week--she had an adventure too, a mini-romance. It's a charming little town, and I could see coming directly here from Quito in the future. I suppose we both found what we were looking for.

Santa Cruz uplands

The flight back was uneventful, except for the risky choice of eating the salad served on the flight--by the time we touched down, I knew I had made a mistake. Fortunately, my armada of drugs including lomotil, tetracycline, pepto bismol tabs, and pro-biotics made for a short stint of bathroom sprints. What's traveling in South America without a little turista?

Once at the airport, I was unable to check into my next-day flights, so I took one of the airport cabs (these are marked on the side with a picture of an airplane) to my destination, the Galapagos Natural Life Hostel, which graciously gave me a free night for booking with Galapagos Last Minute. I expected it to be...a hostel. And it was. I didn't stay in the house proper, but in back, in one of the concrete block buildings that are single dwellings. Cold shower and TP-free toilet aside, it was a good overnight. I got to watch "Jennifer's Body", an old humor/horror/teenage angst DVD in English--what's not to like?

Painted on a Puerto Ayora wall...

At 4AM, my iPhone blasted out "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" as it had every morning (though usually it was at 6AM). I wandered out only to find no taxi waiting. Whoops. Again, I got lucky--the man who had booked my trip was staying at the hostel that night, visiting his mother; he woke up, turned the lights on, and called a taxi for me. Muchas Gracias again, Rodrigo! The cab driver had a religious program on the radio, and I listened to the silky voiced announcer expounding on "La luz marveloso" all the way to the airport. The "Migration" line was huge, and I was glad I gave it two hours. After one more luggage check, I took a seat in the waiting room; I was sweating it: only one flight a day from Quito to Houston, but I made it! In Houston, the thing I feared all along happened: I got bumped, and had to wait five hours for a plane to SFO. As is usual with anxiety, when the thing you fear most happens, you are relieved. I was pretty exhausted when we got into San Francisco (I had been either in an airport or some sort of moving vehicle for nearly 17 hours at that point), but the first of my adventures was a great success, and I felt elated. I even over-tipped the cab driver (I must have been tired).

Next: INDIA!

Punta Egas/Is. Santiago

Yes, I am fabulous.

 Today we hiked among the beautiful tidepools at Punta Egas on Is. Santiago. Plenty of Galapagos doves, finches, hawks, marine iguanas and sea lions, plus a colony of fur seals--many fewer in number than the omnipresent sea lions (the Galapagans call sea lions "sea dogs" and the fur seals "sea wolves"). The vegetation is more lush, at least for the Galapagos. A family that mined salt once lived on the bluff overlooking the sea, and the shell of their home remains; the crews from three tourist ships met in the field behind the house for a game of futball while we attempted to snorkel in the murky waters. 

One female sea lion came ashore to pose and preen for us, and when she tired of her game, fell asleep where she lay on the warm black sand beach.

After a short cruise north to Buccaneer's Cove (not much to see there), we motored to Playa Espumilla--aptly named, as the beach was as foamy as an over-soaped washing machine. The break was so shallow and close to the beach we had to jump in up to our necks and swim ashore through the breakers. Fabrizio said a panga overturned here before, so now they don't try to land on the beach itself. Playa Espumilla was stunning: at least a mile long with white-beige sand. It was dotted with a scattering of bright orange ghost crabs, who would scurry rapidly en masse into their little beach holes whenever we approached. These are the crabs Sponge Bob Squarepants--star of stage and screen--made famous, and can they move! We walked up the beach and saw a sad sight--a number of turtle egg nests that had been destroyed by the waves and sun. The eggs were exposed and dead--life is not easy here.

 

Several of us tried to swim in the surf to cool off--fighting that break was an effort, and at least one of our party got swamped. Getting back in the pangas took some timing. I got my first sunburn today, falling asleep on the sun deck after fighting the waves. Fabrizio tried to body-surf, and like the rest of us, ended up with a pants-full of black sand. I don't envy the crewmember who has to clean up the showers tomorrow.

Some days the crew is very attentive to my dairy allergy, other days, not so much. Today was one of those, when they could just about conceal their annoyance. I don't know whether the cook didn't have enough warning before he had to shop for the trip, or, in spite of the boat owner's efforts to inquire about food allergies and preferences, they really don't care. All that aside, the cook was a genius at salads and vegetables, and I feel the crew really made an effort to make us comfortable. Special thanks to Carlos, the panga expert, for getting us out of a potentially bad situation at Bahia Urbina. It's customary to leave tips for the crew and guide--they deserve it.

Tonight is my last night--tomorrow we go to the Darwin Research Station and breeding center outside Punta Ayora (the big city hereabouts) before boarding a bus to Baltra for the plane.

Shipwreck!..Well, almost.

A bit of excitement this morning as we brought the panga to the shore of the lava fields at Bahia Urbina on Is. Isabela: the boat was nearly swamped by a big sneaker wave. We were upended from the rear of the boat, and I wasn't sure we could turn the boat in time to face the rest of the incoming swells. If we didn't, all eight of us would have been dumped into the bay to face heavy breakers and shallow rocks. We just made it, and flew, face up over four more incoming giant swells. When we we're able to turn the boat and head for shore, we scrambled up a wet lava face, then took a precarious mile-long walk over an extensive lava field. 

The field, covered with pa hoe'hoe (ropy) lava mixed with the broken, treacherous a'a lava was the product of three huge surrounding volcanoes. I had to pay a lot of attention to where I was walking. We passed a couple of brackish ponds with turtles and rays, and ended up at a pond to visit three feeding flamingos. I passed on the morning snorkel--another rough and murky sea. The sundeck, with its cool breezes and beautiful views is the place for me. The group that went out came back in about 30 minutes--conditions were as bad as predicted.

palos santos trees over Darwin Lake

 After lunch, we motored to another spot on Isabela--Punta Tagus. After viewing graffiti from the 1800s and a scramble up a rock face that smelled of eons of bird poop, we climbed 100 steps and hiked up the hill to an overlook of Darwin Lake--as salty and lifeless as the Dead Sea. There's a lot more vegetation here, though, because this part of the island was covered in ash rather than lava after the most recent eruption. The palos santos trees, dormant until the rains, bloom in tiny yellowish flowers, and bleed a red sap that smells like a sweet incense, hence the name "holy tree". Normally in bloom this time of year, the trees remain dormant due to lack of rain--global warming is having a major effect here. 

The calm before the storm

On the way back down, as we descended the stairs, a large bull seal blocked the path to the panga; he was defending his female and pup that were lounging about on the shore. Fabrizio clapped his hands, and the bull charged. Our guide wisely backed up. By the third try, the bull must have felt he got his point across, and the little family took to the water.

Fabrizio told us that of the 32,000 inhabitants on the Galapagos islands, 10,000 are illegal, that is, people who are not born on the islands, part-time residents who make money from tourism and spend it on the mainland. Tourism has been a mixed blessing, bringing jobs, higher prices, too many people, too many cars. Water is a perennial problem, as there are no water sources other than rain, and almost everything is brought in from the Ecuadorian coast. Big foreign corporations control a lot of what goes down here politically, and they're also responsible for the big cruise ships that frequent the islands, but take the money to Ecuador or beyond instead of enriching the local economy.

Several of us recorded the ship's instruments as they went to zero tonight, indicating our arrival at the equator (again--we passed it in the middle of the night on the way in).  See the video at vimeo.com/joanneorionmiller

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.
 

Galapagos Arrival

Thank COPU (that's Central Operating Principle of the Universe, for those in the know) for the kindness of strangers. First, I got the same cab driver as on the way in--a nice fellow, and above all, a helluva driver who got me to the airport on time in spite of morning traffic and lumbering buses that had all the speed of brontosauri at an herbal lunch counter. Then the fun really began...
 

Baltra airport

Ecuador has an elaborate system for just about everything, including getting foreigners from Quito to Baltra in the Galapagos, coupled with a near-total lack of information in English and among the airport personnel. I wandered around and around the small national airport, asking this person and that, getting different answers--often because of the language barrier and my nearly absent espanol. I ended up in the quite long TAME airline queue. Fortunately, a young man came to the line at the same time, and he spoke excellent English, thanks to six months in Chicago (I think every American that travels beyond US borders has thought, "why does everyone else in the world speak at least two languages except us?"). He went up to the front of the line with my info sheet and got the lowdown. I was to go to an unmarked door inside the terminal nearby. They then directed me to go outside. I immediately went to the wrong door, and was directed to another outside door. Finally, that was the right one! After that, back to inside door number 1, paid my $10, and was sent back to the TAME airline line, where my gallant young friend had held a place for me. Then he was delayed at the gate for some reason, a cell phone to his ear and a worried look on his face. I hope it turned out all right for him.

A sign at the Baltra airport

In the terminal, the flight was late, and TAME personnel kept disappearing. I ended up talking to an Israeli doctor, a woman who was also traveling alone, and together we managed to figure out which gate the flight was leaving from. She came enroute from Spain, couldn't land in Quito because of the torrential rains last night (the weather in Quito can manifest all four seasons in a day). Her flight ended up going to Quayaquil on the coast, enduring a six-hour layover, then flying into Quito; here she was, wandering around the same waiting room as me. The joys of travel; it's a way to test yourself, that's for sure.

Interesting note about the money: Ecuador uses American dollars as their currency; for change, they give you Sacajawea dollars, which I haven't seen in the US in years. They're highly valued here. Fun fact: Ecuador is named for the equator, which evenly divides the country and the city of Quito. 

The intense blue tint is from the blue shades on the dock

Reps from the yate Fragata picked us up at the airport in Baltra--I thought Baltra was a town, but it's a military installation. All together, we are three young couples, three older couples, a young single girl, and yours truly--an international assortment, from Holland, Switzerland, Canada, French Canada, and America. A jolting bus ride from the military installation brought us to the boat. Before we boarded, we got a taste of what the Galapagos is famous for--a sleeping marine iguana kept guard outside the boat launch and a sassy sea lion posed magnificently for pictures on a bench.

When I say the descriptive "first class", what comes to mind? Chilled cocktails on the foredeck? An abundance of hot water any time the urge strikes to shower? This is not Fragata, a slightly careworn boat whose last refitting was a decade past. Not that the crew doesn't try--they definitely make up for the faded brightwork. Yacht life isn't quite what I expected--for one thing, the simple act of taking a pee is not at all simple. No paper can enter the sewage that is flushed into the open sea in the Galapagos--that means, wipe (or more realistically, dab) and dispose of the paper in a container next to the toilet. Poop? We won't even go there. I'm sure I wasn't the only person who did a little toilet diving the first day…

The boat took us to Sombrero Chino, a small island south of Is. Santiago, where we went for our first snorkel--the water sparkled with schools of silvery anchovies, and the reefs were populated with all manner of colorful fish: pastel pink and yellow parrotfish, yellow-tailed wrasses, a cobalt blue sea star and much more (the Galapagos video is ready! Check it out:  vimeo.com/joanneorionmiller). It was an excellent dive followed by a short walk among a few sea lions with adorable pups. The sun disappeared into a neon sunset. A few of us gathered on the Fragata's sun deck to watch the last of the golden light darken to shades of gray-blue.

 

Ecuadorian Cuisine …

The Plaza across from Palacio Arzobispal

The courtyard of Palacio Arzobispal

…is an oxymoron. No, that's not entirely fair. The pineapple is ambrosial (native to South America) and the assortment of exotic fruits and juices is divine. Restaurant diners, however, are subject to the Ecuadorian triumvirate: potatoes, corn and (fried) meat. I was in the mood for good old chicken soup, and I enjoyed a fine bowl at a little place called "Juan Fogonero" in the shopping center (really a building divided into shops, called Palacio Arzobizpal) on the corner of Avs. Chile and Venezuela in old town Quito. They take credit cards! Very pretty inside, with a genuinely helpful staff. 


I wandered about town for a while and rain suddenly started to fall in torrents. Along with the townspeople, I pressed myself up against a wall and hoped for the best--and it did get better, or at least wetter. I intended to try some place other than the Palacio Arzobispal for dinner, but it was close, covered, and dry. I went to another restaurant on the third floor, "Hasta la vuelta, Senor"--the paper placemat told a long and involved story (in Spanish) explaining the name, all of which was lost on me. Meanwhile, the rain thundered on the courtyard roof, and a small dove begged for crumbs a few feet away. The restaurant promised authentic Ecuadorian food, and once again, I ordered chicken soup--it couldn't have been more different from my first bowl. This soup also contained real chicken broth, but instead of small pieces of chicken and veges, there was one chicken leg and a potato cut into large pieces. It was topped with a dill-like herb I had seen people selling on the street; it was different, and also good. I ordered an appetizer that turned out to be a deep-fried dough ball stuffed with potatoes and cheese that required a hammer and chisel to open; not particularly tasty, but the small masa corn tamale (all corn, no filling) was delicious with the local beer.
On the way out, on Av. Venezuela, I stopped by an excellent little bakery and bought fresh baked goods--a sweet bread and what looked like a danish--for breakfast. The fruit, the beer, the baked goods--Quito has those down!

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.

Well, that's settled.

The Fragata, looking its best

I've found it pays to ask if there are deals. I found a very good price on a five-day/four-night trip aboard a first class yacht, the Fragata. The price came from a site called "Galapagos Last Minute". I ended up paying about $1600 for the cruise, including all meals and flights from Quito to Baltra and back ($250--muchas gracias, Rodrigo!). I considered a less expensive boat from the same company (tierraverde tours)--the Golondrina--but I read reviews and it appeared to be smaller and more rickety; I was concerned about seasickness and personal space, as I'll probably have to share a cabin. Fortunately, they offered me the deal, and I took it. As for a hotel, I found a place called Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre in old town Quito for a very good price (half of the hotel's website price, so I paid $50/night instead of $100) on Booking.com. I have no idea what I'm getting into; everything looks good on the internet. I was so nervous about sending a bunch of money via wire to a company I didn't know that I paid with my credit card instead, which cost me an extra Ben Franklin--but I felt better about it in case I was being conned. It happens. I plan to be in Quito a day ahead of the boat trip, as I can't be sure I'll get my flights.

Prepping for the World: Vaccinations...

I'm not this hairy, honest

I got the shots today: all of them at once, except for typhoid, which is in pill form, and malaria, prevented by liberal use of DEET to ward off mosquitoes. I hate DEET as much as anyone, but weighing the options: permanent liver damage or two weeks of nasty chemicals--no contest. And blast, I forgot to get the yellow book--the record of my vaccinations. I should have some sort of souvenir other than two sore arms. Today, in one arm, I got measles/mumps/rubella and dyphtheria/pertussis/--and what's that other one when you step on a nail? I recall a family trip to the Sacramento river--there's a picture of my father taking a picture of us taking a picture of him with his old boxy camera. While I was climbing around the driftwood on the river's edge, I stepped on a spike. Went clean through my tennis shoe and into the center of my foot. That necessitated a trip to the doctor for one of those famous "T" shots. Oh yes, tetanus. Only good for ten years, unfortunately, and I'm well beyond that; I suspect I could still find a nail in a driftwood stack without too much trouble--I'm talented that way. In the other arm--the right one, I got polio (a booster) and hepatitis A & B, a nod to unsafe drinking water and companions everywhere. Am I being overly cautious? Possibly. The big thrill was I was able to talk the doctor's office into giving me the shots without a "nurse consult" by officiously informing them that all the shots were required by the State Department for my upcoming travels. It's the truth of course, at least according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention website, which is an excellent source of information on the travails and ailments of every country on the globe. Emailing the list of necessary shots to the office ahead of time was a very smart idea--I recommend it to everyone. So now my arms are festooned with band-aids, and I'm prepared for the wild. Germs and viruses, anyway. The rest will remain to be seen.

Prepping for the World: How it's Done

Now I'll try to get something going about my first trip: to the Galapagos Islands, 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador. Still researching the best cruises--damned pricey (it will be at least $2500), but this IS the opportunity of a lifetime, and now is no time to stint.  My friend Geri, a former flight attendant for a major airlines, retired and is able to gift a couple of "Golden Tickets" (passes to fly anywhere in the world on stand-by) every year. I'm the lucky recipient of one ticket for 2013. There are different classes of stand-by, and as a friend, I'm in the lowest category. But being able to fly around the world for free? Booyah!
Ecuador controls entry to the Galapagos pretty carefully (it's $100 just to set foot on one of the islands). Though it's possible to visit the islands in the archipelago on your own, a pre-booked boat trip saves a lot of haggling, especially if your Espanol is as lame as mine; the alternative is to fly from Quito (the mainland capital) to one of the two airports on the islands and take day cruises from one of the two main towns (Puerto Ayora is the most accessible). I want to go further out to the western islands, and that requires more time on the water.
I have to fly to Quito first, and Quito--a World Heritage Site--has a very bad reputation, at least according to the State Department. I picked up some pepper spray, though I don't know if I can get it through security.