Galapagos Sizzle

sun setting behind a Galapagos Island

After our third Galapagos island, San Cristobal, we began to truly understand the culture here and it has much to do with sizzle.  

These are new islands – the newest has only been above water for about 800,000 years.  As a consequence, there is a rawness about the place that is evident everywhere.  The islands are all volcanic, and about them has grown only the tiniest bit of coral.  Below water there is little variety: lava, some lichen.  On land, between the dry and the heat, vegetation has had little chance to grow tall so the islands are covered in thick low shrubs. 

smelly sea lions taking over a beach

Everything is openly exposed to the extraordinary power of the equatorial sun.  Flesh will quickly crisp when exposed and all creatures seek shade – or in the case of the fish, deeper waters.  Little moves between 10 AM and 3 PM.  That is one kind of sizzle. 

The other kind of sizzle is the marketing bumph that famously replaced the actual steak on Madison Avenue.  Everything here is very costly, particularly all tours and tourist amenities.  That by itself might be understandable -- even considering that this is clearly a developing country – because the islands are remote and there is an attempt being made to limit some impacts on the relatively closed ecosystem.  Also, tourism accounts for 60% of the economic activity on the islands, and everyone wants a piece of the action. 

Otovalo woman on Sunday

But we have become disillusioned that the hype so exceeds the actual experience that there seems a total and disappointing disconnect between what is promised and what is delivered.  Although individual species can be prolific (the mounds of stinky, aggressive sea lions come to mind), there is not much variety in species.  And in the absence of any coral, the vaunted snorkelling (we have been on three snorkelling tours—including the “best in the archipelago” and a few swims from the beach) reveals a rather bleak underwater seascape, certainly not nearly as exciting as the Caribbean or even Hawai’i – let alone Indonesia or the Indian Ocean.  This is fourth class snorkelling at best.  Divers get to enjoy the same underwater moonscapes for $200 per dive: an astronomical price.

At 5'3",  Ingrid loves feeling tall.

Much to our consternation, after much excitement at the notion of seeing the famous Galapagos Islands, we departed after two weeks with a sense of surfeit. 

At the other end of the scale, we made our last exploratory visit to the market town of Otavalo, and there we found some of the most exciting and genuine Ecuadoran culture.  It is two hours on a local bus north of Quito, about 1,000’ lower in altitude and has a wonderfully relaxed vibe with an old-timey feel of Christianity mixed into Kichwa culture: big bands with pan pipes and a half dozen guitar-like instruments of all sizes playing free concerts in the main square. 

I think one of Ingrid’s favorite experiences was towering over the local women, many of whom came only up to her chest, and quite of few of whom could have walked under my elbows without touching me. 

So now we are in Quito for a day of prep before two long days of travel back to Terrace where Marj has been caring for our poor ailing dog.  We had no idea Java would so sicken while we were gone, but thank goodness she is in Marj’s care.  

Kichwa woman tends her field a few K from 15,000' Imbabura volcano.

Lotus Eaters

pelican watching the tide come in

In the afternoon they came unto a land

In which it seemed always afternoon
All round the coast the languid air did swoom
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.

After two hours of hammering across the open ocean in a 20-foot water taxi powered by twin 200 HP Yamaha outboards, we are now on the Galapagos Island of Isabella, and the pace of life has slowed considerably.  On our first day we saw penguins, blue-footed boobies, frigate birds, flamingos, iguanas and the immense tortoises.   

Tortoises – which live only on land -- reach maturity at about 150 years when they weigh about a ton.  These are truly big ponderous creatures and when they mate, they enjoy the process for about 45 minutes and make so much noise they can be heard on the road that passes 50 meters from the breeding area.

This island was until 1959 a penal colony.  Prisoners here were treated terribly – forced into senseless, brutal labour in swamps thick with flesh-tearing thorny bushes, most starved to death.  But they were spared one torture: there are no mosquitos or other biting insects that we have noticed while walking these same swamps comfortably on boardwalks.

lava lizards come in many colours

The main drag in the main town here (Puerto Villamil) is a sand road past a series of restaurants and hostals featuring plastic chairs under bamboo-supported sun screens.  There are fewer than 2,000 inhabitants on the entire island and not one of them moves quickly.  Sensitive to culture and quick to adapt to local conditions, we have slowed our own pace to match.  

male tortoise looking for some action

I asked the lady at the restaurant where I could find some boobies.  She looked a little closely at me and asked, “With blue feet?”   “Yes.” I replied, “The other kind is easy to find.”   Indeed, the pleasure Latin women take in their womanhood is often expressed in proud cleavage and here at the equator clothing offers little encumbrance to nature’s bounty. The blue-footed kind is much more elusive.  We will go looking for them more actively tomorrow.  

 Today we are just going to take it easy.

Galapagos Uno

When our jet first set down on Baltra, we were excited at seeing the blue pastel hues of the ocean. 


Crossing the little strait to Santa Cruz in a small boat added to our sense of adventure, and even the stuffy bus ride the length of the island to the only real settlement, Puerto Ayora, did not diminish our sense of wonder.

Within an hour or so of arrival, we found a hostal and were out walking on the harbour-rimming concrete malecon, stepping around sleeping sea lions and marine iguanas and watching dozens and dozens of blue-footed boobies dive bombing for fish past big lumbering pelicans. 

cactus forest growing on lava

Later we made it out to the Charles Darwin Research Center to see more colours of iguanas and large land tortoises, and everywhere the vegetation provided new trees, flowers, cacti – a riot of colourful  life.

laid back sea lion

Perhaps the most abundant fauna on the island, however, is touristas gringonesis.  The common tourist can be identified by its generally sweaty and over-heated gait, the slightly uncomfortable stutter when confronted by full-frontal Spanish, and a puzzled expression as it feels its US dollars pulled remorselessly from its wallet by industrial suction.

While there is some significant effort made to sustain much of the indigenous fauna – with the exception of the food fishery, which is needed to sustain tourism – the shearing of tourists themselves continues apace and there is no activity that has not been monetized.  

He does pushups to show his love

Ingrid and I walked out to Tortuga Bay yesterday, allowed the equatorial sun to touch us briefly through the 40 SPF and crisp us where it touched.  It was a lovely 8 K walk and the perfect white sand stretched for over a kilometer.   

Today we met a guide who wanted $50 to show us the way, which helped to explain the guide we saw with 15 tourists in tow yesterday.   

When we snorkelled yesterday, visibility was limited to about two meters and we saw nothing.  However, today I overheard a guide earnestly informing a credulous tourist that she could expect to see sharks, rays and sea turtles if she rented a mask and snorkel. 

pre-cambrian face of marine iguana

a face maybe a mother could love

 I personally want to avoid being categorized as tourista gringonesis estupido. 

Tomorrow we will begin our search for a discounted cruise -- Sunday is apparently the day on which these become available as promoters try to fill the very last bunks with dollar-wielding touristas.

Hasta Luego, Cuenca

Every time we think we’ve seen the most impossibly tall, teetering high heels, we see another pair that lifts a woman yet taller.  Walking in these 6” heels above a 2” platform is truly an athle tic accomplishment, particularly as almost all of the streets in the old city are cobblestone and the ladies step down steep curbs before casually strolling across the broken cobbles.   

With these extraordinary shoes lifting them, some of the women tower a few inches above 5 feet.

These are the more modern women, those with more “Castillian” blood, the sexy, urban Latinas  in form-fitting ensembles.

Avoiding the soul-capturing camera

There is another group, the traditional women, those with more Kichwa blood.  If anything, these women are even shorter, and I suspect many would barely break 4’ in height.

These are the wrinkled, peevish, stocky women who wear heavy, brightly-coloured woollen clothing and traditional hats.  They clearly work hard and are most often seen carrying loads in cloth bags – as they carry their babies.  To my delight they adhere stubbornly to their traditional values, and even in a country deeply infected by Catholicism, they exhibit even more atavistic beliefs such as the notion that a camera can steal their soul.

This makes them extraordinarily reluctant to have their photos taken so often I can only get a shot of the top of a hat as they drop their faces.

Happily barbequeing Guinea Pig (Cui)

Lest this seem a terribly sexist post, Ingrid and I both agree that the men -- for the most part -- are quite unremarkable.  Well, perhaps apart from the penchant of the rather stubby Kichwa men to allow their women to do all of the heavy lifting.

Spanish ecclesiastical architecture

As we prepare to leave Cuenca on our way to the Galapagos, we are realizing how much we have enjoyed this city.   

Although there are almost 200,000 people here, most of them will take the time to wish us “buenas dias” whenever our eyes meet.  And although the streets are claustrophobically narrow and crowded, there is no jostling.   

Such a cordial lot. 

Riobamba to Cuenca

The Riobamba Municipal Band in concert

The gasping of air brakes as the driver pumps them rhythmically on downhills becomes the tempo of the road. 

 To get to Cuenca we spent hour after hour twisting through hairpin switchbacks, up and down thousands of feet repeatedly with the bus tilting from one side to the other, either throwing me against the chair arm or Ingrid. These Andes dwarf the Coast Mountains, and the big mountain roads are even more exciting when the fog is so thick you can barely see beyond the margin of the road.  

Riobamba Band fan

Riobamba did us the favor of showing us what a typical mid-sized Ecuadoran town looks like:  elaborate antique Spanish colonial buildings towering over narrow streets paved in cobblestones  crowded tightly by half-finished square and utilitarian buildings of concrete block with a strands of rebar protruding from them like cat’s whiskers.  

Cuenca street merchant

Once in Cuenca, we enjoyed dinner in the nicest restaurant we have enjoyed in Ecuador – improved by the entry of all the Miss Ecuador contestants – each giving us a nice open smile, a little wave and “Buenos noches” as they clicked past on 6” heels in the tiniest of skirts and dresses.  You could almost touch the excitement in their smiles.\

It is pretty much impossible to spend time in any Latin country without noticing how proud the women are in their femininity.  The dresses, skirts, heels, décolletage, the rhythm of their hips – all happily celebrate their pride in their female sexuality.  In contrast, our northern culture seems awfully dour and inhibited.

Church opposite our room

It seems a regular occurrence to close a street for an impromptu concert.  Yesterday we enjoyed the Riobamba Municipal Band in red serge dominated by the rhythm section and trombones playing finger-snapping salsa-style tunes.  But as always, police dominated.  Dozens and dozens of uniforms around and throughout the crowd.
 

They like their military here – departing Riobamba we saw two military tanks deployed in the streets, crowded about by soldiers and children.  Reassuringly, Ecuadorans probably like their ice cream more.

Alturo

Cotopaxi dominates Latacunga

On the buses we are a captive audience.  About 5 minutes after the bus hits the highway, a salesman will stand in the aisle and demand our attention as he begins his carnival side show barking, selling anything from ginseng, yoga and perfume to designer watches and sunglasses.  We play the “no hablo espagnol” card.  But you must give them credit for stamina – their pitches sometimes last a full hour.

Big buses weave tiny roads.

Our first bus ride took us to Latacunga a mid-sized town sitting below Cotopaxi, which at 19,350’ is a landscape-dominating strato-volcano that has destroyed Latacunga 4 times.

  Somehow this does not seem to faze the good folks of Latacunga, who simply rebuild their churches and put their faith in their gods – currently of the Christian brand.  Here we ate well, slept well and fortified ourselves for our time at altitude.

Leaving Latacunga, we spent four days in the high country of the Andes at altitudes around 13,000’ gasping for breath while walking about the villages.

Ingrid looks into Quilotoa's crater.

Isinlivi sits in a rich green valley at a moderate 11,000’ -- a bit of a Shangri La where the sounds and sights of spring abound: hummingbirds the size of a man’s fist, bright yellow thick-billed birds and flowers dripping everywhere.  Unfortunately, this is where Ingrid discovered the altitude exacerbated her asthma and our hiking was limited.

Tuesday we met Chugchillan, the ugly sister.  With only 50 inhabitants strung along a single dry and dusty street swirling with smoke and various detritus and not a mouthful of good food to be had, it left our spirits sagging.   

These Kitchua folks are tough.

But the next day we reached Quilotoa, a pueblo in a majestic setting that takes the crown for stunning beauty as the crater in the volcano of that name shifts hues in the changing sun. 

These tiny Kitchua people are a wonderful lot.  Dark and weathered and swaddled about in layers of bright wool, the women all wear their distinctive fedoras and sometimes you can see them carrying a shovel while wearing platform heels.  The men eschew fashion and work long days in fields that hang steeply down the mountains from impossible heights without any discernible terraces.

The laguna shifts colours with the sun.

We have descended now to a much more moderate 6,500’ where it has been drizzling for two days.  Terrace weather.  Right behind our town of Banos the 16,500’ volcano Tungurahua puffs and heaves and provides the hot springs that make this town a tourist draw.  This is in spite of regular eruptions – particularly since 1999 it has been erupting every couple of years -- and we are advised not to use certain roads or hot springs.  The emergency evacuation routes are painted in huge letters on the cobblestone streets. 

Although sun might be too much to ask for, we are hoping for one more day of seismic peace and a dignified departure for Cuenca.