Towns 'n' Tortoises

Before I get on to telling you about our final couple of days in the Galapagos, I'll start this entry telling you a bit about life aboard the Beagle and some bits of the cruise I forgot in earlier entries (or whose chronology has [already!] escaped my memory).

We were a total of eleven passengers a naturalist-guide (mandatory for visits to Galapagos National Park) and five crew. Given that the normal contingent was around fourteen passengers and eight crew the ship was very comfortable and roomy.  It had been fitted with a desalination plant sometime in the past thirty years, so you could have long, hot showers whenever you liked.

Adding to the sense of luxury were the meals.  Simply having three meals a day was more than Sarah and I were used to, but the chef prepared huge quantities of delicious food, plus snacks every time we returned to the ship from ashore.  I know for sure I gained back much of the weight I'd lost since the Amazon boat trips had finished fattening me up a couple months earlier.

While sailing between anchorages I'd spend time playing games with my nephew Dante or just scanning the waters around the ship for excitement.  At one point Sarah and Melanie spotted a marine iguana out swimming maybe 10km from the nearest land. This is much farther out than the they'd usually be found, so this hardy fellow was christened Adventure Guani.  On another occasion we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a pod of maybe fifty dolphins. They'd swim alongside, racing faster than the ship could move, leaping out of the water seemingly just for the fun of it (or maybe they were showing off?) Sitting with Dante in the netting that connected the tip of the bowsprit to the hull, looking straight down into the dolphin-filled water beneath reminded me of doing almost exactly the same thing when I was his age.

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Both of our last two days in the islands were spent in the inhabited areas.  The first, in Puerto Villamil at the south end of Isabella. It actually felt like just about any little seaside vacation town. Except if you took a bus about five minutes outside of town along the coast you'd find yourself on a trail where you could meet marine iguanas and a giant tortoise and go swimming off a little beach in a mangrove forest through the canopy of trees out to the ocean where the waves started to break and where sea turtles cruised in close to shore for a visit.

It gave you a good feeling of what it would be like to visit the islands by taking ferries between their few settlements and taking short trips in and around them: pretty amazing, but still not a patch on the experience you got on a sleep-aboard ship that could transport you to the really wild parts of the archipelago.

If you headed inland from Puerto Villamil, meanwhile, you'd reach the giant tortoise breeding centre.  Adult tortoises are big and sturdy enough that none of the introduced animals bother them, but eggs and young ones are subject to all manner of threats, both direct (e.g. being eaten by rats) or indirect (e.g. being trampled by cattle).  There were hundreds of tortoises at the centre, ranging from tiny newborns just 10cm long through tea kettle sized young ones a year or two old, and on up to full sized adults weighing up to 600kg. A quick bit of mental arithmetic suggests that getting your foot stepped on by one of these guys would be worse than having it run over by a car!

In its twenty or so years of operation, the centre has released over two thousand adult tortoises into the wild.  But believe it or not, they still face threats while they're in the centre. In 2017, 123 baby tortoises (weighing up to about 5kg each) were stolen from the centre one night, packed aboard a private yacht and spirited out of the Galapagos for sale to animal collectors.  They supposedly fetch $7000 apiece. Who on earth wants a giant tortoise in their house? Especially when it's going to outlive you by probably no less than a hundred years!?

We had a couple of celebrations in the Islands as well.  On New Year's Eve, Melanie and her husband Ka-hung and I went into town in Puerto Ayora, the Galapagos largest town, with a population of about 27,000.  It was amazing how much it had changed in the previous three decades. In 1989 it was a sleepy fishing village with maybe a couple of shops that had one or two racks of postcards or t-shirts.  Now it was focused almost 100% on the tourist industry. The lively waterfront was packed with souvenir shops, restaurants and hotels. There were half a dozen ATMs in town. There was even a brewpub for heaven's sake!  (One of two breweries in the islands. I'm sad to report that both of them produce pretty poor beers :-( )

All of the locals were out on the main streets dressed up in their finest, joined by hundreds of tourists from the boats out in the harbour, some of which were 50m super yachts, while others were small cruise ships which probably accommodated a couple of hundred passengers.

The annual fireworks display had been cancelled (probably permanently) due to its (predictable) negative effects on wildlife.  But there was still plenty of colour around. A local New Year's tradition has people burning a papier mache effigy representing all of the negatives from the previous year as they head into the next one.  I think historically these were pretty nondescript, but in 2018 superheroes were popular forms, so we saw such wonders as an almost life-sized Spider Man strapped on to the back of a motorbike driving down the street.

But really the best celebration of all was the one that was the main reason for our all being in the islands together: my dad's seventieth birthday.  We had cake and champagne and so forth, but the best part was just being in such a wondrous place with the whole family, something I don't get to do often enough.

All good things must come to an end of course.  On New Year's Day, we took the panga ashore one last time into Puerto Ayora.  From there we took a bus back to the north end of Santa Cruz Island, then a short ferry trip back to Baltra Island, where the airport is located and where we'd started our trip (incidentally, this whole process seems to be run with an almost deliberate inefficiency, s seemingly to ensure that as many of the island's residents as possible get some kind of work out of it).

We said a fond farewell to the crew and our guide Tommy, had our bags thoroughly checked to make sure we weren't trying to take any of the islands home with us (they're pretty fussy… not even rocks are permitted, but one guy a few years back was caught with three land iguanas in his suitcase!)   And then it was back to the mainland with us.

I feel so lucky to have visited such an amazing and beautiful place as the Galapagos not once but twice.  I was a little worried before this trip that things would have changed too much, that “you can never go back again”. But I'm happy to say that the Galapagos Islands are just as wondrous as ever, and (outside of Puerto Ayora I guess) the only major difference was that this time I got to share it with an even bigger, happier family.

Guaniland

The second part of our Galapagos odyssey took place almost entirely on and around Isabela, the largest of the islands and one that was entirely new to us, even the five who visited back in 1989.

Although it has a sizeable town at its southern end, much of Isabela is as remote and wild as the Galapagos gets.  It's 120km north to south, and our guide Tommy reminded us of the story of a group of Ecuadorian marines who decided to make the ~25km journey across as a training exercise.  They didn't tell anyone locally where they were going. So harsh were the volcanic landscape and the climate in the highlands that twelve of them died and the remains of five have still not been recovered (I've tried to find further discussion of this story online, but failed.  However it's entirely plausible, so I'll leave it here).

This wildness was abundantly evident in our first morning, as we took a zodiac ride along the base of huge tuff cliffs supported by volcanic dykes and punctuated at the north end by a perfect volcanic cinder cone.

Along the base of the cliffs we spotted the usual sea lions and marine iguanas.  We also got a look at the Galapagos’ endemic (and the world's only) flightless cormorant.  They're really almost fully adapted to life in the water, able to dive down to 70m in search of their food.  They're big fans of octopus, but going after such tough prey sometimes backfires and they sometimes end up being a meal themselves if they pick a target that's too big and strong.  They're obviously still competent on land as well. Their stubby wings are useless for flight, but are good enough balancing devices that we saw one shove a metre long marine iguana off a preferred roosting spot that the big lizard had occupied.

After the zodiac ride we returned to the same spot with masks, snorkels and fins to visit all ggof these animals, plus a few more in situ.  The cormorants looked so graceful and playful under water. Like the sealions on our previous trip, they took to playing with our snorkelling gear, nibbling on my nephew Dante's fins and trying to pluck my dad's mask out of his hands as he washed it.  My brother in law Greg saw one repeatedly grab hold of a pufferfish, only to be repeatedly forced to let go as the fish swelled to many times its normal size. Proof that the defence scheme works!

As beautiful as the surroundings and as fun as the cormorants were, the highlight was probably swimming in clear teal water inside a wide, high-naved sea cave with hundreds of fish all around and numerous Pacific green sea turtles gliding gracefully around us.  Just outside the cave they were even more numerous, with about twenty(!) sitting resting on the shallow bottom. Apparently this is a place of safety from the orcas and tiger sharks that prey on them out in the open ocean.

Across a narrow channel from Isabela lies the westernmost of the Galapagos, Floreana.  We spent the next morning cruising around the mangroves that had found a foothold at the edge of this newest Galapagos Island's lava flows.  We were up super early, and as a result had crystal clea, dead flat water for viewing more sea lions, sea turtles and an especially weird treat: Galapagos penguins bobbing next to and zipping beneath the mangroves.  Where else in the world could you possibly witness such a spectacle? (I think NZ is about as close as you could manage, but there's still about 800km from the northernmost spots frequented by little blue penguins and the southernmost mangroves).

We also did a little snorkelling just away from the mangroves.  It was nice, but absolutely paled in comparison to the spot we went to later in the day.

Our guide Tommy obviously saw that we really enjoyed our time in the water, so had asked the captain to take us to a spot he remembered from one of his first (out of hundreds!) tourist boat trips out away from his home on Santa Cruz Island.  We often had companion boats at the anchorage spots, but this time we were all alone.

From the surface the spot looked black and rugged, like many spots where the lava meets the sea.  But under water it was a whole other world. It was a series of narrow, shallow channels that connected larger, deeper pools in the lava.  The rocks were black and white and yellow and pink. It felt like swimming around a giant mansion, exploring its mysterious rooms and hallways.

The fish weren't quite as numerous as in some spots, but the sun was shining and the  water was crystal clear. The only impediment to vision was the fresh water that flowed through the porous lava into the ocean, sometimes blurring your view with its different refractive index.  In one spot, Tommy dove to the bottom and sipped pure fresh water that had a layer of saltwater floating above it.

I loved cruising around the nooks and crannies, wonderstruck each time a new bit of undersea magic was revealed.  Only to pop my head above water and see nothing more than dark rock with small, unremarkable bits of water around the outcrops.

The very best part was what we called the Turtle Bowl or the Turtlequarium.  Duck through a narrow channel no more than 50cm deep and suddenly you were in a circular pool 20m across and 8m down.  Inside were maybe a dozen sea turtles ranging from “little” ones maybe 60cm long to huge old monsters 1.5m from head to tail.  They lazed on the bottom, glided through the transparent water as though flying through the air and on several memorable occasions raced one another in loops around the bowl, showing off speed and agility that their size and usual calm behaviour belied.

I think we spent an hour and a half in the water there.  I could have spent all day. This was definitely the most memorable outing from the ship in our whole trip for me.

We had one last day  in the wild west of the islands.  We'd already seen plenty of marine iguanas.  But hadn't yet met any of their equally bulky landlubbing cousins.  And we hadn't yet seen any of (arguably) the islands’ most famous residents.  In maybe 45 minutes ashore we saw many goldenrod coloured land iguanas and four giant tortoises, one that had “parked” itself in a semi-subterranean “garage” so that you could only see its rear half, one that was parked in the middle of the trail, entirely undisturbed by a dozen humans strolling past a metre or two away, and two others that looked to be engaged in some sort of race (they're surprisingly quick when they want to be!)

That afternoon we went for a walk around Punta Morena, exploring a huge lava flow.  Despite being several hundred years old the rock was still viciously sharp and you most certainly didn't want to trip while walking amongst it.  The fascinating thing about this area was the small, green freshwater oases that dotted it where air pockets or sections of lava tube had collapsed.

In one of these improbable spots a huge, decades old conger eel lived, the big-fish, apex predator in a very small pond.  At another three flamingos (relatively new Galapagos migrants) swooped in for a visit, delighting my niece Gwen (whose middle name is Flamingo) and her brother Desmond.

We went for one final swim as we waited for the Panga to navigate its way into then small inlet in the bay to pick us up and take us back to the ship (via a quick tour of a point where huge marine iguanas and little penguins shared the space peacefully).

One final anchorage at a bay that has been used and graffitied by passing ships for over a century (there's a reliable fresh water source there).  A cruise around the bay, including a visit to (still!) more penguins and some blue footed boobies. And then it was time to head back towards (if not precisely TO) civilization.

And what better way to leave the wild west than over some wild seas? The swells weren't quite the 10m we'd had in the Drake Passage on the way to Antarctica, but like there, Sarah and I were the only ones up and about, while everyone else was seasick or tending to spouses or children who were.  We were likewise the only ones awake when we neared Puerto Villamil, two hours late because of the rough seas.

Three Decades Later: Return to Galapagos

It's probably going to be tough to write about our trip to the Galapagos without just making the whole entry a string of superlatives. It is truly one of the most amazing places I've ever been.

I first visited the Islands on a week-long cruise my family.  I was returning again, almost 30 years later with even more family.  My two sisters, their husbands, two nephews, an 18 month old niece and, of course, my mother and father, who had arranged the family holiday as a celebration of my dad's seventieth birthday.  I'm still amazed to think that I'm now older than my dad was during our first trip back in 1989.

We flew to the Galapagos’ one major airport on Christmas day.  Our arrival was a bit chaotic, but our guide was waiting or us, and we'd soon enough paid our national park fees and caught a bus down to the boat in Baltra habour.  Astonishingly, the boat, a motor sailer named The Beagle was the same boat we'd been on in 1989 (though it's captain, ownership and name had all been changed in the meantime).

A quick ride in a zodiac (locally called a “panga”) and we were all aboard and steaming out of the harbour.

I was rather surprised that we got to go ashore that afternoon.  We took the zodiac out again to a small but lovely white sand beach on Santa Cruz island. We took a walk to the lagoon behind the dunes and plenty of splashing in the Pacific, complete with a visit by several spotted eagle rays that seemed happy to cruise around the human swimmers, coming as close as a metre or so to my nephew Dante.  This got us well primed for the wildlife spotting walks and snorkelling expeditions that made up most of our wondrous week in the Islands.

We motored all night, crossing the equator on calm seas as we slept (the first time we'd been in the northern hemisphere since Macapa in Brazil, about three months earlier!

Our first stop was Genovesa (Tower) Island.  We woke up to find The Beagle anchored in the wide, round bay inscribed by the rim of a volcanic caldera, bringing back memories of Deception Island off the Antarctic Peninsula.  And just as in Antarctica, the bird life on shore was absolutely phenomenal. Completely free of introduced mammals, on Genovesa you (quite literally) have to pay attention to avoid tripping over masked and red footed boobies.  While blue footed boobies are the Galapagos’ most famous variety, I actually think the red-foots are prettier and Sarah liked the masked ones as, she said, their wide slightly goofy faces and waddling walk made it look as though they'd just told a terrible dad-joke and were asking for affirmation of their avian comedy.

We also saw a rare short-eared owl on the hunt.  This species isn't uncommon elsewhere in the world.  But the ones in the Galapagos at unique in that they've taken to hunting during the day, and we actually saw this guy catch and carry off one of the thousands of storm petrels that wheeled and soared just offshore.

Some of my strongest memories from 1989 came snorkelling around Genovesa.  We saw a huge school (I remember it as being a couple of hundred, but probably it was more like fifty) of hammerhead sharks swimming beneath us in the depths of the caldera.  I was really hoping the new visitors would get to see something similar, but it didn't turn out that way. In fact, the snorkelling trip turned out decidedly unpleasantly. We'd seen some pretty stuff when, fifteen minutes in, my mom complained of being stung by something.

I felt one or two painful little zaps on my arms as well, but decided they weren't that bad and just to try to ignore them.  Apparently everyone else was getting stung as well, and by the time most of them had escaped back into the zodiac we must've swum into a good big patch of invisible jellyfish, because I was quickly convinced to head back myself after several more good stings, receiving even more as I scampered (you can't really scamper while swimming, but that's how it felt) back aboard myself.

Back on the ship, we treated our wounds with vinegar but everyone, especially my sister Melanie, had some good bright pink blisters on their bodies. Our guide Tommy told us that jellyfish are uncommon in Galapagos waters, and that these were likely visitors brought by the warm el Niño waters (which, except for the stingers, made swimming in the Galapagos even more pleasant than I remembered it being).

That night we sailed to Santiago Island, another one that we'd visited thirty years previously.  We went for a walk ashore and once again, memories flooded back. I'd been telling Sarah about the marine iguanas on Santiago for years, knowing that she'd love them and, unsurprisingly, she did.  They have blunt snouts, drooping eyelids and mouths that look like they're in a constant state of sleepy contentedness. This fiits in well with their generally lazy behaviour when on land, just sitting on the black lava, warming themselves in the powerful equatorial sun before diving into the cool water to munch (exclusively) on seaweed.

There weren't quite as many iguanas on Santiago as I remember but there were far more sealions basking, like the iguanas, on the warm rocks before diving in to swoop and play in the waves as they crashed into the rocky shore and shot up through the remains of ancient lava tubes forming impressive surge pools and blowholes.  In one spot, water and air, pressurised from below found its way up through porous lava to bubble and “breathe” underfoot in time with the waves

While there weren't the scores of oceangoers  as on Genovesa, my dad still delighted in the shorebirds (oystercatchers, night herons, stilts) that were kept company by the iguanas and by dozens of brilliantly coloured Sally Lightfoot crabs.  I love these both for their appearance and their behaviour which seems more appropriate to flocks of birds or schools of fish than crustaceans. They'll sit there silently, all seeming to stare at you with their stalked eyes until they get a bit nervous and back (or actually sidle, since they're crab walking) away.  Then one would be startled by something and they'd all scuttle rapidly off, like geese taking flight.

That afternoon we departed Santiago and spent the full day on the water, two of the sails unfurled for the long journey up and around to the western side of Isabella Island.  When sailing in the Galapagos you're almost always in sight of one island or another. Many of them are dozens of kilometres across, and their volcanos range up to 1800m in height, so there's always at least a hazy vision of one on the horizon.  But this day was about the closest we got to sailing open ocean.

The water was dark, but brilliant blue.  And even though we were well out to sea, there was still some excitement, as Sarah and Mel spotted manta rays in the distance, some even jumping spectacularly entirely clear of the water.  Another, perhaps two metres across, cruised (seemingly lazily, but actually at eight or ten knots) alongsjde the bow.

As we neared Isabella, it's dark (under rain clouds, also a result of the el Niño) and foreboding landscapes provided more awesome sights.

I still struggle to get used to the equatorial days, which are warm and sunny but, unlike NZ or Canadian summer days, end abruptly at 18:00, the sun plumetting quickly below the horizon.  Because of this and our anchorage for lunch, we completed our day's sailing down the west coast of Isabella in the dark, leaving its wonders to surprise us the following morning.

Cuando te Encontro? Ahora!

Our first week in Quito was perhaps as un-touristy, and for many people perhaps un-pleasant as any on our trip.

We spent the majority of it at the dentist or heading to/from her office.  I'd been planning on having a crown done for a molar I'd had a root canal on back in NZ, and Sarah needed a second look at her mouth after breaking a tooth while sailing up the Amazon.

Our dentist, Idiana, was super nice  and professional and did a great job of making sure we were happy and comfortable.  After a look at our chompers, and a very thorough cleaning of both of our teeth, she made me a new night guard (to prevent damage when I grind my teeth at night) and had a fancy zirconium crown made for my tooth.

Sarah, meanwhile got a full mouth x-ray done.  As it turned out, in addition to her one broken wisdom tooth, two others were badly decayed and Idiana suggested that the best bet was just to remove the lot.

We expanded our dental tourism beyond Idiana's office with visits to the radiology lab for Sarah's x-rays and to a pharmacy to buy her pain medication, THEN a visit to a walk-in clinic to have her intramuscular injection of said medication.  The whole process was impressively organized and smooth. Collect a number at reception. When called pay ($3!), head upstairs and wait for your number to appear on the TV screen, telling you which consulting room to head to. A quick stab in the bum with a new single use syringe and we were in a taxi back to the Secret Place.

While Sarah had very limited pain and swelling compared to many who undergo wisdom tooth removals, it wasn't as though she didn't suffer: she had to refrain from fatty foods and all dairy products (including cheese!) for a week!

We did do a few fun things as well, of course.  We visited a couple of breweries in the bar-packed La Mariscal neighborhood, joining Quiteños at the pub on their final Friday before Christmas.  The beer had neither the highs nor the lows of Cuenca. A German-themed bierhalle (I liked it because it was pretty much all traditional German styles, but not a Helles or Pilsner amongst them.  Altbier, Kölsch, Hefeweizen and a hoppy Bock). And an American style (both in terms of the decor and beer styles) brewpub. Neither produced any badly faulted brews, but most had niggling issues and none was really great.  To tell the truth, the only reason to drink these beers instead of Ecuador's entirely serviceable mass-produced continental pilsner was for a bit of a change.

And in between appointments we actually skipped town, heading to the beautiful (if thoroughly gringo infested) village of Mindo.

It began its rise from sleepy backwater to tourism hotspot as a destination for birdwatchers, it's position in the cloud forest of the western slope of the Andes making it a home to heaps of rare and beautiful species.  But since then it's added zip lines, tree canopy walks and even tubing down the river to the tourist menu. Not to mention plenty of vegetarian fare at the restaurants that line the plaza and main street. We did a veggie burger taste test over our two nights.  Both had quinoa patties. One was “gourmet” with cacao honey and avocado, while the other was a more traditional burger with mustard lettuce, tomato and cheese. I reckon that the trad-burger was my winner.

Eating burgers wasn't, of course, the main reason for our visit.  We'd been stymied in three previous attempts to see Andean Cocks of the Rock.  Sarah absolutely loved their Guyanian cousins and was determined to complete the set by seeing the second species in person.

We even wrote a song about it:

“Cock of the Rock, can't wait to meet ya.

Cock of the Rock, how will I greet ya?

Cock of the Rock, you're such a handsome creature,

Oh you Cock of the Rock!”

“Gallo de Peña, cuando te encontro?

Gallo de Peña, como te saludo?

Gallo de Peña, mas guapo en el mundo,

Oooh Gallo de Peña!”

We almost thought we were going to miss out again! The day we arrived we visited some our companies and asked about the possibility of arranging a tour to see 'em and were quoted a price of USD110!  I though that Sarah needed some cheering up in anticipation of her surgery, and it was one of the few things on her “really want to see/do” list for South America, so I was willing to suck it up and pay whatever was necessary but (in an unusual reversal of roles), she balked at the cost.

In the end we managed to arrange something on our own, just stopping at the main crossroads and chatting with a taxi driver, asking if he knew of a place to see the birds.

He chatted a bit with his compatriots and soon we had a plan to be picked up and driven out to the Lek (display spot for male birds) at 05:30 (later revised to 05:00!) the next morning.

The ridiculously early wake-up turned out to be all worthwhile.  We stopped to pick up a birding guide (which we hadn't realized was part of what we'd negotiated!) and met one other birder before walking 600m through very dark pasture, then jungle, arriving at the lek before sunrise.

And there they were, in all their glory.  Much louder and more raucous than their Guyanian cousins.  They're also shyer, so the closest we saw them was maybe 30m away.  But it was still plenty close to see their brilliant orange bodies and mohawk crests and to see the dark “trousers” that distinguish them from their orange, fluffy bummed eastern relatives.

Having the birding guide along was definitely worthwhile, as he taught us some cool Cock of the Rock facts:

There are about 3,300 living Andean Cocks of the Rock, but only about 300 of these are the Ecuadorian subspecies.

Cocks of the Rock can live to about seventy years old in the wild, but only lay eggs once every five years or so!

Groups of males guard the nests and chicks, even of unrelated birds.  It's apparently not uncommon to see fifteen or so brilliant orange male CotRs chasing off a falcon that gets too close to a nest!

The guide had brought along a telescope and binoculars so we could get a better view of our quarry, and was fascinated to see our photos of the Guianian Cocks of the Rock near Kaieteur Falls.

I think the other birder thought we were kinda weirdos as she was just at the start of a full day tour, while Sarah and I were just heading straight home after our early morning lek visit.  When a birder thinks you're weird you're definitely doing something… not sure whether it's something right or something wrong, but definitely something.

Back in town, our primary objective completed, we could spend the rest of the day listening to the rain on the roof of our charming wooden guesthouse while we sat on the balcony in hammocks reading and watching the brilliant orange and green hummingbirds and scores of egrets that came to visit.

With all of our dental work and out of town trips behind us, we spent the 22nd of December prepping for the arrival of my family from Canada. It was largely due to the family holiday that we had decided on South America as a destination for these four months of our travels.  So it was exciting that the time had arrived.

The first few days in Quito were wonderful.  We got settled in our Airbnb, did some food shopping for the whole crew. I even baked a gingerbread house in lieu of decorating the place!  We were joined by nine members of my immediate family, ranging from my eighteen month old niece to my soon to be seventy dad.

The family spent one day strolling through town and taking the gondola up to 4100m high Pichinca volcano.  The clouds obscured the views out over the snow-capped giants to the south and east, but it was still really fun, partly because of the views of the city itself, sprawling down 1000m below, partly just because of the fun of doing it with family and partly because it's exactly the sort of thing that Sarah and I never do when travelling on our own.

Similarly, when we went out to the huge, beautifully managed and very busy Parque Carolina on the final Sunday before Christmas, we loved wandering around with everyone, trying (and watching them try) exotic (and not so exotic) snacks from the vendors (cevichocho: steamed corn and heaps of toppings prepared like Ceviche, really tasty looking hot dogs and cotton candy).  We even took the pedal boats out on the lagoon (while letting my four year old nephew Desmond steer, it became abundantly clear why children aren't allowed to have drivers licenses).

Back at our temporary home, we reveled in its comforts.  Doing heaps of laundry in an actual machine. Watching pre-Christmas football with my BiL Greg.  Cooking the sorts of meals you can reply only do at home with family (roasted chickens and potatoes, quinoa and lentil stew…).  Decorating (and later dismantling) the gingerbread house. And on Christmas Eve, handing out the little gifts we'd prepared for everyone (happy to have that weight an volume out of my pack, I can tell you!)  We almost immediately “borrowed” my mom's gift, a bottle of Pisco from Peru to make a big jug of Pisco Sours for everyone. It was a long way from home, but it was still a very happy family Christmas.

But the highlight of the trip was very much still yet to come. On Christmas morning, we all jammed ourselves into a minivan to head out to the airport for our flight to the Galapagos Islands, Ecuador's premier tourist destination and a place that, almost thirty years earlier, was the setting for some of the best travel memories of my life.