A Week in Galapagos

I’ve been too exhausted to write all week. Every morning, up at 5AM. Hike. Snorkel. Lunch. Snorkel. Hike. Dinner. Sleep. There’s been no time for reflection. There’s only been time to swim with sea lion pups, dive down to greet sharks, photograph blue-footed boobies, and try to absorb the endless streams of information provided by our guide, Louis.

How to summarize?

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Hmm…

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Well, the animals are unafraid of humans. That’s probably the most startling aspect of the experience. Birds go about their business, hunting, walking along the ground, sitting on eggs, and taking care of their chicks. Sea lion males prowl the beach to maintain their dominance, while pups drink milk from their mothers’ teats. Iguanas bathe in the sun. Sharks cruise the ocean’s depths. Hawks scan the landscape, looking for lunch.  Giant tortoises lay in pools of mud, waiting for the sun’s mid-day heat.

We walk through this animal wonderland like ghosts. For the most part, animals behave as if we are not there. They don’t run in fear, scurrying into the nearest shadow or bush. They don’t charge in anger. They simply exist alongside human beings. It’s truly remarkable. The experience conflicts with all prior experiences I’ve ever had with animals in the wild. It feels like something is wrong with the world. But it also feels very, very right.

I’m not particularly fascinated by birds, but it’s fun to catch them on “film” in interesting poses. The sea lions are fun to watch. They really are like water dogs. Snorkeling reveals another layer to the islands, where you can swim with playful sea lions, drift with fish, and dive down for a closer look at sea turtles and sharks.

The weather grew progressively colder and wetter over the course of the week. We were greeted with sun and shooed off by rain. Even on a rainy day, there were moment of beauty as clouds shifted, bringing a warm glow to the landscape and animals. The main downside of the cooler weather was cooler water. Even with my wetsuit, snorkeling grew gather fearsome by the final day, when we were more being carried along by the choppy, freezing waves than actively swimming. Still worth getting in, though.

Our boat, the Galaxy, held 13 other guests and around 10 crew. The crew couldn’t have been better. They were the best combination of friendly and professional. Our chef Santiago created truly wonderful, beautiful food. Dishes were creatively presented and universally delicious. The other guests were all perfectly fine.

Louis, our guide, is so incredibly knowledgeable that no one ever needed to fear their questions would go unanswered. I don’t think I could have hoped for a better teacher.

As a final note, the lack of internet was 80% relaxing, 20% anxiety-producing. If we weren’t so busy, it’d probably be the other way around. I tend to invent disasters, expecting them to come to fruition once I receive information from the outside world. Good thing I didn’t have enough mental energy to create too many.

I return home tomorrow, thoroughly exhausted but with few complaints and some strong memories that’ll hopefully remain in my mind for a long time to come.

P.S. Here's probably my favorite photo I took the entire trip (a landscape, of course -- I'll upload animal pics later) 

I think I'll print and frame this one after working on it a bit. The above is basically untouched, aside from pulling out some detail from the shadows a tad.  

The Physical Element of Beauty

Let's get the negative out of the way first. The car ride to the train, and the train ride to the town below Machu Picchu were fine. The bus ride to Machu Picchu, which is done at breakneck speed over perilous mountain switchback roads, was not. Well, I suppose the ride itself was okay. It's waiting in line to get on the bus that is not okay.

It can take 2+ hours to wait in a line that stretches throughout much of the town. Then, after hiking all day, you have to wait 2+ hours again -- this time along the switchback road as buses come screaming by inches from where you're standing. It's a truly unpleasant experience, and you should fear it if you visit at this time of year. 

After you brave the mass of humans trying to cram themselves through the narrow park entrance, conditions improve dramatically.  

Round a bend in the mountain to see the landscape open up around you. You're presented with the grandest of grand vistas, containing far too much beauty to absorb in a few seconds. A few minutes. A few hours. Or, if you're to believe our guide Manolo, ever.  

Mountains punch up towards the crisp, blue sky in every direction. The grandest skyscrapers are twigs by comparison. Not even twigs. Brittle flakes of tin. Single strands of hair, so insubstantial they can be blown away in a stiff breeze. No strong wind will topple these mountains. But I've seen mountains before. What I haven't seen is a remarkably well-preserved ancient city improbably perched atop one of these towering behemoths.

Terraces carved into rock encircle the mountain, creating level platforms upon which crops once grew and buildings currently sit. Taking the worthwhile trek to the Sun Gate gives you an expansive view of the entire area. Somehow, improbably, humans once walked to this place, constructing it in a location few would dare travel today without a well-worn trail ahead. 

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, golden light illuminated green terraces, creating deep, long shadows that fell sensuously across sloping hills and jutting stone walls.  

I took photos. I took many photos. I even took a video. None of them even begin to capture the feeling of being in Machu Picchu's physical presence. With endorphins flooding my brain from the hike, and with few other tourists around, my body and brain responded physically to the stunning combination of natural and manmade beauty. It will be difficult to forget that moment. 

Home Schooled

And here I thought there was going to be a whole class! No one told me I was going to be coddled like a home-schooled child. Yesterday, I arrived in the lobby of my hotel ready to greet a group of fellow travelers.

"Benjamin?" asked a voice behind me. I turned to see a man who introduced himself as Manolo, a sixty-something year old Peruvian man who's been giving tours with Mountain Travel Sobek for 28 years. I wondered if I had arrived late, and the rest of the group was waiting outside.

"It's just you," he explained. "Meredith is coming too, but she's not landing for another hour--so we'll start the tour." 

Just me? Oh, the rest of the group must be arriving tomorrow, when we leave Cusco.  

"No, it's just the two of you all week." 

Oh... 

And so began my week of touring Incan ruins, which will hopefully culminate in a trip to Machu Picchu, the ultimate Incan ruin.  

The most striking part of the last two days is just how many local tourists there are at this time of year. Maybe 90% of the tourists crowding the sites/sights are Peruvians. It's actually comforting. When the locals can enjoy the same parts of their country that tourists come to visit, it brings an authenticity to the experience that would be lacking were the ratio to favor the other direction.

So Manolo and Meredith (a pleasant Australian woman) are my companions for the week. And on Friday, we will say adios to Manolo and travel to the Galapagos to join 12 others. This time, I'm pretty sure there will be others.

First Day of School

Tomorrow is my first day of school. I'll meet a bunch of strangers. We'll spend a good part of the day together. We'll learn a lot from our teacher. And then, a week from now, I'll say goodbye to them as I move on to the next portion of my adventure. 

Will they like me? What will they think about me? Will I make friends with any of them? These are the questions I no longer ask myself, because, like all Pokémon must, I have settled into my final form. My adult shell of self-definition is well-enough formed that I no longer care about first, second, or even third impressions. Innocence has given way to cynicism, wonder to indifference. Yay?

I've spent the day before school starts exploring Cusco. Though my stomach decided to thoroughly empty itself in liquid fashion, and though the altitude has me wheezing at the sight of a minor hill, I nevertheless decided to subject myself to the hordes of street pedlers in the hope that I may see something interesting.

After stepping outside, I looked at the map in my hand, a sheet of paper with several points circled. I looked up at the street names around me. I looked down again at the map. I shook it, folded and unfolded it, but still the blue dot displaying my current location would not appear. I shoved it in my pocket and whipped out my other map. After a second, the streets appeared, along with the blue dot and direction I was facing. Now we're cooking!

When I first moved to Rome for a semester, I remember being enamored with the old cobblestone streets. The US is such a wealthy, young nation that even if it once held streets with this kind of character, it had long ago rebuilt them. Seeing so much history around every corner was fascinating. I found the stone streets here of mild interest.

The churches I passed were also of mild interest. The people? Mildly interesting. The stray dogs? Mostly asleep.  The constant stream of locals attempting to sell me their wares (including a woman who jabbed a pin into my shirt and tried to force me to pay), extremely annoying.

Let's just say I'm looking forward to my first day of school, because on day two, the classroom is Machu Picchu.  

The Night Before I Leave

I don't technically leave the country until the day after tomorrow, soon after my flight departs at 1:10AM on Saturday. For me, the trip begins when I leave my apartment, enter the Uber, and begin the most dangerous portion of my journey: the trip to the airport. 

My stomach is awash with nerves, waves of anxiety like writhing parasites trying to escape. Travel is uncomfortable. Masses of people are exhausting. Airplanes are dehydrating. My worries are entirely centered upon the transit from one location to another, when the weather, security lines, and air traffic control must all cooperate in an intricate ballet of human ingenuity and Godly goodwill. 

Ok, so I am a worrier. All that is out of my control is the subject of endless rumination, continuous streams of what-ifs. The nightmare scenario in which everything imaginable goes wrong (ending in my untimely demise) becomes the only realistic outcome in my admittedly warped mind. 

I've always loved the phrase, "the calm before the storm." My anxiety lives in this calm, creating internal energy from external stillness, when all I have to contend with are my thoughts. When the storm hits, as it will around 9PM tomorrow, I will finally be able to take action. Like a horse quivering behind its starting gate, at the count of 3-2-1, I will spring forward!

My muscles will flex, my bowels will empty, and my brain will have other matters to usurp its compute cycles. I'll be on the adventure, and the week of worries will be past.