​I recently made a video montage of my journey through Australia. Distilling the best video clips into one sequence was a great way to process all of the incredible landscapes, wildlife, festivals, sports, historical sites, road trips, and unexpected thrills.

​I also had fun picking music from artists that were connected to the trip in some way. For example, the first piece "Love Token" is written and performed by an Australian guitar duo, the Grigoryan brothers. I learned about them from my host in Perth, and later saw the brothers perform a concert in Melbourne (which included the piece). As it turned out, "Love Token" was part of an album commissioned by the National Museum of Australia, which I had visited in Canberra and absolutely adored. The name of the song is a reference to a category of artifact from the convict era: an engraved coin the convicts would leave with their loved ones as a memento before starting the journey to Australia. A fitting start to the montage.

Other songs had similar connections. The classical piece "Toreadors" (from Carmen) was part of the opera revue I attended at the Sydney Opera House. Musicians Vika & Linda were a recommendation from my Melbourne host, Gail. Together we saw Charlie Needs Braces perform at the Gasworks in Melbourne. While at a guitar jam session in Perth, I was introduced to the Western Australian band The Waifs. And some songs I just liked listening to, like the high energy rap of Aboriginal artist Baker Boy and the Uluru-inspired "Solid Rock" by Goanna.

Most of the video footage comes from my GoPro, with some supplemental footage from my phone camera. I didn't always bring my GoPro, so there are some notable places missing -- Brisbane, the Grampians, and Whitehaven Beach come to mind. But the video's already long enough, so that can be forgiven. Hope you enjoy it.

​Isabela was the third island on our Galápagos itinerary. It’s the largest island in the archipelago, shaped roughly like a seahorse holding onto a rock, and formed by 6 overlapping volcanoes. Its main town, Puerto Villamil, was the smallest of the three ports we stayed in. Overall, Isabela felt less developed, both in terms of its geology and human infrastructure, making it the perfect launching point to experience the raw nature of the Galápagos. All three of our day tours – Las Tintoreras, Sierra Negra, and Los Túneles – were huge winners, with breathtaking volcanic formations and abundant wildlife. Highlight sightings included Galápagos penguins, white-tipped reef sharks, and the island’s unofficial mascot, the seahorse.

​We arrived on a morning ferry from Santa Cruz. Our vessel, Legendary, had bigger windows so we could see the horizon this time. An hour and a half later, we arrived in the rock and mangrove-ringed Isabela harbor. As usual we were picked up by a water taxi. The driver played a scam on the group by claiming someone hadn’t paid their $1 fee, holding everyone in limbo until a good Samaritan coughed up an extra dollar. At the Isabela pier, we paid a small tourist fee and wrote down a contact email address on a very unofficial looking piece of paper. Nearby, sea lions had taken over one of the boat launches, jockeying for position on the stairs and growling at tourists who stepped too close. Our land taxi driver didn’t come across as very friendly but got us across town to the AirBNB.

​“Flip Flop House” was a modern and well-maintained property, with a large courtyard, a fully tooled kitchen, a laundry room, and a house manual worthy of a design award. The jug of drinking water was connected to a motorized straw, so that potable water could be dispensed through a convenient spigot alongside the main tap. If the jug ran out, scanning a QR code in the house manual would automatically compose a WhatsApp message in Spanish requesting a refill. The AirBNB also seemed kid-friendly, with games and children’s books in both English and Spanish. The room I shared with my parents had three twin beds, a good setup for families traveling. Some other details in the courtyard included: a shower for rinsing the sand off your feet, a hammock, and a welcome mat with a turtle pattern. It was a wonderful home for 3 days.

​We had some bread and peanut butter with us, which kept the hunger at bay, but we soon headed into town to explore and find a proper lunch. As we explored Puerto Villamil, we stumbled upon a coastal viewing platform, a decorative Isabela sign, and a lagoon with wild flamingos.

​There were a good number of restaurants right along the sandy beach, and we browsed menus to evaluate vegan options for Vince and Rachel. We settled on a spot called The Beach, which turned into our go-to destination for the whole stay. The service was friendly, the drinks packed a punch, and the food was tasty. On this first visit, we all tried their maracuyá (passion fruit) juice. I had their pescado encocado (coconut fish) with patacones (fried smashed green plaintains). Yum! Others at the table had their grilled veggie platters which were elevated, literally. Throw in some beach views, and we were happy campers.

​While our day tours on Isabela were enjoyable, there was a lot of unpredictability from the use of subcontractors to deliver gear rentals, taxi pick-ups, and the actual excursions. We booked through a company called Galápagos Native, but it operated as a shell company. None of our vehicles or guides had any Galápagos Native branding. Instead, they farmed out to other operators. Confusingly, gear rental was partially split between the parent company and their subcontractors. For our first snorkeling tour to Las Tintoreras, we picked up normal-length wetsuits at a Galápagos Native office the day before. Full length wetsuits, for those desiring extra warmth, were picked up from a second shop on the way to the pier. Masks and fins were provided on board the boat, a third source.

The pick-up van that collected us from the AirBNB was late, but we eventually made it to the pier and met our nature guide Tito Franco. From there it was smooth sailing. The boat, Manta Raya, was mercifully spacious. A major relief, as we were still a bit traumatized from the overcrowded boat on the Las Grietas tour. The skipper of the Manta Raya was excellent at nudging the boat close to the rocks for animal viewing, and provided both sides equal chances to see them up close. Tito Franco was a great guide, providing facts about the animals at a good cadence in both English and Spanish.

​During the first part of the cruise, we saw Galápagos penguins. They’re the second smallest penguins in the world, just ahead of the fairy penguins of Australia and New Zealand. Given that I’d only seen fairy penguins recently, the Galápagos penguins looked big to me! It was hard to believe there were cold-loving penguins living near the Equator. This species was adapted to the heat, but still had to find ways to stay cool. One jumped from the rocks into the water for a refreshing (and entertaining) bath.

The name of the tour, “Las Tintoreras,” is the Spanish word for the white-tipped reef sharks that inhabit the area. I had briefly glimpsed the white-tipped sharks in the murky reef on San Cristóbal, but the sharks on Isabela were next level. From the boat, we went on a short hike to a viewing area overlooking a shark-filled channel with clear water. There were dozens of white-tipped sharks resting on the bottom in giant dogpiles, with a handful swimming circles above. Seeing so many in one place was awe-inspiring. Competing for our attention were a few enormous sea turtles, nibbling on algae and sticking their heads above the surface, which were also an amazing sight.

​We returned to the boat and prepared for the snorkeling part of the tour, donning wetsuits and applying anti-fog solution to our masks. The cove where we mustered had plenty of interesting sights, including turtles and an octopus. The octopus was camouflaged when stationary, and I only spotted it because it was initially swimming with its tentacles out.

​Moving as a group, we left the cove and swam across a stretch of more open ocean towards the lava rocks on the other side. Some of the younger kids on the tour were wild in the water, inadvertently tailgating or kicking people with their fins. The more graceful swimmers were the playful sea lions that performed an underwater dance. They dove and spiraled and chased fish, getting so close we could see their googly eyes staring back at us.

​On the other side of the crossing, the group reconfigured into a single file line and swam into a narrow lava channel. You could easily touch both sides, so avoiding a crash required a bit of focus. We were encouraged to swim slowly and avoid kicking up bubbles to better see the bottom, which was filled with… more white-tipped reef sharks! After viewing them from land, we were now swimming just feet above. It felt like a tense scene in a movie where the heroes have to tip-toe past a nest of sleeping dragons without waking them. One or two sharks stirred and started to swim. With the tunnel vision of the narrow channel, we couldn’t help but look down, and hope they took no interest in us swimmers. Sharks aside, the channel also had some interesting algae, a hidden sea lion that startled me, and a funky translucent shrimp swimming at eye level. Along the way, one of my dad’s fins broke, but he managed to catch up with the group before we climbed back into the boat.

That evening, we cooked a pasta dinner at the AirBNB. The ingredients on Isabela were pretty expensive ($10 for a large can of peeled tomatoes!) Ecuador uses the US dollar as its official currency, so there was no exchange rate to consider… only island pricing. Going out for groceries was a good way to explore Puerto Villamil. The town was quiet in the afternoon, but it came to life at night. People gathered around outdoor grills, skate parks, and TV screens showing Copa America matches. Bakeries seemed to be open all day, and cafes that were closed in the morning had their neon signs illuminated in the evening. My dad practiced his Spanish, successfully ordering a chocolate bread from a panadería.

​Visiting the Sierra Negra volcano required a professional nature guide. The nature guides had presumably lobbied the national park to add this requirement. We got the impression there was a surplus of guides, and with tourism at 70% of normal, they were struggling to find work. Ours was a tiny 75-year-old Ecuadorian man named Wilmer. To our surprise, he launched right into the hike, leaving the rest of us in the dust (and without an opportunity to use the bathroom). He seemed more focused on finishing the hike than looking after the group. An Italian couple who fell behind angrily yelled at him for ignoring the people at the back. Given the tour company’s slow start, rushing the guests felt especially bad. And the pace made it hard to appreciate the natural environment. Wilmer breezed past a beautiful vermilion flycatcher, a Galápagos bird with bright red colors, without alerting the group. So much for a “nature guide.”

​We were the first group to arrive at the first viewpoint. The Sierra Negra volcano is the second largest volcanic crater in the world. We had the luck of visiting on a clear day. At a glance, it had a simple color scheme: a pitch-black floor and bright green hillsides, both extending far into the horizon. Looking more closely, the floor of the crater was textured with ridges and cracks. These enormous fissures crisscrossed the crater’s expanse, their fraying edges marking where viscous lava flows had halted. The freshest rock was on the opposite side of the crater, a burn scar in the vegetation from the 2005 eruption. We loved seeing the fog rolling over the ridge and into the crater.

​The hike continued around the edge of the crater towards these newer flows. Then it descended the slope of Sierra Negra and entered a raw, exposed region called Volcán Chico, formed by a 1979 eruption. Only the hardiest cactus could grow here. The geology was the star of the show. The buildup and collapse of lava layers had formed the most unusual shapes: huge troughs running downhill like sluices, domes with missing chunks that revealed elaborate striations, sinkholes with slabs of rock at oblique angles like the collapsed roads in apocalyptic movies. I particularly liked the black and yellow gradients on the sulfur-rich hills. The terrain was treacherous and exposed to the full sun. My mom made excellent use of her hiking poles for stability, and proved her hiking endurance.

At the furthest point on the hike, we sat and enjoyed panoramic views of the whole archipelago. We could see down the length of Isabela, and its neighboring islands like Fernandina and Santa Cruz. The tour provided a basic lunch, a sandwich with cheese and a fruity spread. During the break, we pored over the interesting rock fragments lying within reach.

​The return hike started uphill, and an over-dressed member of group suffered from heat stroke. While she recovered, we waited at a shaded picnic area where a horseback tour was getting back in their saddles. Moving once again, we chatted with a friendly Brazilian lady who worked for the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) and had many fascinating travel stories. The return journey was made more pleasant by the conversation but still seemed to take forever. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who felt this way. The impatient bus driver took the vehicle onto the trail to intercept us, instead of waiting for us to reach the parking lot. They drove like a bat out of hell, flying down the mountain back to Puerto Villamil.

Our plans for an early dinner were thwarted by restaurant hours. Our first stop, The Beach, wasn’t yet open. I was falling into a hunger-spiral and broke it with a cinnamon roll from a nearby bakery. We waited for a different restaurant to open, but the hours on Google were incorrect. By then, The Beach was open so we returned there for another meal and happy hour drinks. Their caipiriñas were boozy and limey, their regular daiquiris had generous helpings of mint, and their frozen maracuyá daiquiris were imposing dollops of orange. It was just what we needed after the big hike. We had a laugh over our attempt to pronounce "tuna tartare" with a Spanish inflection when ordering.

​The third Isabela day centered on a boating tour to Los Túneles. From the AirBNB, the taxi driver first took us to a  gear shop called Banana for our wetsuits, fins, and masks. At the pier, we were thrilled to find our favorite nature guide from the Tintoreras tour, Tito Franco, reprising his role. We took a water taxi to our spacious main boat. It was just 10 people on the boat – ourselves, a German family, and an American couple. During the initial boat "navigation" (as the guides called each leg of journey) we stopped at a rock formation with Nazca boobies. The crashing waves gave it a sense of mystery and majesty.

​Out of all the permutations of volcanic rock we’d seen in the Galápagos, Los Túneles and had to be the most fascinating form. The slow collapse of a lava field into the ocean had formed a network of hundreds of interconnected channels and tunnels. The natural bridges, adorned with cactus and shrubs, were hovering just feet above the water. The water was reasonably clear, allowing us to see dozens of turtles below. The color scheme was dark and moody, but the atmosphere was peaceful.

When we first arrived, the tour split into a land group and a water group. As the land group, we took a pontoon boat and clambered ashore, a curious juvenile sea lion in close pursuit. The walking terrain was some of the sharpest and rugged we’d encountered, so both my brother and I walked alongside my dad. While steering him down the most straightforward path, I ended up in the shrubs where a surprisingly sturdy branch slashed my leg. The resulting wound was painful and unexpected. Thankfully, it created a natural flap of skin that minimized the bleeding.
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Tito Franco led us to a several blue footed boobies, including one sitting on a nest and a pair absorbed in their courtship dance. We were much closer to the birds than our first encounter on Santa Cruz. It was also a more remote setting, with no other people or boats within earshot. It felt like stepping onto hallowed ground.

​Soon it was our turn for the pontoon boat cruise through the tunnels. We briefly went underneath one of the bridges, leaning back to avoid getting poked by its spiky underside. Another highlight was spotting a bright yellow pufferfish in the water. The scenery was striking, and thoroughly distracted me from the fresh cut on my leg. I cleaned it once we returned to the main boat.

​The final stage of the outing was a long snorkel in a cove with similar terrain to Los Túneles. It was a little murky but packed with interesting animals. It was here we saw the sea horses! They were near the mangroves, hugging underwater branches with their tails, so camouflaged and stationary that only an expert guide could spot them. Easier to notice were the spotted eagle rays, swimming in formation with brown stingrays. There were also white-tipped reef sharks sleeping in quiet corners, large sea turtles grazing in the open, and schools of rainbow wrasse. I prayed that the sharks weren’t sensing my open wound. Thankfully, none approached.

The water was cold, so after an hour of swimming, we were ready to exit the water and warm-up. The crew hosed us down as we climbed the ladder, presumably to take extra good care of their beloved new boat. We snacked on sandwiches and returned to Puerto Villamil in comfort.
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It was the last proper evening of the trip, so we celebrated with a third visit to The Beach. This time, I tried the elaborate seafood platter, which included generous portions of grilled fish, shrimp, octopus, and lobster. Our guide mentioned it was currently lobster season, which draws the spotted eagle rays closer to shore. You could say this final taste of the Galápagos was a feast fit for an eagle ray!

​The process of getting back to California was one of the longest periods of continuous travel that I’ve experienced. It started with a 5:00am departure to catch the ferry from Isabela to Santa Cruz. Upon arrival, the gangway was obstructed by a cute but inconvenient sea lion. The staff poured water on its head to coax it away.

​We had an afternoon layover in Puerto Ayora, where we camped out at the acaí bowl café. They had just gotten their power back after an island-wide outage. From there, we took a taxi across the highlands to the north side of the island. Our driver Vladimir was a colleague of Luis, who had been our main driver on Santa Cruz. Both were friendly and professional. We talked with Vladimir in Spanish about regional accents in Latin America and abandoned buildings on Baltra island.

​The Santa Cruz airport wasn’t on Santa Cruz, but actually on a small neighboring island called Baltra. It had been a US military base before it was returned to Ecuador. The ferry boats making the crossing carried the luggage on top. On the other side, we boarded a bus that took us to the actual terminal.

​The Baltra airport, code GPS for Galapagos, was the best part of the journey. The patches of rock debris surrounding the terminal were filled with land iguanas, who basked in sun and lazily crossed the footpaths. After seeing so many of the black marine iguanas, it was nice to see their yellow-tinged terrestrial counterparts. The terminal also had a surprising number of souvenir shops. 

We boarded the Avianca flight and flew directly to Quito, with no stopover in Guayaquil this time. During the landing, we glimpsed Cotopaxi but the clouds hid its full splendor. In Quito, I said goodbye to the other four, who continued their South America journey for several more weeks. While they headed to an airport hotel for the night, I began a 6 hour layover. I spent time at Café Amazonas listening to Andean folk music, crossed through security, and found a quiet corner by a gift shop. The MVP of the layover was the book I was reading, "A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor" by Hank Green, with an honorable mention to the bag of tostones that sustained me.

On the plane from Quito to Houston, I had an aisle seat in the very last row. Initially I was stuck between a dad and the rest of his family, crying baby included. However, the dad moved to sit with the family, freeing up the middle seat and quieting the baby. I managed to get a little rest. After a few hours in Houston, I boarded the plane to San Francisco. I was excited to see the familiar golden hills of California knowing this was my real homecoming.
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Three days on Isabela was the perfect “last blast” to cap off a year of travel. From rugged craters to the white-tipped sharks, the island delivered on both land and sea. ​My brother did a great job of creating our DIY itinerary, building on his prior knowledge of the area. It was still a logistically challenging chapter, but a very special place that merited the effort.

Following our stay on the island of San Cristóbal, we traveled west to the island of Santa Cruz, the main population center and tourist hub in the Galápagos. The main town was called Puerto Ayora. It had a bustling waterfront that quickly mellowed into a labyrinth of quiet streets and alleyways.
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On this island, the attractions were similar to San Cristóbal: snorkeling near lava fields, gawking at tortoises in the highlands, and the general chaos of marine animals and humans coexisting. But like Darwin’s finches, if you looked closely, there were subtle differences. Santa Cruz had fewer sea lions and more marine iguanas. There were more tourists crammed into each tour boat. It had a broader selection of restaurants, including more trendy cafés worthy of a digital nomad. The tap water was worse quality. There were more outdoor attractions, plazas, and playgrounds. An overabundance of "guías naturalistas" (nature guides) aggressively offering their services. A bigger grocery store, with even bigger tortillas. And a ridiculous number of interchangeable souvenir shops offering the same “I love boobies” t-shirts, which seemed to defy the Darwinian concept of exclusive niches. We did actually get to see the famous blue-footed boobies for the first time on Santa Cruz. These goofy birds were the highlight of an otherwise underwhelming tour of Academy Bay, which will shortly be recounted in its tepid entirety. Another highlight of Santa Cruz was the hilariously named Chocolápagos, a hidden gem of the archipelago.

Traveling by inter-island ferry was not what I expected. The mode of transportation was not a single ferry but rather a fleet of smaller vessels all departing at the same time. We started with an early morning arrival at the Muelle Tiburón Martillo (Hammerhead Dock) in San Cristóbal. The ferry company gave us reusable ticket-lanyards with the name of our vessel, the Angel Kellie. We went through a biosecurity checkpoint and waited in line on the pier. Military personnel helped direct the passengers. Before departure, the uniformed men stepped onboard to take a photo of the passenger cohort.
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The Angel Kellie was moored in the harbor, necessitating a short water taxi ride. The water taxis ended up being a standard feature of all the ferries and boat tours we took in the Galápagos. They all charged $1 per passenger, and usually contained around 20 passengers shoulder-to-shoulder. Helping my dad safely climb from the water taxi onto the main boat was tricky, but without incident. The most nerve-wracking part was fearing for the safety of our luggage, precariously stacked on the bow. Often there was no railing keeping the suitcases constrained as the boat pitched side to side. Through a combination of friction, sheer luck, and the collective willpower of everyone watching, the bags held their grip.

​The windows on the Angel Kellie were placed too high to see the horizon, denying an important lifeline to the seasick-prone. To make matters worse, we wore bulky life jackets that made the otherwise comfortable seats uncomfortable. The crew passed out juice boxes and crackers, a nice gesture. The goods were stashed for later: it was a rocky 2-hour journey, and avoiding a trip to the bathroom was ideal. I tried to listen to music, but the roar of the engines drowned out the majority.

Off the shore of Santa Cruz, the water taxi circus was repeated in reverse, now with demoralized motion-sick passengers. A nearly-forgotten bike was handed down from the Angel Kellie and stacked on the luggage pile. The taxi crews unloaded the bags onto a tiny floating platform, rolling and pitching with the waves. Four-wheel suitcases, inadvertently placed on their wheels, lurched ominously towards the edge of the platform. We found our bags in the scramble and carted them up the ramp to the pier, where a pier worker was amping up a playful baby sea lion to entertain anyone nearby.

Next, we hailed a land taxi: the Galápagos standard white pickup truck. Our kind driver Luis became a helpful local contact during our time on Santa Cruz. I rode in the back with the luggage, getting my first glimpse of Puerto Ayora’s restaurants and shops.
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The AirBNB was deserted when we arrived at the gate. The host had said it would be ready for early check-in, a huge stroke of luck, but she was nowhere to be found. After numerous texts and calls, someone finally showed up with the keys, and gave us a tour of the property. We were warned about the ants and the tap water. Organic trash was to be kept in the freezer, or else the ants would quickly find it – a fact that we inadvertently confirmed. And the tap water was so unequivocally bad that its use was discouraged by locals. A water cooler and on-demand jug deliveries were an effective, if inconvenient, replacement.

It was the largest AirBNB property we’ve ever stayed at: an entire two-story house with a courtyard. There was a spacious living room, kitchen, and dining room, plus four bedrooms and many bathrooms. ​I had my own room but was subjected to the intermittent mechanical squeaking of a pump in the backyard. The second floor had a patio with hammocks, where I hung my clothes to dry after a round of sink laundry. The weak Wi-Fi would have frustrated even a tortoise, but there was a Galápagos guidebook that served as an enriching alternative.  ​My favorite feature of the AirBNB was the pair of wooden handles on the front door, carved in the shape of iguanas. 

​After the morning’s chaos, we were starving and headed to Café 1835 for brunch. Like many things in the archipelago, the café’s name was a nod to Darwin’s visit on the Beagle in 1835. The café had an excellent menu of bowls, breakfast plates, and coffee. It had an attractive design, with open walls, plants growing on trellises, and local coffee beans for sales. It seemed popular with enlightened young professionals. I spotted one reading a book titled “Si lo Crees, lo Creas” (If you believe in it, you will create it). The Wi-Fi at 1835 was more reliable than our AirBNB, so it was also a good destination for pre-arranged phone calls back home.

​Getting to the Charles Darwin Research Station was a little confusing. On the map, it seemed like a short drive, so we hailed a taxi. They declined, pointing us to the pedestrian entrance within sight. Heading in that direction, a guía naturalista rushed out of a small office to intercept us. They explained that a nature guide was needed to visit the station. We only wanted to see the museum area, which was an exception to the guide rule, and they reluctantly let us go. Along the walk, we encountered a group of marine iguanas, sunbathing on a concrete boat launch ramp. The border of the ramp was painted with black and yellow stripes, each black stripe big enough for one black iguana. I guess their evolutionary instincts of camouflage have adapted to the modern world.

​The research station was a cute little complex with posters, scientific specimens, and a gift shop. I was expecting more of a natural history museum, like the Interpretation Center on San Cristóbal, but here it was a degree or two lighter on the content. One fun fact I learned was that a tortoise named Harriet, originally collected by Darwin, had lived at the Australia Zoo until her death in 2006 at the age of 175.

​We found a short path that continued down to the water. It was close to a marine iguana nesting area, and we saw a dozen or so iguanas in their characteristic dogpile. While these social reptiles originated on the mainland, here in the Galápagos, they adapted the unique ability to swim and dive for algae. The iguanas can dive up to 30 meters and spend as long as an hour underwater! Sub-species on other islands have green and red colors, though we only saw black ones. They blended in with the volcanic rock perfectly.

Unfortunately, while crossing some volcanic rocks, my dad fell forward and scraped his arms. We headed back to the AirBNB to dress the wounds, which thankfully were mild. It was his second fall of the trip, after the 360 boating tour on San Cristóbal, so we were naturally a bit worried about the frequency. The rest of the trip, he played it safe by sitting out a few treacherous hikes, and the rest of us offered a helping hand even more enthusiastically than before.
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From the moment we saw the Chocolápagos signboard, we knew it would be an essential part of our visit. The love of chocolate runs deep in the family. Though initially closed for lunch hour, we returned later in the day when it was open. The owner was an English speaking fellow with an eclectic international background. He grew up on Santa Cruz, had spent time in the US and Brazil, and studied to be chocolatier in Argentina. We appreciated his chatty and direct style, not afraid to give us his take on the politics and violence in mainland Ecuador. And the chocolates were delicious! Turtle-shaped, and a great selection of classic and Latin American flavors. I tried the passionfruit, coffee, and dulce de leche. A few days later, we returned for a souvenir box to take home.

​For dinner, we found an upscale restaurant with a happy hour special and views of a small fishing harbor. For the main course, I had a local fish called “brujo” (scorpionfish) which was filling and delicious.

​We headed in the general direction of the grocery store, stopping at the main pier which was beautifully illuminated. It was the perfect place for wildlife spotting after dark. There were pelicans, sea lions, black tipped reef sharks, and turtles.

​The main grocery store, Proinsular, was bigger than the independent stores on San Cristóbal, but still island sized. It fell short on fresh produce (totally understandable given its remote location), having more depth in dry goods. We picked up ingredients to make burritos, including ají sauce to elevate them into Ecuadorian burritos. The burritos were a big hit with the crew, so we returned to Proinsular for more tortillas. The second visit, the only option was a pack of the biggest tortillas I’ve ever seen. When I added it to my basket, a nearby family took note and exclaimed “mira esa tortillón!” (look at that massive tortilla!)

​On our second day in Santa Cruz, we arranged for Luis to drive us into the highlands. We started with a short hike around Los Gémelos (The Twins), a pair of volcanic sinkholes in a scenic forest. The visibility across the sinkholes was perfect – never guaranteed in the misty highlands. The dense forest was made of Scalesia trees draped with tufty moss, creating a fairytale atmosphere. We even met a few of the beautiful Galápagos doves.

​The second stop was a Lava Tunnel, a surprisingly long subterranean breezeway. Those in our group who were hesitant about tight spaces went ahead with Luis and descended the staircase on the other side, which had a taller chamber. The rest of us crawled through a 3-foot gap to reach the main part of the tunnel. There were electric lights that made the tunnel’s impressive dimensions even more dazzling. A few tiny plants that had taken root in the corners added to the primordial mystique.

​The Tortoise Sanctuary was the main draw of the highlands. We had a wonderful guide who walked us through the grounds and provided rich information about the tortoises and plants. The happy, free-ranging tortoises seemed to be enjoying their mudbaths and fresh guava. One tortoise, named Yoda, looked particularly old and wise. They can live over 100 years! Along the way, the guide pointed out a coffee tree with edible berries – one of several introduced crops that can be grown on the island.

​The tortoise shell is a giant set of fused bones, covered with keratin scales like armor plates. The shell shape depends on the sex and sub-species. The tortoise sub-species evolved based on different food sources across the archipelago. On bigger islands where moisture at higher elevations enabled the growth of taller trees, the tortoises evolved longer necks. Unfortunately, not all these sub-species survived the over-hunting of the early explorers. The celebrity tortoise Lonesome George, the last of the Pinta Island sub-species, died in 2012.

​Here at the sanctuary, it was a rosier picture. We saw dozens of tortoises during our short visit, and there seemed to be hundreds on the property. Our taxi had trouble getting out of the parking lot, as it was “parked in” by a tortoise on the driver’s side. Maybe it needed a lift to the Shell station? On the drive back to town, we saw tortoises by the side of the road, justifying the tortoise crossing signs.

We had a little siesta at the AirBNB, and then a souvenir and ice cream outing. A few memorable stores included the quirky Patas Azules ("blue feet") offering specialty socks, and the diving apparel brand Darwin + Wolf, presumably named for the two remotest islands of the archipelago where you can scuba with the sharks. I enjoyed browsing their selection and walked out with a black rashguard with a map of the Galápagos and the Darwin + Wolf logo: a shark with a diagonal red stripe, evoking the diver flag.

On our third morning in Santa Cruz, we embarked on a half-day tour of Academy Bay and Las Grietas (“the fissures”). It was a disjointed start to the day. It was our only snorkeling tour that didn’t include a wetsuit and fins, so in the morning, we visited a gear rental shop they recommended. Of course, the shop didn’t open at the time listed on Google, requiring a second visit an hour later. Once open, we frantically tried on the gear and took a taxi back to the AirBNB for our rendezvous. There, an agent from the company handed us off to a taxi driver, who left us at the pier, where another agent collected us and shepherded us onto the boat with our nature guide. We initially thought we were boarding a water taxi, as there were about 20 people tightly packed with minimal elbow room. However, this turned out to be the boat for the whole outing – a mortifying realization. The initial impression of the nature guide also wasn’t great, as he didn’t speak loudly enough for everyone to hear.

The boat stopped at a pier where we disembarked and started an overland hike to Las Grietas. The volcanic terrain was a bit technical, so my dad took it at a deliberate pace while I assisted. Around us were pink salt ponds, bare lava rocks, and sparse cactus. Very different from the lush highlands.
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The lava fissure of Las Grietas was a unique place to snorkel, with imposing walls on either side. Getting in and out of the water was a bit tricky, as the entry point was both slippery and crowded. There were some parrotfish swimming below, but otherwise not a ton to see. The wetsuits were helpful in the cold water. Even though our group was the first of the day, and it seemed that the tour companies were coordinating to stagger their arrivals, it was too small a space for the volume of visitors.

On the return journey, the nature guide offered his assistance, speeding up my dad’s progress over the rocks. It was a nice gesture that improved our impression of the guide. However, the speed wasn’t really needed. We were detoured to a snack shack, whose owner was probably in cahoots with the tour companies. And at the pier, we had to wait a while for the boat driver to pick us up. The boat was parked within earshot, and the nature guide whistled and yelled, but the driver had presumably fallen asleep and didn’t heed the call.
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The second stop was another land excursion, but more challenging than anyone expected. The pier was a janky wooden jetty with a stepladder that could only be accessed from the bow of the boat. My dad, respecting his limits, sat this one out. It was another rocky hike, and I wished I had proper shoes instead of my dilapidated hiking sandals.

​The path led to a nesting area for the blue footed boobies, where we got to see their famous courtship dance up close. It involved several males marching in place, showing off their feet through exaggerated steps, and opening their wings to strike poses. These suitors expressed their enthusiasm with whistling sounds and vigorous nodding, sometimes reciprocated by their love interest. It was both goofy and awe-inspiring at the same time, something out of a nature documentary. The boobies are not born with blue feet; rather the color becomes brighter as they eat more fish. The courtship dance is their way of advertising their fish hunting skills. The name “boobie” comes the Spanish “bobo,” meaning dummy – a reference to the birds’ gullibility around humans. They were indeed unfazed. A settled pair of boobies didn’t seem alarmed by our presence, even though we were just feet away.

​Also on the island was a channel where sharks can be seen, but the water was murky. Instead, I was held rapt by a mockingbird singing on a cactus stump.

​A few minutes after getting on the boat, it was time for a second snorkel, this time in Academy Bay. However, the water visibility was dismal. We were close to the shore and barely able to see the rocks and urchins just a foot or two below us. Disoriented fish were churned by the tides, and sea turtles were still blurry blobs even when viewed from point blank. A few minutes were all I needed before getting right back into the boat.

​On the return to Puerto Ayora, the crew's attempt to pass out drinks was thwarted by the bumpiness of the waves across Academy Bay. The fellow sitting across from me looked incredible seasick but held together. Getting off the crowded boat was a huge relief. A little comfort food was in order, taking the form of acaí bowls. It was another excellent café with a pleasant design aesthetic. My foamy latte was served in a charming square mug.

​Determined not to let the disappointing Grietas tour define the day, I set out for an afternoon adventure with my parents. There was a popular pathway that connected Puerto Ayora to the wide beaches of Tortuga Bay. It was a relief to find a straight, flat hike after so many lava rock scrambles. The path was surrounded by a forest of cactus with healthy Mickey Mouse shaped leaves. Lava lizards scrambled over the stone walls that bordered the path, offering just a glimpse of their red throats and speckled backs.

​The beach was the only significant white sand beach we visited in the Galápagos. In the first stretch, brave surfers ignored the posted warnings and rode the wild waves from the open ocean. Beyond a thicket of mangroves was a second, more protected cove. Here, groups from cruise ships lounged on the sand or played games in the clear shallows. There was also a marine iguana colony with dozens of iguanas of all sizes, and a few black lava herons.

On the return walk, we passed more families enjoying the afternoon, local teens with surfboards, and a kids soccer team running drills. We took the scenic route along the waterfront, picking up a few things at the grocery store, including a fruit called “tamarillo” (tree tomato) that I wanted to sample. Some filling burritos made with tortillón were a great ending to the day.
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Santa Cruz was the best of times and worst of times. Visiting the highlands with Luis, the walk to Tortuga Bay, and local culinary treats were simply delightful. On the other hand, the uncomfortable ferry ride on the Angel Kellie, the morning scramble to rent snorkeling gear, and the lackluster Grietas tour were some of the low points of the week. But as with many travel nightmares, their infamy gradually morphs into a sense of pride: we survived to tell the tale!