Marine Iguanas and Blue-Footed Boobies

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.

After a brief browse, we had a cold drink on the patio. Fearless finches landed in the center of the table, casting aside thousands of years of natural selection and going straight for the human food.

​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!