Isla Santa Cruz - Lonesome George

Friday, July 10th. Isla Santa Cruz - Lonesome George.

We take the zodiacs into the port of Santa Cruz and are met by a small tour bus to drive our group up to the highlands of the island where we will see the giant tortoises in their natural habitat. The town has grown considerable since I was here five years ago and several three-story hotels have sprung up on the waterfront, blocking the view of the harbor. It's early morning, but the many cafes are opening their shutters in preparation for the tourists that will flock to the town. As we drive out of town and into the highlands, the vegetation becomes lush and green. The morning is overcast and misty and we pass simple cinderblock houses and farms; the paint faded and worn and the red soil permeated everything around. Banana trees and trumpet flowers grow in abundance, their drooping, ivory colored, bell shaped flowers heavy with rain. Our first brief stop is to a lava tube and our group descends the slippery rock stairs into darkness, punctuated only by the occasional flash of some ones camera. As we exit, Alexis finds the light and the immense tunnel is illuminated. The tube is 15' in diameter and extends for as far as we can see, but parts of it have collapsed and we retrace our steps back to the waiting bus. The bus turns down a hard packed dirt road and several people exclaim when they spot a giant tortoise in the farmland; an immense bump in the grassy fields. The tortoises are wild here and the local ranchers have a symbiotic relationship with them. Each day, multiple tour buses arrive with groups that traipse through their fields to get a close up look at these prehistoric creatures. This rancher has built an open visitors center and supplies rubber boots to the tourists in hopes that at the end of the visit, a drink, an ice cream or a postcard may be sold. We don our rubber boots and walk out along muddy paths into the fields. Several giants are at rest in the tall grass, their worn shells, glistening with moisture. Although we must stay a respectable distance from the tortoises, it’s not too challenging to take up close and personal photographs. Further, into the fields we come upon a swampy pond with three semi-submerged tortoises taking their morning mud baths. I have seen Franz Lanting's photograph of the giant tortoises in a pond, mist gently shrouding their shapes. I presume it was taken in this same spot, but at dawn with the mist rising. I know that it takes much planning and patience to capture an exquisite photograph at the optimum time of day. We have plenty of time to spend with the tortoises but when we drive away in the bus, we are blocked by a lone tortoise dead center in the red dirt road. The bus stops and Alexis gets out and prods the tortoise underneath his tail until irritated, he moves slowly to the side of the road and we can pass.

Our afternoon visit is to the Darwin Research Center. This excursion is somewhat boring to me, but we meet lone George, the last surviving tortoise of his species and listen to Alexis drone on about his perceived breeding conspiracy theory. The pens of baby tortoises are very cute and John and I wonder what the penalty would be for tortoise napping. We later lean that we have an alternative and can purchase a giant tortoise for a mere $100,000. We walk from the Darwin center through town, stopping at numerous tourist gift shops in search of the perfect Galapagos souvenir, which apparently does not exist. In my many travels, it's always disappointing, how limited the selection of good designs are. The Galapagos themed jewelry available is crude and uninspired and I fantasize about having a stylish jewelry shop here. We find an internet cafe, call home, and are relieved to know that all is fine at home.

Just Another Day in Paradise. - Bartolome Island

Thursday, July 9th. Just Another Day in Paradise. - Bartolome Island

We have a 6:00 A.M. wake up call so that we can be on Isle Bartolome before sunrise. Shortly after 7:00 A.M., we make a dry landing on the island, but the morning is heavily overcast and the sun has already risen. Nevertheless, the hike to the top of the mountain is enjoyable and the classic view of Bartolome Bay, with "Shark Tooth" rock jutting skyward, is beautiful. We have our snorkeling gear with us and following our hike, we snorkel from beach. It's another exceptional snorkeling experience and we swim slowly around the outcropping rocks to a sheltered area abundant with colorful fish. Many hundreds of disc shaped steely blue-grey fish with brilliant yellow tails, school together. They hang suspended in the clear water, undulating with the current. A variety of colorful parrot fish, solitary swimmers, two to three feet long, munches on the coral, their crunching sound amplified underwater. I am alone in a sheltered cove when a dozen 18" penguins torpedo past me. They startle and delight me but are gone in an instant. John's gills are now fully developed and I watch him dive repeatedly; ferreting out more unusual fish 15 feet below the surface. Richard has taken a liking to John and they have been exploring the reefs together, two sets of flippers simultaneously disappearing below the surface. Richard is Tara's and Nicolai’s father, an extremely lithe and fit man in his mid to late 40's and this informal buddy system eases some of my concerns for John's safety.

Just before lunch, we motor to La Baltra Island for refueling. The plan is to have lunch during the refueling process, but we arrive later than expected at the dock. We are not allowed on deck during this process, so linger at the dining tables, watching. Later in the afternoon, we have a dry landing on north Isla Seymour. Once again we are greeted by marine iguanas, but the highlight of this island are the land iguanas, There are several thousand on this island and it isn't long before we spot our first golden beauty. They are large and meaty; their skin, variegated colors of burnt umber, yellow and gold. The jeweled scales atop their heads are nubby, like kernels of corn on a dried husk in rich harvest colors. We spot these solitary lizards, poised atop rocks or sheltered underneath the bare branches of scrubby bushes. They sit aloof; head regally raised, gazing straight ahead, their thick front muscular legs supporting their weighty chest and thick neck. For the most part, they are not disturbed by our presence, but when one tires of our attention, it quickly lumbers off on thick legs, its tail undulating back and forth in the classic lizard walk. There are blue-footed boobies and frigate birds on this island as well. The mating season for the frigate birds is later here and we are privileged to see many male frigates, their throat sacs inflated a brilliant red, striving to attract a female.

Art and I arrive at dinner a few minutes late and find ourselves sitting alone at the captains table. I am relieved that the captain does not make an appearance since I'm not sure that he has a second tale to tell his guests. Most of our group watches Master and Commander after dinner, an appropriate choice since much of the movie takes place in the Galapagos. We dock in Puerto Ayora for the night and spend a peaceful night gently rocking in port.

Isla Santiago - Blue Grotto

Wednesday, July 8th, Isla Santiago - Blue Grotto

The intensity of the past two days has been overwhelming. The diversity and abundance of species boggles my mind. This morning's excursion is to Isla Santiago where we see a different species of marine iguana; slightly smaller and with a reddish colorings. The topography of the island is striking and black lava beds slant into the ocean. The ripple patterns in the lava are beautiful and wave and wind action has worn away layers of tuff and carved deep grottoes into the rock. We peer down into the cave like grottoes; the bottom of the pools an intoxicating turquoise, and see fur sea lions basking on exposed rock ledges. We walk across the natural bridges spanning the grottoes and wish that we could snorkel in these amazing pools. Apparently it used to be allowed, but the fur sea lions moved to different basking spots, so the grottoes are now for the exclusive use of the sea lions and sea turtles.

During lunch, the boat motors to and anchors off shore of Chinese Hat; a small island, aptly named for its shape. The pangas drop us at the inner, sheltered cove and we snorkel slowly back, along the rocky shoreline. I am delighted when a marine iguana swims past, and follow him briefly until he clambers from the water to bask on the rocks above. A 5 foot white tipped shark rests on the sandy bottom; difficult to discern until John swims downward, disturbing it's rest and it swims away. Colorful wrasse and humorous blennies frequent this tidal zone. The blennies hide in protected holes and crevices, poking their heads out, their bulbous eyes ever watchful, ready to withdraw at the first sign of danger. John spots black and white spotted puffer fish wedged in a rocky crevice and Art and I witness as he grabs it's tail and tickles it's belly. Startled, it inflates and swims off with indignity to find a new crevice in which to hide. The visibility is superb and John continually dives down to peer under ledges and into crevices; A large lobster stares back at him from under a rocky ledge and John grasps it by it's feelers and try’s to dislodge it. The lobster resists and John gives up the challenge. I already see subtle evolutionary changes in John; gill slits are beginning to develop and I notice webbing forming between his toes and fingers; most remarkable!

Tonight is our obligatory dinner with the captain. All of the other passengers have already had the privilege of dining with him. Last night, the three hearing impaired women were his dinner companions and Kath signed rapidly through the whole affair. Her hands were so busy that she had little time to eat. The three of us, plus Laura, (Kath's daughter,) now sit at the large table and wait for the captain to arrive. He is a man in his mid 40's with just one story that he tells to all of his guests. Years ago, when he was in the coast guard, he spotted a "ghost ship," without its lights. It was an illegal fishing vessel, but ultimately, there were many tons of cocaine stashed below the frozen, illegal tuna. Apparently, this event made his career and he tells the story, night after night to all who grace his table. I am grateful that he has an interesting tale to tell and we are not forced to simply make small talk. Therefore, we enjoy his embellished tale, the good food and the wine that accompanies the captains table.

Land Before Time - Fernandina Island

Tuesday, July 7th - Land Before Time - Fernandina Island

We make a dry landing on Fernandina Island, disembarking onto wet lava rocks, slippery with seaweed and the morning tide. Hundreds of marine iguanas are there to greet us and John and I are mesmerized by their presence. We were on Fernandina Island 5 years ago, and know what to expect, but the presence of hundreds of these aquatic lizards is amazing. These are the biggest of the marine iguanas, black and meaty, some nearly 4 feet long. Several lone iguanas graze on the velvety green seaweed exposed by the low tied. They turn their heads sideways, scraping at the close-cropped seaweed with the sides of their mouths. Barnacle like protrusions grow from the tops of their heads and raggedy grey and black spines adorn their backbone. The iguanas sneeze frequently, expelling the excess salt from their nostrils and through a third hole at the top of their heads. Iguanas are swimming off the rocks, heads held high, their spiny tails undulating back and forth, propelling them forward. They submerge to graze on the silky beds of seaweed below the water's surface and clamber awkwardly up onto the rocks to bask in the morning light. We walk slowly and carefully towards shore, mindful of the treacherously slippery footing beneath our feet. Piles of marine iguanas bask on dry rocks near shore, seemingly in affectionate groupings, but more likely, just sharing body heat. Each grouping of iguanas is more fascinating than the last and John and I lag behind, observing and taking endless photographs. The terrain is breathtakingly stark. Slabs of black lava, the flow patterns frozen in time and sculpted by the wave action slant down to the ocean's edge. Shallow, sand filled, turquoise blue tide pools are contrasting jewels in the black lava landscape and brilliant red crabs scurry along the rocks, darting into holes and crevices when we get too close. As much as the crabs are vermilion splashes of contrasting color, the marine iguanas are camouflaged; black against black. More than once, I nearly step on a sleeping beauty, flattened upon the rock absorbing the suns heat from above and the radiant heat emitted from the rocks. The iguanas allow us to get within inches of them, to admire every crusty scale, sharp claw and ragged spine. For myself, these are the most miraculous and beautiful creatures on the planet and would our guide allow, I would curl up with a pile of iguanas and spend a delicious hour basking in the sand with these gentle, near prehistoric creatures.

Art carries the tripod and the gigi-pixil contraption and sets up and takes several panoramic shots during the mornings excursion. I see him from afar, tripod balanced on the lava, bending over the equipment, trying to capture the remarkable beauty of this place. An adjacent lagoon is host to a myriad of water birds and a lone eagle ray glides in the shallows, it's wing tips breaking the surface of the water. Mangroves stand spider like, sentries of the shore and two large semi submerged rocks morph into aquatic turtles. Magic is present. We retrace our path back to our landing spot. The zodiacs are waiting but John and I lag behind, not yet ready to leave this enchanted island.

During lunch, we sail to Isla Isabella for deep water snorkeling along the cliffs. Our pangas take us from our boat to the sheer wall of rock where this part of the island meets the ocean. My initial plunge into the water takes my breath away, but the cold water entering my wet suit is soon forgotten when I spot a green sea turtle just below me. The turtle is undisturbed by my presence and grazes placidly on the algae growing along the cliff' walls. Sunlight streams down illuminating her carapaces a velvety green and she moves in slow motion, undulating with the ebb and flow of the current. Huge sea star jewels cling to the rocky wall; chocolate brown with brilliant orange knobbles catching the sunlight. Tiny brilliant red and purple wrasses take shelter in pockets and crevices along the rock wall and we see other sea turtles grazing, their strong armored flippers propelling them gracefully. They wear an eternal placid smile and stories of wise old turtles flash through my mind. We snorkel with the sea turtles for over an hour and later, John tells me that he caught a ride on one. He tells us that the turtles had different personalities; that some were shy but that one in particular, allowed him to swim underneath it, seemingly enjoying his company, and then allowed him to hold onto it's shell and glide along with it. Touching the animals is absolutely forbidden, but I am unable to scold John. The magic of the hour-spent swimming with the turtles is something that I will remember always and John is fortunate to have made a closer connection. Earlier on, during our snorkel, John catches my attention and I swim towards him. He has circled back away from the group and points to a ledge several feet above the waters edge. Two flightless cormorants are beginning their mating dance. These silly birds have dis-evolved and have tiny useless wings that they hold away from their body to dry in the afternoon sun. They are sidestepping and cooing and soon the two birds plunge into the water, just a few feet away from us. They perform a most incredulous and undulating mating dance; craning their necks gracefully around the other's and after two or three graceful twirls in the water, the male points his beak straight into the air, propelling himself vertically and emitting a breathy whistle. The cormorants continue in this fashion for several minutes and we watch, fascinated and amused. I surmise that they will continue this ritual for some time and although I wish to watch the finale, the sea turtles lure me away.

We motor back to the boat to shower and change but return in the zodiacs for a final, late afternoon cruise, further along the vertical cliff. The magic of the day continues when we see the small Galapagos penguins roosting on slanted slabs of rock, thick with white guano, dipping into the ocean. There are less than a dozen birds and half are rather scruffy looking, in the midst of molting. They stand with their backs towards us, absorbing the heat of the late afternoon sun. The molting penguins do not swim, but two or three of the other penguins, side step down the slanted rock and shoot like a miniature torpedoes, into the water below.

For the Birds; Boobies and Beyond - Geneovessa Island

Monday, July 6th - For the Birds; Boobies and Beyond - Geneovessa Island.

The general wake up call is at 7:00 A.M. and I lie in bed a few minutes, listening to the faraway clatter of the staff setting out our breakfast. Strong coffee and an ample breakfast buffet await. During the night, we have sailed to Darwin Bay on Isla Geneovessa and we board the pangas at 8:30 for our morning excursion to the island. It is a wet landing on white coral sand and red-footed boobies, nazca boobies and frigate birds are all there to greet us. We split into two groups of 10, the three of us following Delores along the sandy trail. There is little green on the island, most of the bushes and small trees are barren of leaves; their twiggy branches silvery in the cool morning light. Mating season is over and many of the birds are nesting with show white fledglings in their nest. A cloud of white down is an ethereal halo around the blue beaked baby boobies. The boobies build nests in the scraggly trees along side of the trail and have no fear of the two-footed visitors. The comical boobies seem to enjoy the attention from the tourists, turning their heads to offer their best profile and proudly preening their babies in our presence. The birds seem to make eye contact with us and we watch adult boobies, feathering their nests with twigs; seemingly asking our opinion concerning where to place a twig in an existing nest, or if we approve of their proposed nesting site? We enter into a thicket of leafless trees, popping out into a clearing populated with hundreds of frigate birds. A single male sits atop a barren branch, the pouch beneath his neck fully inflated and cherry red; hopeful of attracting a mate. He seems to have arrived at the dance too late. Dozens of frigate birds are already nesting, but they build platform nests and although we see many fluffy white fledglings, we also see nests with broken eggs below. These are the great green frigate birds and their black plumage is an iridescent green in the sunlight. The birds squabble over the privilege of sitting on a nest and the clusters of frigate birds with their hooked craggy beaks, are reminiscent of crotchety old men. The fluffy white frigate fledglings already have the black hooked beak and face that only a mother or father could love. This island is also a nesting ground for nazca boobies and swallow tail gulls and all seem to be living together harmoniously, completely undisturbed by the strange two footed species with a rotating black Cyclops eye that frequents the trails in clusters of ten.

Upon returning to the ship, we are greeted by Hugo, standing formally with a tray of hot cheese hors d’oeuvres and pouring fresh juice for all of us thirsty birdwatchers. Lunch is served at 12:30 P.M; a bowl of hot soup followed by a hot buffet, accompanied by several delicious side salads.

Our afternoon excursion is to the Prince Phillips steps; a dry landing at the bottom of a short cliff with rocky steps carved up to the top of the cliff. The contrasting colors of the orange and black rock against the azure water are striking. We take a short hike to the far side of the island where hundreds of frigate birds catch thermal wind currents, circling above the cliffs, protecting their nesting ground from predators. Their flight activity is intense; their angular black silhouettes darting across the grey sky. This wind swept section of the island is quite barren except for a low, creeping ground cover and a few hearty lava cacti.


Back on board, we are again greeted by Hugo with another selection of hors d’oeuvres and fresh juices. Many of us gather topside to enjoy the warmth of the fading afternoon sunlight, a drink and the spectacular view. Art and I recline on two of the thick blue foam chaises and John, having quickly made friends, sits across from us, playing cards with the other teen agers. We sink into the magic of this perfect hour.

There is a 6:00 P.M. briefing on tomorrow's activity schedule and our ship has begun to rock and roll. This evening we will cruise 16-hour cruise to Fernandina Island and we are warned of rough seas ahead. I am determined not to be sea sick, but several of the passengers have already succumbed and I notice that Art is looking slightly green. Earlier today, the kitchen took orders for dinner, and I know that garlic shrimp will be served tonight, which, in spite of the rough seas, still sounds good to me. Half of the passengers are missing for dinner, but John and I enjoy big and juicy shrimp. Art sits with us, nibbles a few bites and returns to the cabin. It is a rough night at sea but I sleep well and have intense dreams of being at sea and the ship free falling from the crests of the waves into the troughs.

The Unfolding of a Darwinian Adventure

Sunday, July 5th, The Unfolding of a Darwinian Adventure.-Quito to San Cristobal, Galapagos.

Our wake up call is at 5:30 A.M. I'm always the first in the bathroom, followed by Art and then John. We did most of our repacking last night so the morning is not stressful. We eat a light breakfast in the hotel and Antonio picks us up promptly at 7:00 A.M. I have allowed too much time for check in and Art and John let me know that they would have enjoyed an extra half hour in bed, but we are all in good spirits and board our AeroGal flight to San Cristobal Island precisely on time. We will be on the ship the Eric and the three of us are wearing sticky plastic Eric buttons. We discretely look at other passengers buttons to see who our future traveling companions might be, but it isn't until we land in Guayaquil and disembark so that the plane can be refueled, that we find others wearing Eric buttons. The first family that we meet is from Maryland; a couple with two daughters; 15 and 17. They are traveling with two other women and a 15 or 16 year old girl. All three of them are hearing impaired and are rapidly signing to each other. It looks as if an extra dimension has been added to our Galapagos adventure and I hope to learn some basic signing on this trip. We re board our plane after the refueling for the second leg of our flight. Before landing, the flight crew opens the overhead baggage area and sprays either a bug spray or disinfectant into each compartment. The compartments are quickly closed for the remainder of the flight, apparently so that the spray can do it's job. It is 11:15 when we land on San Cristobal and we are the first ones of our group to disembark. When we reach the bottom of the stairs descending from the plane, our hands are sprayed with a mild disinfectant and we notice that all the airport staff are wearing protective masks. We have prepaid the $100 per person entrance fee to the Galapagos and our entry cards are quickly stamped but we are required to wipe our hands with a provided, alcohol towelette and our carry on luggage is inspected. I surmise that these precautions are for the health of the airport staff, not for the protection of the wild life. Upon exiting the open air terminal, we are met by our two guides, Alexis and Delores. In spite of the stringent health precautions, there is a sense of informality and serenity at this airport. John and I look for lizards outside the terminal and immediacy spot three small green striped lava lizards doing push ups on sunny pink lava boulders,

When the rest of our group is through customs, we are herded onto a waiting bus for a short ride through town to the San Cristobal dock. Playful sea lions lounge on the walkway leading down to one of the landings. We don our life vests, climb into one of two waiting zodiacs and motor out to our waiting yacht, the Eric. We are helped aboard and ushered into the spacious, mid deck, lounge area. The 20 of us sink onto a u- shaped lounge seating area and await further instructions. The Eric is solar and wind powered and basic safety and conservation issues are explained to us. We are assigned cabins and descend one level to the Iguana deck; to cabin number 10. It is a triple and although not large, certainly adequate for the three of us. We spend the next hour unpacking and getting settled in our new nest. There are two bunks against one wall and John chooses the upper birth with portholes overlooking the surface of the water. I have the single birth on the other wall. There is a long shelf above my bed where we stow our empty suitcases, having placed our belongings in drawers underneath the lower beds and utilized the closet. Our efficient bathroom has plenty of shelving and a spacious shower. I'm anxious to get under way, but the boat remains anchored in the harbor and a considerable time elapses as we wait for the expected siren to practice the required emergency drill. Eventually we are informed that the P.A. system has shorted out and we practice the drill on the top deck, sans the siren and then set sail.

Our first excursion is to a sandy cove not far from the town of San Cristobal. We pre-ordered wet suits in our sizes, but when we try them on, the sizes are all wrong. We sort through the rack of wet suits at the aft of the boat until we are more or less suited up. We have brought our own masks and snorkels, but use the fins provided by the boat and stuff all of our gear into the provided mesh bags. It's just a short ride in the zodiacs to the sandy cove but there are already several boats anchored there and we must share the beach and the snorkeling area with close to 60 other visitors. Dozens of Galapagos sea lions lounge on the white sand beach, undisturbed by our presence. One nursing female scolds her two pups as they nuzzle her belly in search of a tit. The pups are hungry and persistent, but mom must be tender and she complains loudly when they nurse. Other sea lions bask in the afternoon sun; eyes mostly closed and a dusting of golden sand sticking to their chocolate colored skin. I awkwardly follow others of our group into the water, walking backwards wearing my fins and struggling to adjust my mask and snorkel. I feel the sudden flow of cold water into my wetsuit, inhale and put my mask into the water. The sandy bottom has been stirred up and the visibility is awful. I see little except for the floating orange filaments of sea lion excrement but I continue swimming towards the rocks in hopes of better visibility and an abundance of fish. I spot a few large parrot fish and the smaller fish gleam in the afternoon sunlight, but there is considerable surge and after a few minutes, I swim to shore to spend time with the sea lions and explore the area on foot.
When I turn my attentions inland, I see half of a rainbow suspended over the extra-terrestrial landscape beyond. The pangas return us to the ship; we rinse out our wet suits, take short showers and at 6:00 P.M. we meet in the lounge for a briefing of tomorrows schedule. We are ceremoniously served an overly sweet and very green welcome drink and are introduced to the crew of 11. Dinner is immediately following; a lovely white fish accompanied by many salads; nearly half the passengers are vegetarians.

Hacienda Pinsaqui Otavalo market

Saturday, July 4th - 9:00 A.M. breakfast at the Hacienda. Bus into town. Fabulous Otavalo market on Saturdays. Lunch at chicken place. I'm still sick. Get stomach antibiotics at pharmacy. Antonio picks us up at 3:00 P.M. Drive back to Quito through fabulous dramatic highland landscape. Arrive in Quito just before 6:00 P.M. Frantically figure out morning flight to Galapagos. Call my father and get manicures and pedicures.

Pappallacta to Otavalo

Friday, July 3 - Antonio picks us up at 10:00 A.M. Drive to Otavalo. Arrive at Hacienda Pinsaqui at 2:30. Fabulous old hacienda with gardens. Our room lovely, with fire place. Take bus into Otavalo and wander the town. Late lunch of burritos and chicken wings. I'm still sick...ache, diarrhea, stomach pains. When we arrive back at the hotel, our fire has been lit. Welcome drink at Hacienda, Ecuadorian musicians. Dinner in lovely formal dining room with fireplace. Return to the room to find hot water bottles in our beds. Fall asleep to the fire. I'm still sick.

Pappallacta Hot Springs

Thursday, July 2 - Antonio picks us up at 8:00 A.M. Drive to Pappallacta Hot Springs. Arrive at 11:00 A.M. Soak in public pools. 2:30 P.M. massages. Dinner at the hotel. Cold. I'm still sick.

Quito Old Town

Wednesday, July 1 - Day in Quito. Old Town, Baroque Jesuit Church. Climbed the Basilica. I get sick. Laundry day. Dinner at Cannibal Shrimp.

La Selva Jungle Lodge, Night in Quito

Tuesday, June 30 - Departure - La Selva Jungle Lodge, Night in Quito. Dinner at the Magic Bean.

La Selva Lodge

Monday, June 29 - La Selva Lodge


John very sick. Hike through the forest. Walking stick bug. Poison dart frog. Leaf frog.

The Observation Tower and Black Water Lagoon.

Sunday, June 28 - The Observation Tower and Black Water Lagoon.


John has had a sore throat for several days and this morning he can barely swallow. I’ve been treating him with a spray Echinacea and Rebecca suggests gargling with salt water. Art hasn't slept well and chooses to stay at the lodge this morning. John and I join our group for the hike to the observation tower leaving a little before 7:00 A,M, We don our rubber boots and follow Aldolpho and Paulo into the jungle. last nights rain has made the trail slippery and the animals are all awake foraging for their breakfast. The observation tower is not far from the lodge; a stairway scaffolding built around an immense kapok tree. Paulo tells us that the tower was rebuilt just 6 months ago and we begin climbing the Robinson Crusoe like structure, 120 feet high. The upper platform is at level with the top of the jungle canopy and is adequate to hold the 7 of us. The view is breathtaking in more ways than one, and I survey the engineering of the tower and the width of the kapok tree, trying not to think about the kapoks shallow root system. We hear and see from a distance, troupes of squirrel and tamarind monkeys. Aldolpho and Paulo spot activity with their binoculars and quickly sets up the spotting scope for us all to take a closer look. The antics of the monkeys are delightful as they scamper along the upper canopy branches moving from one tree to another foraging for food. We see toucans, varieties of parrots and iridescent birds in all shapes and colors. A pair of green parrots flies past and a woodpecker strikes his morning cadence. We learn that there are flock leaders and witness the gathering of a wide variety of birds. Paulo explains that flocking is a survival strategy; that there is safety in numbers. We stay in the tower for an hour and a half and when the activity slows, descend the wooden stairs and hike further into the jungle to a black water lagoon. Two long paddle canoes are moored at a simple wooden dock. Paulo helps the five of us step down into the canoe. He takes the lead seat and Adolpho paddles from the rear. Before pushing out into the lagoon, he instructs us to be silent and just watch and listen. The magic of the lagoon leaves me speechless as we glide past floating islands of water hyacinths into a narrow inlet. We move through a canopy of palms and mangrove trees, the roots of the mangroves dripping with moss and standing spider like in the reflective back water. Although we don't see them, there are electric eel and caiman in this lagoon and the eel can be dangerous, inflicting a stunning shock which would render the swimmer unconscious and lead to drowning. Every shift of our weight tips the canoe, the surface of the water is just two inches down from the rim of our boat, and I wonder how often a canoe has capsized? This lagoon is part of a flooded forest ecosystem, underwater 7 months of the year and the still, black, reflective water extends into the mangroves as far as my eyes can discern. Coming to the end of an inlet, Aldolpho aptly turns the canoe around and soon, Paulo motions Aldolpho to cease paddling and points to an insect nest above us. He breaks the silence to tell us that this is a nest of marching termites and that on the count of three we must all shout loudly in unison. We shout and he holds up his hand indicating silence again. Moments later, we hear a synchronized thrumming coming from the hive. It is the sound of thousands of the termites, thrusting their thoraxes against the inside of the hive. The sound increases in intensity, just as if the termites were marching, thus the common name of these insects. It is a unified response to danger, a warning sound telling the intruder that they should leave before the termites emerge to confront their aggressor. I am in full agreement and we glide back into the open waters of the lagoon, lush with the water hyacinth islands, Rorschach reflections in the mirrored water. Up ahead is a family of river otters cavorting at the edge of a floating island. I struggle to focus my camera, but the encounter is fleeting and 30 seconds later, they submerge, swimming off to an undisturbed part of the lagoon. We disembark at the rustic wooden dock and return to camp, stopping frequently to admire the miracle of a red bellied poison dart frog, or a copy cat species that has similar markings, but lacks the poison. . .

Our excursion has been long and eventful and it is nearly noon when we reach the lodge. Art regrets that he did not accompany us; all of the guests left on a morning excursion and the morning alone was a long one.

The afternoon excursion is to the lodges butterfly farm and my preconceived vision lacks luster. We meet Paulo at 4:00 P.M. and walk one of the bamboo boardwalks to a large enclosed green house just down from the string of bungalows. Inside the larger green house is a smaller glassed in structure and around the entire enclosed perimeter are dozens of 6' high x 8' wide plastic covered caterpillar enclosures. Paulo strips away the Velcro front plastic from all of these and we circulate slowly, admiring each of the remarkable caterpillar species and learning what sort of butterfly or moth they will eventually morph into. The caterpillars are extra-terrestrial jewels; some as long as 6" some with markings and protrusions that mimic two heads so that a predator might mistake the back end as a treat and ultimately leave the caterpillar intact to continue into it's cocoon stage. I imagine that the costume designers of Star Wars took inspiration from the Amazonian caterpillars and I lag behind our group, attempting to take close up photos of the most unusual ones. Prior to this excursion, we were advised not to put insect repellent on so that we could touch the caterpillars and butterflies. The caterpillars are meaty and velvety soft in spite of their many protrusions. A final enclosure holds hundreds of cocoons, pinned gently to wooden rack. The cocoons are tiny jewels, many iridescent, and I marvel at what remarkable earrings these would make. Whoever tends the farm, groups the cocoons by species and most are exported to zoos and research centers around the world. The time sensitive cargo is shipped express and theoretically arrives at the ultimate destination still in the cocoon stage. The butterfly will emerge from the cocoon at the end destination to the delight of many.


The three girls and their grandparents leave in the morning and one of the girls wants to take home one of my rainforest charms. We agree to meet after dinner in the lounge, but the grandparents usher the girls away to pack and we have a nighttime canoe excursion on the lake. It's magical to glide silently upon the lake at night. Bats are the highlight of this excursion and we see large bats swooping down upon the lake to snatch an insect or small fish. Paulo catches their movement in the beam of his strong flashlight and scans the trees and foliage at the edge of the lake for movement. A branch protrudes from the water near the shore and a covey of long nosed bats take flight, startled by the light. One tiny lone bat is left clinging to the branch and Paulo tells us that it is a baby, too young for flight. It is obviously frightened and I hope that the mother will return shortly and comfort it.

Back at the lodge, I quickly connect with the young girl who chooses the tree frog charm. John, the 3 girls and the Danish boy have a last game of rummy tile. It's good to see John comfortable in most any situation and the animated group enjoy each other's company until the grandparents whisk their charges off to bed. John's sore throat is getting worse and I wish for antibiotics. Paulo mentioned that the lodge might have some. If John isn't better by morning, I will actively pursue this.

An Indigenous Encounter

Saturday, June 27 - An Indigenous Encounter


Mornings start early at La Selva with a soft "good morning," wake up call at 5:30 A.M. Breakfast is at 6:00 A.M. and we are in the canoes and on the lake before 7:00 A.M. Our intention is to go to the national park to see the parrots flocking at the clay licks, but the clouds overhead are dark and ominous and when our canoe docks at the entrance to the national park, we are told that the parrots have not come today. Our plans were to visit a indigenous Kichua house after our excursion to see the parrots, but we change the schedule and head directly to the indigenous house. It's raining quite heavily when we dock in front of two Kichua homes and we huddle in the shelter of some palms waiting for the rain to lessen. We are much earlier than expected and we imagine that the young couple with a 6-month-old baby would have preferred a quiet morning to themselves, but we are welcomed into their parents traditional thatched home and our group sits together on a long wooden bench against one wall. The parents are away in Coca so the responsibility of the visit falls on this young couple. Except for two benches across opposite walls and one shelf, there is no furniture. A fire burns in a traditional open kitchen. The separate sleeping room is closed from our view, but we are told that the parents sleep on a mattress on the floor. The young couple wears western dress and the baby is impeccably clean in a white one-piece sleeper. I can see the bottom bulge of a diaper and wonder if it is cloth or disposable. I regret that I did not ask. The young man is 23 and extremely handsome with chiseled features. His young wife is lovely and wears a short jean skirt and a skimpy tank top. They sit together on the opposite bench and she unabashedly nurses her baby. We ask many questions, all of which are translated by Paulo. One of the questions asked of the young man is "are you happy?" He looks at his wife and child, smiles and answers "of course." We are served Chicha from a community bowl, perhaps half of a coconut shell. Five years ago, we drank Chicha at an Aschawar village, the traditional kind, chewed and spit into a community pot, fermented and shared by all. Paulo tells us that the Kichua do not chew the root to prepare the Chicha, but use a piece of sweet potato to begin the fermentation process. Nevertheless, the thick white, slightly sour mixture is not very palatable but we pass the bowl and take polite sips. This tasting experience is followed by a distilled sugar cane and herb liquor. A smaller bowl is passes around and we all take sips, hoping that the liqueur will counteract any bacteria we might have previously ingested in the Chicha. A traditional blowgun leans against the wall and Paulo explains the painstaking method that these are made. Five years ago, at the Aschawar village, John purchased one and over the years, he has practiced shooting the quills into our backyard bamboo. A papaya is hung low outside of the Kichua house and we are all given a chance to try the blowgun and hit the papaya target. John hits the target on the first try; Art and I each score on the second try. .As the visit ends we are given the opportunity to purchase a beaded bracelet or necklace, a dozen of which are arranged on the dimly lit shelf. John and I choose two and we pay the young couple the $10.

We return to the lodge in time for lunch and a afternoon siesta. John changes into his swim trunks and heads down to the dock to swim with the three girls, Art rests and I continue to type this blog.


At 3:30 P.M., we meet Paulo and Aldolpho for an afternoon hike in the rainforest. Aldolpho lead the way, scouting with his trained eye and with binoculars. Paulo is next, his eyes darting high and low for any movement in the forest. Art, John and I lumber behind, doing our best not to trip on the roots crisscrossing the trail, slip in the mud or get snagged by a hanging vine. When we arrived, we were all given knee high rubber boots and there are places in the trail that are inches deep in sticky clay mud. I grow to enjoy the slurpey suction of my boots sinking into the muck. At one point, the mud is so deep and I find it difficult to free my boots and flash on the jungle movies I watched as a kid, where the great white hunter, usually the bad guy, sinks slowly into a mire of quicksand and disappears from sight. The sounds surrounding us are amazing, but my untrained ear can't tell the difference between the myriad of bird calls, the monkey chatter or the territorial calls of the various frogs. Every few minutes, Paulo and Aldolpho stop dead still, listen and point to a movement in the canopy above. Passing the binoculars back, they direct us to focus on a troop of howler monkeys in the distance or a woodpecker high in the canopy pounding out a rhythm. The mushrooms and fungi fascinate me and are easy to spot. There are turkey tail, tabletop fungi of all sorts, bright poisons orange mushroom cups, and fuzzy grey and white fingerling fungi growing on decaying logs. These particular mushrooms contain a liquid that the Kichua squeeze into the ear to cure infections. Our walk takes us in a large circle and we return to the lodge several hours later, in time to shower, rest and join the other pampered adventure travelers in the lounge for a before dinner drink. Everyone exchanges stories of who they are, where they have traveled and their future travel plans. I explain to other the other guests that I have traded jewelry for our 4 nights at La Selva and offer up several of my accordion folded business cards picturing the tree frog, rhinoceros beetle as well as other pieces. The women from Florida ask if I have any jewelry with me, and I show them many of my rainforest and jungle charms. The Florida women buy a tree frog charm and a rhinoceros beetle charm and a toucan charm finds a home with the Danish mother of a precocious 14-year-old bird watcher. I am delighted since this helps to confirm my belief that my jewelry would sell well in many of the eco tourist lodges around the world. La Selva lodge needs a small wall display of Marty Magic rainforest charms hung right beside their four T shirt designs advertising La Selva Lodge.

Journey into Jungle Paradise

Friday- June 26 - Journey into Jungle Paradise

We are going to La Selva Jungle Lodge today. La Selva is on the Napo River, a major tributary of the Amazon. We have a long day of traveling ahead. Our wake up call is at 7:00 A.M. and we quickly rearrange our luggage to leave one suitcase at the hotel. Breakfast is the usual uninspired hotel buffet and our driver arrives precisely at 8:30 to take us to the airport. I am slightly anxious since we still have no official vouchers for the trip, nor plane tickets for this morning’s flight, but the La Selva representative is waiting and gathers her flock together. A couple from Canada and half dozen Danish travelers are also going to La Selva. We introduce ourselves and try to remember the unusual Danish names of our fellow travelers. They all speak impeccable English and we wait together in an upscale executive business center until our plane is ready to board. Art tries to send e-mail to my father and Alisha, but is unsuccessful. The plane is only half-full and most of us settle into window seats for the 30-minute flight to Lago Agrio. At first, it seems that we may taxi all the way, but after a 45-minute delay, we are eventually cleared for take off and are soon above the cloud level with spectacular views of snow-capped mountains piercing through the cumulus cloud cover. Much of Ecuador has been formed by volcanic activity and this area is known as the rim of fire. I flash back to an earlier trip to Ecuador five years ago. Alisha, John and I flew to Kapawi Jungle Lodge, also on the Napo River, and we had a memorable stay. Unfortunately, due to the weather and some mysterious circumstances, one of our two return flights to Quito was canceled and instead, we were bussed for 8 hours in torrential rain along treacherous highland roads. The bus wound upwards along narrow roads with unobstructed views down into the gorges below. There were few guardrails, minimal road shoulders and sheer drops to the valley floor. John tells me that he saw the rusted and rumpled remains of a bus below his window view at one of the hairpin turns.

At Lago Agrio we are loaded onto a bus for a two hour drive to Coca where we will take an open, motorized boat another 2 1/2 hours up the Napo river. Happily, this bus ride is non-eventful except for temporarily misplacing our Canon camera. I feel responsible for the missing camera, most crucial for our entire trip. I am relieved when Art discovers it tucked inside a pocket of his backpack; but the angst in the interim takes its toll on our spirits. The bus is far from luxurious and the scratched and tinted windows make it difficult to look out. Worn curtains hang down by the few open windows obstructing our view. I crane my neck to the side to look out a crack of open window and watch the countryside wiz past. I am grateful to be on sitting on the right hand side of the bus, less able to see the oncoming oil tankers thundering towards us on this two-lane highway. I hear the regular whoosh of the trucks as they pass and note the boldly written FLAMABLE signs on the sides of the tankers. A 24" diameter pipeline runs for miles along the side of the road. Ecuador has plenty of oil and they are actively drilling and piping it. I see a Halliburton sign posted on the gate of a large oil facility and observe several flaming gas vents in the distance. I wonder about the environmental impact all this is having. Eventually we pass through Coca and reach the Napo River. We have a 30-minute break at the dock before boarding our motorized boat for La Selva Lodge. The dock is adjacent to a hotel and restaurant and the hotel has a shaded garden strip where tamed toucans, green parrots and spider monkeys entertain the waiting tourists. Most likely, this is not environmentally correct, but the toucans are curious and animated clowns and they delight John and me. I kneel down to the level of the birds and a toucan hops up to me and begins picking at the buckle of my purse. A small green parrot comes up behind and I feel him nibbling on the strap to my sandal. I stand quickly lest he mistake my toe for the sandal strap and see two cavorting squirrel monkeys hanging in the open doorway behind me. The uncomfortable bus ride is immediately forgotten.


We don life vests and our group boards the open motorized canoe. I sit between Art and John intent on giving them the outside view, but quickly discover that the inside seat is the better choice as the spray from the river showers Art and John. Our guide passes out La Selva water bottles and cloth packed box lunches and our group eats tuna and egg salad sandwiches and passion fruit as we motor downriver towards La Selva. The river is extremely wide and opaque with sediment. I begin to notice flotsam and jetsam floating in the river; oily bubbles and solid "icebergs" of white foam. I am disappointed and disgusted to see this pollution and keep my mouth clenched tightly shut to avoid ingesting the spray from the river. Sometime later on, the couple in front of us asks our guide about the bubbles and the foam. She tells us that the pounding of the rain releases oils from the plants that form these oily, cellulose bubbles on the waters surface. She tells us that it is not pollution, and that the river is healthy. The sky turns dark and rubber ponchos are passed out to all of the passengers. Putting the ponchos on involves removing our life vests and layering properly and we no sooner have the ponchos on when the rain begins. I pull my head under like a turtle in a shell and remain undercover for 15 or 20 minutes until the rain lessens. The sky clears and the afternoon light is lovely, illuminating the lush jungle on either side. Eventually we arrive at the transitioning dock for La Selva and disembark up onto a grassy clearing on the bank of the river. There is a simple toilet for the women and the men are directed into the forest. Our luggage is loaded into a smaller motorized canoe and we are led, single file, into the forest along a raised boardwalk path. The boardwalk is made of bamboo and is slippery with moss and the afternoon rain. Below the boardwalk is the jungle floor; carpeted with leaves and thick with gooey mud and collected water in places. We walk cautiously for 15 minutes, carrying our hand luggage being careful not to slip. The boardwalk cuts through the forest and emerges on an inlet of a black water lagoon. A black water lagoon is an isolated body of water fed mostly by rainwater. The water in these lagoons gets its color from the decomposed leaves of the forest, making the water a dark tea color. Next, we board two much smaller paddle canoes for the final leg of our journey and we glide through the dark water, the lush jungle close on either side of us. The inlet opens up onto a larger lake and we can see the thatched roof of the lodge at the far side. It is late afternoon and the light on the surrounding forest is a magical rosy color. Three preteen girls are jumping from the dock into the lake and I imagine that they will be pleased to have a handsome 16-year-old boy to flirt with. We dock below the lodge and ascend a rustic wooden staircase to the lodge above.


Other guests are gathered in the public room of the lodge, playing games and enjoying a before dinner cocktail. It is a large circular room with a bamboo floor and a high conical thatched roof. We collapse into three of the low rattan chairs and are welcomed with a pretty fruit and rum drink served in a classic martini glass. After a brief orientation, we are assigned our rooms, but linger for some time in this lounge area, meeting the other guests and watching the sun fade on the jungle beyond. A bamboo boardwalk, lined with flowering tropical plants, leads to the many thatched bungalows. The grounds are lush and beautiful, truly a jungle paradise. Our bungalow is a a triple with a double bed and two single beds, all with gossamer mosquito netting tied above an overhead bed frame and ready to pull down, cocoon style for the night.. It is a simple structure built on stilts and constructed of bamboo. The bamboo floor is uneven and there are cracks through many of the connecting corners where daylight, or moonlight shines through. Our private bathroom has an on demand hot or cold shower and a colorful hammock swings from our veranda. This will be our home for the next four nights.

Dinner is served family style and the spirits of the guests are lively. We sit beside the Canadian Couple, Sid and Marilyn and a group of four women from Florida. The meal begins with a hearty bowl of soup, followed by a plate of beef, smothered in a thick and salty sauce, fried sweet potatoes and a cucumber salad. A decorative radish is carved into a flower and set on top of an uncooked slab of eggplant. We shortly surmise, that the garnishes are not intended for consumption and that the cook has a heavy hand with the salt. The food is adequate, but not memorable. After dinner, we are assigned our guide, divided into groups and the following days schedule is disclosed. Paulo is our naturalist guide and Adolpho is our indigenous guide. Our excursions will be shared with Sid, Marilyn and Rebecca, a young veterinarian from Palo Alto. Paulo is charming, his English impeccable and we will discover that his knowledge of the jungle, and experience as a guide is superb. John has made friends with the three girls and is playing cards with them, already the center of their attention. We are pleased that John is gregarious and will jump right into most any situation.

Ecuador Adventure

Three days ago, I was in a frenzy; frantically packing last minute orders and haphazardly throwing things into a suitcase to leave on a three week adventure to Ecuador. This afternoon, during siesta time, I am relaxed and typing the first of my blog on the veranda of our thatched bungalow at La Selva Jungle Lodge.

Thursday, June 25 - Arriving at this state has involved nearly two days of traveling, but the journey is much of the reward. We begin our trip on a red eye flight from S.F.O. to Miami. Art and I sleep much of the five-hour flight with the help of Ambian, but John stays awake watching movies and is red eyed at 7:30 A.M. when we land in Miami. With an eight hour lay over, we decide to go to South Beach for breakfast. An cheerful, airport information woman, directs us to the J bus and one hour, and one transfer later we are walking along the famous South Beach promenade. We breakfast at the Front Porch Restaurant; a white awning shading us and ceiling fans circulating the still morning air. The temperature is rising and the reflected light washes out the colors of our surroundings. The breakfast before me is almost an illusion and I consider that lack of sleep is contributing to my perception of things. Fueled and somewhat energized with coffee we walk the length of the beachfront, lined with art deco hotels and restaurants. Bistro tables spill onto the sidewalk and wait persons and bar tenders busy themselves in preparation of the party that will undoubtedly unfold before the days end. Across the street are undulating palms and the white sand beach. A street vendor arranges his beaded jewelry upon a cart and I am transported momentarily to memories of setting up early morning craft shows. The other beachcombers wear minimal clothing but we are out of place, still in our traveling clothes. We dip our feet in the ocean; almost body temperature and turn to leave as a bank of dark clouds moves quickly towards us. It's time to catch the returning J bus back to the airport.

The flight between Miami and Quito, Ecuador is exactly 4 hours. Dinner is provided, and Art and I watch the movie, Last Chance, starring Dustin Hoffman. John sleeps soundly, his long lean body uncomfortably contorted in the confined space and his head resting heavily against my shoulder. Eventually, I doze, but wake to the pilots landing announcement and to the bright lights of sprawling Quito below. We are through customs quickly and happy to see all three of our bags drop onto the luggage carousel. As we exit the baggage area, I scan the gathered crowd looking for someone holding a sign that says Bobroskie or La Selva Lodge. There is no one, and my mind flips quickly through our alternatives but moments later, a small wiry man arrives holding a paper sign with Bobroskie printed boldly across it. We follow Antonio past the line of hopeful taxi drivers and stand aside as he loads our luggage into large and shiny silver Van. An Indian woman with her small child begs for money as the door of our protected metal pod closes and we drive off into the night.

Art chats amiably with our driver as we drive the 30 minutes into the heart of Quito. The Mercure Hotel is in the new part of the city and after arranging for a morning pick up, back to the airport for our flight into the jungle tomorrow, we are taken up to our room on the 9th floor. The room is much nicer than I expected; a spacious corner mini suite with a view of the city beyond.. We settle in quickly, anxious to explore the city and get a late bite of dinner. We walk several long, dark blocks to the nearby club and restaurant area, which is a happening scene on a Thursday night. The TVs in all of the restaurants and bars are tuned to a significant soccer game and there is an air of excitement in the crowds spilling out onto the sidewalks and crammed into tiny hole in the wall cafes. Deciding on a restaurant for dinner is always difficult and we spend an hour wandering the district, perusing our many options and poking into both upscale and simple cafes. I stay mindful of my purse in the crowds and feel somewhat uncomfortable and vulnerable as we pass one particular club before rounding the corner to the center square. We people watch for some time, eventually retracing our steps to an earlier shwarma cafe, which has now sold out of food. John takes control of the situation and ushers us into a tiny shwarma cafe up the block. The succulent spit of chicken rotates in the open window and "to go" patrons lean on the outside counter waiting for service. Inside, 6 small wooden tables are crammed closely together, all of them occupied except for one. The crowd is young, loud and smoking and dark eyes watch us as we sit down at the only vacant table. Art orders two shwarmas, a large beer and a soda. The waiter returns without the soda but with three glasses for the beer and we concede that John may join us in a celebratory beer tonight. Many of the patrons of the cafe look no older than John and all are drinking beer and cheering on the soccer game. The shwarmas are brought to our table shortly and are so delicious that we immediately order two more. We sink into the simple ambiance of this local cafe, watching the soccer game and the people. As we walk back to our hotel, we calculate that we spent just $9.00 on dinner for the three of us. Art and I are both feeling light headed and it is not from the beer. Quito is above 9,000 feet and we have chosen not to take our altitude pills until we return to Quito in 5 days. We will be leaving the highlands in the morning and want to experience and experiment with the effects of the high altitude for one night. Art suffers more than I, with a headache and dizziness. I only feel the need to take extra deep breaths every so often and John is unaffected.