I need bread, eggs, socks and my head examined for parasites...

We touched down in the large Ecuadorian metropolis of Guyaquil full of sadness for our departed paradise but with excitement at the possibility of enjoying some air conditioning. More than a week sailing around the equator has left me craving artificially cooled but deliciously refreshing air. In fact the only requirements that I had for this layover hotel were Wi-Fi and air-conditioning...this was evident as we pulled up outside a house that had been renovated into a B&B that was more like a fortress then a quiet place to rest your head. Bars on the windows, steel gates and vault-thickness doors were our welcome to Guyaquil...but that was all forgotten the second the giant door swung open and the cool crisp air beckoned us in.

After a few hours of relaxing in our room (that has been cooled to meat-locker temperatures), I decided to take up the mission to pick up some new socks. As luck would have it we were staying a few blocks away from an absolutely amazing store. It was like a super Wal-Mart that had been extra superfied both with selection and security - there were armed guards both at the door and in the little watchtower in the parking lot. We wandered the aisles for a while, marvelling that it was possible to purchase a riding lawn mower, a side of beef, lumbar, cookies, shoes and face cream under the same roof. It took a sometime before I found the adult female section of the clothing store and some snazzy new socks.

While wandering to the cash register we were offered a free lice check. I turned my head slowly to watch shoppers sitting in chairs while women gowned in smocks combed through their hair with absolute precision in search of teeny parasites. It was at that time that I decided to forgo the purchasing of any snacks from this establishment.

I picked what appeared to be the shortest of the many lines and waited patiently before noticing a disturbing trend. The four people ahead of me had very little in their carts or hands...initially. It seems what people do is come to shop in pairs, one waits in line while the other wanders the store filling the buggy with items. Then they switch out. The cashiers don’t seem to have a burning desire to complete their job in a hurry either. In 27 minutes we didn’t move at all. In fact the same person was checking out/shopping at the till the entire time.

I had to abandon the socks. I had a flight in less than 10 hours and at the current pace I would never make it. Flip flops for the next several weeks it is!

The story of Juan...(posting from the road)

The past 11 days of my life have all fallen to the guidance of a unique man named Juan Tintorio. It sort of feels like I am friends with captain of the football team – no matter where we walk or sail, locals are shouting greetings to Juan. He takes it all in stride, strutting along, shaking hands and kissing babies. I become instantly cooler by association when I am with Juan.

An Ecuadorian native, Juan was relocated to the Galapagos at the age of 3 months...where he remained until he was 38. I was shocked that a person could remain on a small collection of volcanic rocks in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for close to four decades. When I initially asked him about it, he just shrugs and says...”it’s my paradise”. It wasn’t until Juan and I became better friends that he explained he was afraid to fly.

This is a man who walks across jagged lava rock and burning sand beaches barefoot. He routinely swims with sharks on extremely technical dives. He spends the majority of his life at sea in a various conditions. He can clearly recall several recent volcanic explosions and tsunami waves. But the thought of an airplane terrified him.

It was actually the lower prices on the mainland that drove him to get on an airplane – for short flights only. He will never fly more than 3 hours or at night. He desperately wants to see Africa and many other areas of the world but can never fly there – I suggested medication but he doesn’t want to be drowsy in case of emergencies. Juan states that is content hearing about the world from the Galapagos visitors. We were looking at a rocky coastline one day; Juan stated that it looked like the coast of Oregon, USA. When I asked how he knew that...he just smiled and replied “travellers tell me, my lady”.

Juan’s passion for all things Galapagos is contagious. He has been a guide for over 30 years but still gets excited at the sight of the animals. I have seen other guides point out something and then wander away, Juan is right there with us – taking photos. He introduces every island the same way “welcome to my paradise”.

While the rest of us traipse around in fancy hiking boots, Juan wanders barefoot. “Shoes are only for the airport or the city only”. He doesn’t have an e-mail or facebook and is labtop is for sorting photos only. He states that he tried to use Google once – too much information came up on the screen. I swear if there was room in his cabin, there would be a set of encyclopedia stacked in there. He doesn’t know how to drive a car and remains single after 50 years.

I wrote this because Juan is amazing and I wanted to tell you all about him. Not very often in life do you get the chance to meet someone who is truly happy in every sense of the word. He has very few ‘things’, not due to a lack of funds but rather the recognition that they aren’t needed. Juan is lucky – he has found his paradise...and he gets to spend his life showing it off to others.

Juan, I know you will never read this, but should someone every show it to you...thank you.

Solitario Jorge...(posting from the road)

The term one of kind is so tossed around that it has almost lost the significance that it truly should have. Think about it...to be the only one of a particular thing...not just unique or special but the sole representative for your species – pretty impressive.

Today I met Lonesome George, the only remaining Pinta Island Tortoise in the world. George lives at the Charles Darwin Research facility in Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos. Initially discovered by a Hungarian in 1971 and relocated shortly after to the Research Facility, attempts to breed George with other, similar tortoises have proved futile. George’s comrades were sadly all done in by introduced feral goats that destroyed the landscape and food supply of the tortoise. So...when George finally succumbs to old age, he is estimated to be about 100 years old now, the Pinta Island Tortoise will be officially extinct.

Now don’t fret...there are other subspecies of Galapagos tortoises still residing on the islands...but they are all closer to extinct then not. There are 10 of the original 15 subspecies still left in the wild and they can be easily distinguished by their shell shape. My favourite of these are the tortoises with the flat shells – there are currently 167 remaining in the world. A few of the larger males were recently relocated to a tortoise breeding center on Isabella Island after their shells suffered molten ash damage from the 2008 Cerro Azul eruption. We did happen upon a few wild tortoises during our time on Isabella Island – large ones but nowhere near the 880 lbs that they can achieve.

And while things look bleak for George to pass on his legacy - there is a $10,000 cash reward on the table, if anyone out there happens to be holding onto a female Pinta Island Tortoise...come forward...claim your prize and save a species!

It’s a small world afterall...(posting from the road)

In the 18th century, with no reliable mail system in place (some things have never changed), whalers placed a wooden barrel on Floreana Island that operated as a post office. Mail would simply be left in a barrel and picked up by passersby and delivered to its final destination, mainly Europe and the United States.

Today, the barrel remains in “Post Office Bay”. Galapagos tourists still place postcards in the barrel without any postage and other tourists will pick them up and carry them home. While the ideal situation is that the postcards are hand delivered, modern life of post office boxes and secure buildings do not always make this a possibility.

We had fun sorting through the hundreds of postcards currently in the barrel (I will be delivering 3 of them). They were literally bound for all over the world; to family, friends, President Obama etc. Some were written for future visitors to the Galapagos with requests to leave them in the box to be picked up in person. One pregnant lady wrote to her future child and let her know all the experiences she had to date. This was clearly not the postcard that I sent.

Instead I deposited over 30 postcards in this box with the hopes that they will make it to various corners of the earth. Honestly the majority of them are bound for Thunder Bay, Ontario – the home of most of my family and friends. Thunder Bay is a small city (in comparison to the rest of the world) so my hopes of anyone...”going that way” for a hand delivery is pretty small...or rather is was...

On my well worn travel hat is a small, equally worn Canadian flag patch. (Yes, most Canadian travellers can easily be identified by a small, subtle flag somewhere on their person. In contrast, the travellers who are covered in Canadian flags tend to be Americans). A fellow Canadian spotted my flag and asked the predictable question, “Where are you from?”

Obviously the title of this blog is a bit of a giveaway – this couple were from Thunder Bay as well. The world gets a bit smaller though...while we were discussing different areas of the city and ultimately addresses...this lady grew up 2 doors down from the house where my mother now lives. It was creepy to be standing on a rock in the Pacific Ocean and have a stranger accurately describe your mother’s house.

We made an agreement that day to leave each other’s postcards...the next Thunder Bay visitor will have a hand full to collect. As for the rest of you...if you do ever receive the postcard, send me a message and let me know!

(Update...one postcard sent to DC has materialized)
(ps - long story why I am dresses kind of like a nun in this photo...)

The wrong time for a language barrier...(posting from the road)

Some of you may say I deserve to die – and you would be correct. There are certain deaths that are almost predictable, tragic and sad but predictable; the car that is struck trying to race across the train tracks or the base jumper whose shoot doesn’t open. Today I snorkelled in an area of the Galapagos that is home to several different sharks due to the high concentration of food – this is also the same rationale that makes if fairly “safe” for us.

Today the safety practice of “swim to the rock” would not be possible. We were snorkelling around Kicker Rock – a rock formation that jutted out of the ocean with a 100+ metre drop-off. There is a narrow channel between 2 rocks where the depth is only 18 metres, but overall there was no safe escape.

And so Juan decided that he should man the safety boat that would accompany us and Giovanni ((the bartender) would ‘guide’ us in the water. The hope of the day was to run into some reef sharks and hammerheads and potentially some giant rays but to avoid any visits from the Tiger, Bull or Galapagos shark (Galapagos sharks will actually eat other sharks). I tried to politely voice my concern to Juan over his choice to not join us in the water...but he said it would be fine...”follow the bartender”.

So the 11 of us plus the bartender all flopped out of the zodiac and into some of the most amazing snorkelling ever. The rock wall was covered in tropical fish and colourful coral...and on the other side...the deep blue of the unknown. It was creepy but amazing. Initially we all snorkelled along, behind the bartender towards the crevice between the two rocks...everything was peaceful until Guis lifted his head and yelled “shark”. Juan was sitting in the zodiac – not really paying too much attention to us while the bartender was fascinated by a little fish.

Of course by the time we looked in the water, the predatory fish was nowhere to be seen...so we all tread water...waiting for some guidance from the bartender. He seemed to finally notice that the group was in a panicked circle looking desperately for direction...he swam over and made the hand gesture for shark with an inquisitive look. We confirmed the presence of the shark but tried to explain; through charades that we weren’t sure what type of shark was circling around us.

Giovanni still seemed confused as to what was going on...it was then that I realized the epic fail in this plan. Seriously – we are now floating in shark infested waters trying to ascertain rather vital information from our bartender, who of course does not speak English and is quite lousy at charades as well. With enough yelling we were able to call Juan over and have him translate from the boat. Yep, overall this could certainly be classified as an epic fail.

As it turns out, the sharks were black tip reef sharks that are normally worrisome in this region, but as they were a bit on the small side and preoccupied with other tasty morsels we carried on. The remainder of the snorkel was equally amazing, we were treated to several sharks – more black tip reef, white tip reef and hammerheads, as well as turtles and a school of huge spotted eagle rays.

Attempting to get all dozen of us back into the zodiac seemed too challenging to Juan, so he had us swim directly to the Encantada. There was nothing to see on this portion of the snorkel except the blue abyss of the water below. We all waited patiently to hop out of the water, with the assistance of two of our crew members (the bartender was long gone by now). When my turn came...I swam up and was partially hoisted out by Luis and Marcello when I felt a sharp excruciating pain to my lower right leg. I screamed out in agony and collapsed on the lower deck certain that a shark must have consumed most of my lower appendage. I slowly glanced down and expected to see a bloody stump – I was stupefied to discover my whole leg was still accounted for. Apparently it was just a Charlie Horse – I think a shark amputation would have hurt less.

But it turned out to be Leila that suffered the worst of the day. After our return to the boat, and for the next few hours Leila kept complaining about water in her ear. She spent most of this time jumping up and down trying to dislodge the annoying bubble. Finally...the pain was resolved...when a tiny crab fell out of her ear. I spent my entire swim fearing sharks when it turns out that miniature crabs were our greatest danger...I am not even thinking of other places they may have crawled...

Encantada, Encantada, Encantada....(posting from the road)

I write this as the boat sways back and forth...dancing is how the crew refer to it (I think to make the passengers feel better – it doesn’t work). I am finally starting to get my “sea legs” after 5 days at sea. I have yet to be sick mostly thanks to the miracle drug Zofran.

I am a about half done an adventure in the Galapagos Islands aboard the 70 ft red sailing yacht, the Encantanda – the most photographed boat in all the islands. The boat holds 12 passengers (we only have 11) and a crew of 6. This means that 17 people live in what is charitably described as close quarters. The crew...captain, assistant captain, bartender, engineer, guide and cook are a pretty good group – most of them have taken a shining to Miss Leila thus my making my stay on board a bit easier over all. The one thing that they haven’t fixed is cabin assignments. Leila and I are in cabin 6...the lowest cabin at the very stern of the boat...next to the prop. If that sounds undesirable – well...it is.

Cabin 6 has actually become somewhat of a running joke abroad the boat. Not only are we in the coveted prop spot, we host the sump pump as well under our bathroom sink. This leads to an unusual odour wafting from that area that can be controlled by keeping the bifocal door closed at all times. The bunks were impossible to sit upright in and my bunk, the top bunk was also home to a porthole right smack in the middle. This means that the metal porthole cover frequently scrapes my back as I try and move in bed. My luggage is stored at the end of the bed, so I generally sleep in the fetal position with minimal movement. There is a little square piece of carpet should one, and only one of us at a time, choose to stand. The carpet is usually damp – despite the searing heat outside, nothing below deck ever seems to try.

The bathroom has become sort of “my room” – it is here that I have mastered dressing while sitting on the toilet. This helps with my poor center of balance on the moving ship and the lack of floor space. Showering is a whole other challenge. The water comes from a hand held sprayer – like the ones most of you have next to your sink for rinsing dishes or vegetables. The shower stall is so small that when you pull the curtain is effectively becomes plastered to your backside. I am sure that it goes without saying that water generally ends up all over the place. The aforementioned bifocal door does not like to remain closed and certainly does not slide with the greatest of ease...so it’s not unusual for the door to flop open while you are in the facilities either exposing your actions or at the very least spraying water over any remaining thing in the room that may be dry.

But for all of its faults, it has become home and for the most part we have become quite efficient at our movements while in the cabin – which is generally infrequent. Meals on board, signified by the ringing of a bell (I am certain that we will all develop a Pavlov response to bells) are generally quite delicious and plentiful. Best of all, they are served in an air conditioned dining room – the day temperatures here are in the high 30’s C / over 100 F. After dinners we have a briefing with our guide Juan that outlines the plans for the next day...where we are going, what type of landing, what we may see, type of footwear etc.

Travel to and from the islands is via a zodiac – that is generally in some state of disrepair but so far has managed to remain afloat. Maritime Galapagos law seems to be that, while in the zodiac, all individuals must either have a life jacket on or snorkel/fins with them – no exceptions. The Navy and National Park Service actually did once spot check our ship.

Overall the movement is somewhere between a gentle rocking and vigorous “dancing” – generally worse at night when we do our big sails between islands. I medicate myself into a deep slumber at nights...none the wiser. And so as long as my days are spent hiking on the islands or snorkeling in the ocean I will put up with the dancing and the shower curtain ass and even the challenges of Cabin 6.

(Juan would always call on the radio "Encantada, Encantada, Encantada" when trying to reach the ship. No one would ever answer him until at least the 20th attempt...so we heard the thrice Encantada alot)

I should have Rosetta Stoned before I came! (posting from the road)

I wonder if I studied Spanish harder if I could have saved a life today.

I was alone, enjoying a morning coffee on the deck, staring at the stunning water that surrounded the boat – crystal blue with amazing clarity. I reckoned that the snorkelling would be absolutely amazing when Juan (guide) wandered by...”Juan, can we snorkel here after our hike?” “Oh, no my lady”, was Juan’s prompt response. I tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to tame the whine in my voice but went on to ask the ever annoying “why not?”
“Because” was his reply while he pointed to a 2 m black tip reef shark that was circling our boat. I guess that’s why he’s the guide. Juan and I watched the shark for a while - slowly water pacing back and forth...all around the Encantada and our little zodiac. The shark hadn’t been seen for at least 15 min when we piled into our little boat and headed to shore (I was very glad for a dry landing today).
All the islands have very a different landscape – here the tiny island was covered in giant cactus trees and land iguanas. The beach was full of sea lions and their pups. We stood on the beach for a bit, watching the baby sea lions frolic when I happened to catch sign of the telltale fins of our missing shark. He was so shallow that at some points it was possible to see the dorsal and tail fins quite clearly.

I immediately went into rescue mode and started yelling for everyone to get out of the water. “Shark, shark” I kept yelling as I pointed at the circling monster. While there were none of my fellow passengers in the water, there were several baby sealions playing - they glanced up at me with their big adorable eyes, clearly wondering who this crazy person was.

It was like standing on the side of a highway on an icy day – you just know there is going to be a wreck. The shark would surface and then disappear for a bit...building the anticipation. Just like in the Serengeti – this was the circle of life and we must not interfere.

I am happy to say that we started our hike inland and left the beach behind before we had to witness the inevitable snack attack. Juan asked me afterwards why I kept calling our shark earlier, I shrugged and replied that I guess I was just trying to warn the sealions. “Oh my lady, you have forgotten, we are in Ecuador – these sealions only understand Spanish”.

I am sure that he was joking..but in case...the Spanish word for shark...”Tiberon”.

Hell Beach....(posting from the road)

It looked like an idyllic paradise...soft sand beach...green mangrove trees...warm ocean water just perfect for frolicking in...we were all fooled (in hindsight, the skull on the beach should have been a tipoff).

We were advised in advance that this would be a wet landing location – meaning we needed to hop out of the boat in the water and wade ashore. The activities for the afternoon included swimming and relaxing – shoes were not in order. There nearby lagoon was just a short walk through a mangrove grove...”no problem”. Excited to have a relaxing afternoon, we tossed our camera gear into a small backpack, grabbed our snorkel gear and hopped into the partially deflated dinghy (never fully recovered from that one brush with the lava rock).

As we approached the beach, Juan had us remove the lifejackets and told us that we needed to ready to go in a hurry. There was a sense of urgency in his voice that was unprecedented to date...and oddly disturbing. As we positioned ourselves to jump into the water, I began to worry about the camera equipment - specifically the uber-expensive lens I had borrowed from a friend of mine. No – no need to panic...Juan had already said “no problem”.

We were poised in ready positions when Juan called out “watch for big wave”...of course we all turned – there was no wave. Well it seems Juan is better at reading the ocean than the rest of us as a big wave did materialize and swept poor Leila out of the boat. The camera equipment and I flopped back into the boat and tried to devise a new plan as the waves tossed us about.

We zoomed by Leila at one point – who had managed to get upright – and I tossed her the backpack and yelled to run as another large wave was approaching. Leila darted to shore as the wave broke around her lower legs while the remaining passengers and I gave up waiting for the opportune time and just abandoned ship into the pounding surf.

Eventually we all straggled to the beach, too water logged to notice the oddly hot sand we were walking on. At Juan’s urging we followed a little sand covered trail to the aforementioned lagoon while a lone cloud provided a brief respite from the searing sun. Maybe we had just been spoiled up until now but this lagoon was rather dismal in comparison to the wondrous sites we had seen.

With really nothing to look at, I turned to head back to the beach as the cloud cover overhead gave way to the massive heat lamp in the sky. I have walked on hot surfaces before... my shoes once melted when walking on an active volcano...but nothing short of strolling across actual lava could compare to the sand on Playa Espumilla (aka Hell Beach) that day.

Initially I thought...this is a little toasty...hmmm...getting hotter...WTF is feels like my feet are being seared. The solace of the ocean was only a few hundred yards away; I decided to sprint for it. I could literally feel the skin on my feet blistering as I ran on the loose scalding sand and I collapsed on my back and simply lifted my feet in the air.

So now I lay there, like an overturned turtle with my feet in the air attempting to figure out my next action. I could hear the whimpers and anguished cries of my fellow shipmates as they too felt the pain of hell beach. I saw Leila cowering in the shade of a shrub and a plan popped into my head – screw the Galapagos rules and veer off the path. So with every bit of courage that I have ever been able to muster, I righted myself and sprinted for the shade of the mangrove trees off the beaten path. The sand was not as hot and I darted from shady patch to shady patch, trying mostly to stand on prickly, yet cooler leaves. As I reached the edge of the grove, I realized I still needed to make one last 20 foot sprint across the hot sand to reach the ocean. I patiently waited for a big wave to approach thus decreasing the amount of sand to be covered and made my big break. Never have I exerted such effort to run, the every step burning my feet as I dashed into the welcoming water.

Tears of joy and pain relief streamed down my face as I heard my feet sizzle in the water – I turned back to watch my friends who were still in the midst of agony. I fully expected to see someone engulfed in flames. First I saw Luce emerge from the cover of the trees – she was holding one end to the sarong in her hands and the other end was under her feet as she shuffled along (looked like she was riding a sled). Next game Guise, he had inadvertently been carrying his snorkel gear with him so he simply applied his flippers and came flip flopping from the woods. Fernando came out at a full sprint and collapsed in the ocean. Leila had also used her sarong to devise footwear. Caddie took off her shirt and stood on it, Tricia used her hat etc.

Canada, Holland, Germany, India, Spain, Estonia and Britain united that day on common hatred for hell beach. We stood in the shallows of the beach – the waves pounding us, our feet still recovering - when someone poised the question...how are we ever going to get back in the boat?

Obviously we did make it back, I would tell you the tale but I think I have just blocked it out entirely (PTSD). I did however spend the night rubbing aloe on my entire body – including the soles of my feet.

And in this corner of the ring....(posting from the road)

While I am sad that scuba diving is not an option from our boat the daily snorkel excursions certainly help alleviate my malaise. The islands of the Galapagos are impressive – but the underwater marine reserve is astounding.

There are 5 main types of sharks that snorkelers have the potential to “run into” – the Black Tip Reef, Bull, Tiger, Galapagos and White Tip Reef shark. Of these the ONLY one that is completely safe is the white tip reef, the remainder all have a fairly consistent track record of nibbling on humans in confusion. To date we have seen a 2.5 m black tip reef shark and a 2 m Galapagos shark from the boat – so I am well aware of their presence.

We were instructed at the sight of the shark to simply swim to the rocks and get out of the water or head to the safety boat that generally accompanies us – unless it was a white tip – then enjoy the water.

(To clarify I do NOT want to see a shark. I have swum and dove with them previously – experience is already checked off the bucket list and in locations with far safer conditions. )

Anyway, back to my tale. Obviously as the thought scrolled through my mind I looked out into the blue abyss and clearly saw the telltale sway of the shark’s swim. I popped my head out of the water and yelled “shark” in an attempt to alert my fellow snorkelers. As I swam backwards towards the rock and peered under water, the shark became marginally clearer...”white tip...I think”, I called out.

“Did you get a photo?” Are they serious, did I get a photo? “Nope, busy trying to save myself” I reply as I continue to paddle towards the rock -against the throngs of fellow snorkelers who are heading out to the area the shark was last spotted. I clarified with everyone that I only saw the shark for a minute and I think it was a white tip...I am hardly Jacques Cousteau when it comes to identifying creatures under the sea. I was astounded that people were making a life and death decision off my fleeting glimpse...especially considering I need glasses for effective distance viewing.

As I treaded in the shallower rock water, the other more daring snorkelers circled around the deeper water, desperately peering in for any signs of the predatory fish. “I can’t see a shark”, “There’s nothing here”, “What shark?” Their comments filtered back to me along with accusatory glances...well I know what I saw...in the distance...with poor vision.

I slipped back under water, silently stewing. Of course the shark wouldn’t be in the same spot! Well let them search, I am going to stay here close to the rock and enjoy the pretty fish – serves them right if someone got gnawed on.

I felt an ominous current wash over me and I slowly looked straight ahead – there swimming directly at me was the shark. All I could see was the mouth and all the teeth, the identifier fins were out of sight. I quickly calculated with my panic stricken brain that there was no time to swim to the rocks...and delved into the recesses of my memory to little tidbits of shark week knowledge that I have tucked away.

Punch him in the nose. I remember hearing that if a shark is about to attack you, you should punch him in the nose. While this seemed like a rather stupid idea considering the proximity of teeth to nose, it was my only option. So I cocked my arm back, poised and ready to lash out and teach this shark a lesson at the precise moment. Have you ever punched under water...even Tyson would have difficulty landing an effective beating – I just hoped it would be annoying enough to cause the shark to move on.

I honestly felt like he was approaching in slow motion as I floated there with my punching arm all ready to go, keeping eye contact...and then...he swam right by me, slowing long enough to give me a disgusted glance. I am not sure if my lame attempts at offense irritated him or my mere presence. One thing I did learn from this was that with my reduced vision and the sharks ability to be sneaky...I may need to swim with my arms stretched out ahead of me...in full ramming motion at all times.

(a few of the photos are from a different snorkeling time - same type of shark)

“Now sit right back and hear a tale, a tale of a fateful ship”...(posting from the road)

I guess you figure out what happens here – rest assured it was not the Encantada. The Encandada is too big to get close to shore, thus requiring us all to pile into a little zodiac that zooms us either close enough to wade in or right up against the rocks. Today we were attempting the latter in EXREMELY LOW tide.

Our crew had done an excellent job for the majority of the navigation as our little dinghy winded its way through coral heads and lava rocks – much to the annoyance of the thousands of crabs that lined the shores. To the point where Luis lifted the motor, got out of the boat and manually towed us through some small channels – all while skilfully dodging the crabs that were protecting their homeland.

Disaster struck at the last possible moment – as we were ‘docking’ against the shore. An unseen jagged lava rock tore a 15cm hole in the bottom of our inflatable raft. As we were prepping to abandon ship anyways, we simply got off the boat in an orderly fashion before turning to watch the front portion start to sink. We then turned and looked at the inhospitable land in front of us.
Up until this point we had visited lush, tropical destinations with vegetation and amazing wildlife. Now we stood on a lava field. Now black rock stretched out as far as we could see – the occasional cactus dotted the landscape with mangroves in the far distance along the salty shore. The heat waves were already radiating up from the ground – at is only 8 am.

As Luis attempted to limp the raft back to the Encantanda, we set upon a hike to explore what Leila and I were sure was going to be our new home. I have watched a tremendous amount of the Reality TV show, Survivor – so I know that fire and water should be our top priorities, along with shelter from the assaultive equatorial sun. So while our fellow shipmates snapped photos of the landscape, I looked for potential cactus’ with a significant water source while Leila looked for something to fish with.

The morning dragged on as our poor guide Juan tired to keep us entertained with the history of the lava flow and our minds off of the fact that we were essentially stranded. I appreciated his efforts but once again it felt like we were being marched around an active BarBQ, with nothing more than a few flamingos to peak our interest.
Suddenly Juan’s radio crackled to life and a long bit of rapid Spanish came across. Juan then turned and explained it was essential that we high tail it back to the shore - double time. Right, double time across jagged, boat deflating, spiky hot rocks – so horribly uncomfortable that there isn’t an animal of the whole area that chooses to live here (and he should see the skin on the tortoises and iguanas!).

But as we reached the shore – a fantastic site greeted our eyes – a floating boat -not ours. It seems the staff of the Encantada had radioed another boat in the area who generously agreed to rescue us from our BarBQ.

As I sit here now I am watching the crew attempt to fix the boat with a needle and thread, a can of liquid contact cement and a large butcher knife – the boat is suspended over the ocean while all this occurs. The plan is to “hope” and see if the patch holds enough to go for the scheduled boat ride this afternoon – I will be wearing my lifejacket.

Fantasy Island(s)....(posting from the road)

Galapagos is like a make believe land to me. It is truly a place where the humans are just like every other animal. I grew up with a love of animals – we used to have an assortment of Canadian wildlife in my backyard quite frequently; wolves, bears, moose, skunks etc. But all of these animals would flee at the first site of a human. I can’t really blame them – many people have a nasty habit of shooting them. I can remember being a kid and thinking how neat it would be for them to go about their day, while I do the same – sounds like a utopia doesn’t it?

But here is that fantasy place, when everything is protected, you literally walk and swim amongst the wildlife. We share hiking trails with iguanas, beaches with crabs, roads with tortoises and the water with sea lions. Not only do these things not fear us...they approach out of curiosity. In the Galapagos, everyone and everything is equal.
The Galapagos are actually a collection of about 100 islands in the Pacific, off the coast of Ecuador that rest right along the Equator. As they are home to several endemic species of both plants and animals, they remain a unique biological destination. It was here that Charles Darwin had the early development of his theory of evolution.

Man of course came along and messed things up. Pirates, whalers and buccaneers utilized the islands as a sort of supermarket and would frequently stop for provisions when heading out to sea. (A tortoise can live a long time with water, making a delicious meal of fresh meat far into a sailor’s journey) And then the Americans set up a naval base to watch for any potential threat to the Panama Canal – their arrival continued to introduce new species to the lands that altered the evolution course – cats, dogs, rats, insects, plants etc. And, until the 1950’s – there were penal colonies on the islands that housed prisoners from several different countries; all inadvertently introducing new species while dining on the endemic ones.

Until a few years ago the Galapagos was seeing 750,000+ visitors a year. Thousands of people were diving and even more were traipsing all over the islands. This was such a concern that UNESCO actually pulled their recognition due to irresponsible behaviour. Things changed dramatically here after that I am told. Diving from tour boats is now prohibited, and the day diving trips are only to a few sites. The number of tour boats has been dramatically reduced as well; only 100 boats are allowed to operate in the islands. The annual visitor rate is now sitting at the 160,000 mark. Similar to the dive sites, there are only 70 places on the whole Galapagos that tourists can visit – the rest (the vast majority) of the Galapagos remain forbidden. Snorkelling sites are severely restricted as well.

There rules here are strictly enforced as well...no touching the animals, no fruit on the islands. Shoes must be thoroughly scrubbed between island visits. Our luggage, and inadvertently our lungs, were all treated with some sort of pesticide to ensure that we do not introduce something new to this teeny paradise. The luggage is also x-rayed and hand searched. Even though we have already cleared Ecuadorian customs, our passports and intentions for visiting are re-questioned.

It seems like a lot of overkill...until you see your first iguana or tortoise, or blue footed booby...and realize...it’s all worth it. Today I had the chance to do what I have always wanted to do...walk with the animals as equals – a truly amazing feeling.

(ps...still sorting - tons of Galapagos photos to come...)

Captain Jack Sparrow should have a hummingbird on his shoulder...(posting from the road)

I am telling this story now so that I don’t have to repeat myself when I am seen wearing an eye patch. A hummingbird did it – flew right into my eye causing complete blindness. They look so harmless and until this point in life I thought they only came in one type; specifically the ruby throated hummingbird. It turns out that there are over 100 different types of hummingbirds and unlike the Canadian Ruby throated mini birds, which have a distinct ability to avoid spectators, most of these birds take some sort of sick pleasure out of playing chicken with you.

The Bellavista Cloud Forest Lodge is home to approximately 25 feeders that attract no less than 150 hummingbirds at any point in time. While this is pretty and entertaining to watch – it is a nightmare to try and get from our room to the restaurant without suffering some sort of injury. Guests can be seen weaving and bopping along the trail while teeny birds with wings flapping 50 time a second zing around their heads – like a page out of a Hitchcock Novel.

So I am writing this pre-emptively to let you all know about vision loss I anticipate soon suffering – while I can still see well enough to type.

(UPDATE...I made it out of the Cloud Forest with eyeballs intact)

Where is Nancy Drew when you need her?... (posting from the road)

There is only one type of bear that lives in South America – it is rare and reclusive. It seemed like a good idea to try and find him. So Leila and I, with the help of our helpful guide Jorge descended from the cloud forest to the rain forest level and headed to one reserve where the elusive Spectacled Bear had been spotted.
The road to the reserve should have been our first indicator to turn back. High rains in the area had resulted in massive washouts. The dirt road was complete mud now with erosion actively occurring while we drove – that is when the road wasn’t replaced with a river. I kept chanting the travel mantra “anywhere worth going will be difficult to get to” over and over while taking occasional peeks out the windows.

Just before we crossed a rickety bridge over a raging river Jorge parked the truck and announced that we had arrived. After my wobbly legs carried me out of the truck I pretended to drop my lens cap to cover for kiss I felt the needed to give the ground.

While we weren’t going to drive across we still needed to walk across the bridge – it was here that we encountered an Asian man. I mention this as it seemed very out of place given the setting, but he seemed friendly enough. Jorge went to register our intentions with the staff at the lodge on the premises and returned a few minutes later yelling “Buenos dias” over and over. No answer. We helped Jorge search the grounds and the massive lodge – no people. It was as if they vanished...the tables were set, books left open...it was very eerie. It looked as if they had just vanished. We did find a large quantity of Boric Acid and a shovel. I took a few snapshots of ‘evidence’ to be safe and mentally tried to recall the Asian man’s features – for the sketch artist later.

Seeing no reason to stay in what was surely now a crime scene, we set off in search of the bear. Our first encounter with nature occurred in the first few minutes of our hike. Ants, billions and billions of little red fire ants - those who have been regular readers know my ability to attract these things, so I was naturally weary. Never have I seen so many ants in one spot...in fact there were so many that as the long trek wore on I began to rethink the mystery that was unfolding.

The Asian man was the prime suspect for the simple fact that he was the only suspect. But now...it was farfetched granted...but what about the ants -certainly that many ants were capable of carrying around a few Ecuadorians. My dehydration increased as the hike progressed – the humid jungle combined with an inadequate water intake and a pesky GI issue had left my mind able to clearly process the facts of the crime. We walked through the dense jungle as toucans and various other birds chirped around us but all I could focus on was trying to prove the guilt of the jungle ants? I would need to ditch Jorge and return to the ants to search for more clues.

I slipped and slid through the mud, plotting my future investigation until Leila noted my parched appearance and began to force water into me. As I became hydrated my investigative capabilities dissipated. All the facts that had seemed to clear before were all jumbled now.

We never did find the bear – lots of evidence of the bear but the actual creature alluded us. Someday I will return to this lodge and find that bear – but only after the mystery of the missing caretakers is solved.