***
One thing that hardly occurred to me at all in preparing for the trip--perhaps because I did very little to prepare for the trip--was language. It was kind of an afterthought. Only when we set out for the historic center on Friday morning and Richard lamented having forgotten his phrasebook did it hit me that I speak Spanish. It helps that Ecuadorians speak slowly and clearly, unlike some of their neighbors on the other side of Colombia, but it also does just make things so much easier to be able to get around. Oddly enough, it was the small things that I didn't understand, like whatever was being chanted as we walked around the city that morning. It was Richard, who has just started to learn Spanish, that deciphered the chant to be 'El Diario!' Later, we heard the names of other newspapers being chanted.
That afternoon, I called the local American Airlines office to see if I could extend my trip through the following weekend (alas, return flights were booked through mid-April). Although I hit '2' for English, the person who answered did so in Spanish. It reminded me of Panama--where plenty of people speak English, but the tourism industry goes out of its way to hire those that don't--and a bit of Nicaragua, where the tourism office/info center is in the outgoing terminal of the airport. In any case, I got by, until I had to spell out my reservation number, for which I had to go back to English.
The party was a blast; Marcela was superwoman: hostess and crisis manager. Jhon still hadn't arrived in Quito; it turned out that three times was indeed a charm, and he was on his third plane of the trip that had mechanical problems. This one had been allowed to take off, but not land in Quito, which is especially tricky because of the altitude and less roomy runway. He was instead routed to Guayaquil, through which we would transit to go to Galapagos anyway. We were very happy to meet up with him there the next day.
As we were cleaning up after the party, I asked Richard, who'd spent the better part of the last few years doing aid work in Afghanistan, whether he'd ever run into Rory Stewart, his compatriot.
Richard: I don't know him well but we did play frisbee together once.
A., in awe: Really?
Marcela: Oh, I meant to bring this up while Tom was here: he's worked with Rory Stewart and says he's a fraud.
A.: But it was such a great book!
Marcela, Richard: It was.
Richard: Second one's not as good. What time do we have to be ready tomorrow.
Marcela: At 7:45. And that means meet downstairs at 7:45.
Richard: Could we just meet here, since it's just the three of us?
And so, too few hours later, we got up and finished packing for the trip. Richard asked whether I was sure he wouldn't need thermal underwear; I told him that the last I'd checked, it would be in the 80s during the day and dip to the mid-70s, maybe, at night. I'm not sure he was convinced, since he would be seen around the islands in a wool cap and scarf (and mocked relentlessly for it by the rest of us). To top it off, he didn't bring sunglasses. I lent him an extra pair of mine, but it was faux-diamond studded on the side. Looked great with the wool cap.
We headed to the airport and embarked on the multi-step clusterf* of getting all the documents and passes we needed for Galapagos (except the national park pass, for which we had to stand in line for ages once we got there). But it was all worth it, even that first afternoon, when we saw the first of many sea lions and marine iguanas waiting on the pier with us. This was very exciting at the time. I would say, at least for me, that the sea lions would continue to be exciting throughout the trip... and the marine iguanas, ugly as they are, do tend to pose in interesting ways. I have a photo of one that I've called "The Thinker."
Later, we learned that for marine iguanas, sea lion poop is actually a "special dessert treat." There aren't any seals on the Galapagos Islands-- they're all sea lions-- and they're all over the place. We saw a number of sea lion harems, and debated, in our very mature, sophisticated group, whether the nature guide had referred to the alpha male as the 'beach' or 'bitch' master of the colony. Jhon and Nate both said they aspired to be bitch master of the colony.
All joking aside, the guys had our backs. The next day, when we were snorkeling in deep waters and I got stung by a couple of small jellyfish, Jhon and Nate both promptly offered to pee on me. There was no shortage of R. Kelly jokes.
They were also quite helpful to the avian populations of the islands. For example, there was a frigate with his chest all inflated, calling to the females flying overhead, but none swooped down to join him.
Jhon: Keep trying, my friend. It's a numbers game.
Nate: They can't all say no. Stay strong.
Some among us also had encouraging words for a baby marine iguana--
Richard: My friend, you're going to grow up to be very ugly.
There was also reproach, drawn from observation of the fauna, for Marcela and me. If I recall, all the guys at one point another, upon observing the mating dance of the blue-footed boobies, in which the male picks up something from nearby and offers it to the female, expressed some variation on, 'that's so romantic! why wouldn't you be happy with a twig?'
That evening, we got ready for an evening of karaoke.
Marcela: Richard, do you have a hairbrush?
Richard: Do I look like I use a hairbrush?
Marcela: A.?
A.: Do I look like I use a hairbrush?
Suffice to say, we got "Me and Bobby McGee" in the karaoke. Nate actually knows how to sing and did really well. He and I had some diverging thoughts on what to close with, but I couldn't be happier when he suggested "A Little Respect." It was awesome. Nate, who was wooing the gift shop girl, sang "Smooth" (Santana) for her. After the karaoke-ing was over, Victor, the social secretary, if you will, of the cruise asked that we--Marcela's group, or the only ones still standing) perform in a little skit they'd do the next evening to mark the boat's crossing the equator (which is quite ceremonial, considering that the boat actually crosses the equator four times in the course of the cruise).
The crew was continually intrigued by the five or seven of us (five being Marcela and her friends, the other two being friends of a friend of Marcela's who was going to come but had to cancel; they joined us sometimes). Who were we? How did we know each other? Where were we from? How was it that we were from all over the place and still traveling together? I can see how it was odd to have (a) a Colombian living in Quito, (b) a Colombian living in New York, (c) a Wisconsonian living in Quito, (d) a Scot, (e) me, and occasionally (f and g) that tall Asian guy and his wife, all traveling as a group. We were definitely the most Spanish speaking, and most into the cruise's nightlife (we were pretty much the only ones interested in the cruise's nightlife after about half an hour-- the night after karaoke, there was a dance party that went into the wee hours of the morning; there was no wake up call the following morning, because Cindy at the front desk overslept after a long night of partying). But the 5-7 of us got along great with the crew. Nate, who's a captain in the Air Force, was quickly dubbed Capitan America. He reciprocated by calling Fabian, the second officer, Capitan Ecuador. Anyway, so it was that we were drawn into this equator crossing celebration. I hadn't had anything to drink, so I remembered as much the next morning after karaoke, when the wake up announcement did come through at 6:30am as scheduled:
Richard: Nate, I know you don't hear this much, but you were amazing last night.
Nate: You weren't bad yourself, little spoon.
Pause. Nate reviews the day's schedule.
Nate: Oh, cool-- there's going to be a party tonight because we're crossing the equator.
A.: Yes. We're in it.
Nate: That's what they were talking about last night?
A.: Yup. You're cast as King Neptune and Kristel [gift shop girl] is your queen.
It's a tough call, but some of the best snorkeling was on Tuesday afternoon, in the deep waters off North Seymour Island. The day before we'd snorkeled amid a huge population of sea turtles and quite a few sea lions. On Tuesday, there were colorful fish as usual, as well as sea lions, but we also saw a shark or two and some manta rays, neither of which, thankfully, were interested in us. I also saw some clownfish.
We couldn't have had a better time--there wasn't an hour that wasn't fun or fascinating. At the same time, none of us had any regrets about having chosen the five- rather than seven-day cruise. It was the perfect amount of time, and we were ready to go.
We returned to Quito on Thursday afternoon and had dinner with a view in the historic center. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was too rainy to eat on the terrace, but we could see the whole city from the restaurant's windows. An hour or so into dinner, I couldn't help but feel some raindrops. I looked up and around, asked if anyone else was feeling it.
Richard: I felt a drop or two, but it's not bad.
A.: No, it's not bad.
Marcela, from across the table: I don't feel anything.
Fifteen minutes later
A.: Um, this is not okay.
Marcela looks up and loses it. At this point, there is a steady stream of water dripping on my head. We moved the table forward.
After dinner, the rain had let up a bit and we went up to the terrace for a clearer view of the city, and later went across the city to a cafe with a different view. Again, it was beautiful. We got some mulled wine and a really bad chocolate cake.
Richard: Guys, this is a bit dry.
A.: And it tastes like garlic.
Richard: Now that you mention it, that too.
A.: We could salvage it by carrying it away and soaking it in rum.
Jhon: Or give it to the doorman.
A.: Ewww, no. It's too gross for that.
This resurfaced when we returned to Marcela's. It just comes down to what one of our guides in China last year referred to as a tenet of Confucionism-- if it's a matter of objective (lack of) quality rather than subjective taste, don't give it to someone else. Rum it was. I'll have to ask whether they ended up eating it or tossing it anyway.
On the way back to Marcela's, we passed Hunters.
Marcela: That used to be "Hooters" but it found no success here. All they had to do was buy one letter and knock the upper arc off one of the "o"s.
Jhon: It wasn't successful?
Marcela: Too conservative a society.
Jhon: I can't believe it.
Marcela: [Shrug].
We got back and crashed. The following morning... which turned into the following afternoon, we embarked on a road trip to the hot springs outside of Papallacta. The drive was beautiful, as were the hot springs themselves.
It was a good time. Marcela was concerned about the fog that makes dangerous driving in that area at night, but there wasn't much. There was some drag racing, however.
A pickup truck revved and passed us after a light.
Nate, driving: It's ON!
The rest of us: Nate, NO!!
Nate: Okay, it's off.
We made good time and met some friends of Marcela's for sushi that night. Jhon and Nate went out afterward; Marcela, Richard and I crashed. The next morning, they took me to the airport. I would have loved to stay the weekend with them, but I was also happy to head back. It was a perfect trip-- great sights, great people, great food, and so on. It was even a beautiful flight back, which brings me to the topic of my next soapbox:
Okay, people: You cannot have my window seat. You couldn't have my window seat on the flight from Calgary to Denver, nor can you have it from Quito to Miami.
Should I one day have to good fortune of flying from, say, Nepal to India--together with the good fortune of having secured a window seat for such a flight-- you still cannot have my window seat. I mean, are you serious? What else do you people want? My first-born child? Do you see me going around asking other people for their window seats when I was too late to get one for myself? Neither do I.
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