Boggy Tah!

I stopped bothering to book hostels in advance somewhere around Argentina- it just seemed pointless when there were always free beds and booking in advance costs like a whole 1 pound 50!! I know. Shocking. And for the whole of my trip from thereon in the ethos served me well. That is until, after my epic 24 hours bus journey and a following game of taxi lies (blimming taxi dropped me a whole 3 streets away from where I was meant to be!), I got to Bogota. I was supposed to be staying at a hostel called the Cranky Croc, but when I got there I was told they were full. Luckily this was one time the weather worked to my advantage as, due to the fairly dire flooding in Bogota and the epic mission it was to get there at the moment, a group of nine hadn't shown up. With minimal looking pathetic and smelling of 24 hour bus journey I managed to persuade the receptionist they probably weren't coming and wheedled my way into a dorm bed. Exhausted I was good for nothing that night, and instead decided to make an early start the next day.
I started my exploration of Bogota by getting lost; but only because the street names on my map were totally different from the street names on the streets. However being a sensible girl with a winsome nature I was soon orientated and at the Collection Botero... an art gallery mainly housing the work of Columbia's own Fernando Botero, but also housing some Chegall (a personal favourite) and some Monet. The art gallery (pictured top) did not disappoint and I was so distracted wondering around the beautiful old building that I failed to notice the skies open and the torrential rain start again. However it wasn't easy to ignore for long as the LOUDEST thunderstorm I had ever heard started in earnest. Finished with the gallery this rather literally put the dampers on the rest of the Bogota exploration. Thankfully I had already traversed a fair amount of the city getting lost, including finding the cathedral and the public buildings (2nd down). Luckily I found a sweet shop to hide in until the storm died down a little- I had a tremendously enjoyable hour or so enjoying my book and sampling the lovely hand made sweets (GORGEOUS sweets in Bogota). Unfortunately the rain was unceasing and I was forced to return to the hostel. Luckily by about 6pm the rain abated and I was able to go out and see the Christmas lights of Bogota by night, and even explore the cathedral which I hadn't been able to get in earlier (beautiful).
All in all I enjoyed Bogota, although would prefer to g back when the city was less soggy!
I however didn't enjoy the airport the next day when the Columbian officials tried to get me to pay $300 in cash for a visa to get into America. Luckily my Spanish was good enough to explain that I knew they were lying and to decline their kind offer! Despite the hustling, I was very sad to be leaving the continent for the first time in 5 months and the journey into Miami was actually fairly emotional.

Not-so-perpetual motion...

The journey from Salento to the local town of Armenia, and the bus station, takes 45 minutes. I was travelling with my new friend Stacey who was leaving for Medellin the same evening I was off to Bogota... when we got there the next bus either of us could get on wasn't for another 2 hours... so we spent an enjoyable few hours listening to Reggaetone and drawing maps of Australia so Stacey could populate them with notes about places for me to visit. I got on my bus to Bogota around Midnight, the bus arriving the pre designated 1/2 hour late. The journey from Armenia to Bogota takes six hours. That is, the journey takes six hours when it isn't rainy season and the police don't shut the roads. We had diven for roughly 30 minutes when the police stopped the bus and told us we couldn't continue our journey until the next day- mmm... lovely night on a stationary bus. However, when I saw the road the next day I was relieved by the decision; flanked by steep cliffs on both sides the officials had been worried the torrential rain would cause landslides. As an added bonus the only film onboard was the Godfather in Espanol (el Padrino), which we watched the first 15 minutes of 3 times before someone thankfully snapped the disk in two because it wouldn't stop repeating.
We travelled for almost 4 hours before we were stopped again- the police had set up traffic lights on a flooded section of road and it had caused a major tailback. Not normally an issue unless the sleep deprived bus driver had just been cavalierly overtaken by an idiot whilst on a dangerous section of road. Road rage is something of a different beast in Columbia, and once we had caught up with the truck in question the driver slew the coach across the road and casually climed out of the cab with his machete. Apparently this was a signal as every bloke aboard, including the nice old bloke next to me who had been telling me about his grandchildren, also took out a machete (not joking... EVERY man on that bus was travelling with a knife of some sort) and joined the driver on the road. The guy in the truck got out of his cab and had a good swing at one of the passengers before processing how outnumbered he was, scarpering back to the truck and reversing up the road and round the corner.
The remainder of the journey was rather uneventful after that. Although I did get to try authentic Columbian cuisine when we stopped to refuel (fried plantane with an arepia (cheesey potato cake) and beef sausage) plus lots of coffee. Actually I didn't pay for any of that as the Columbians (friendliest country I've been to, despite the machetes) insisted on buying everything for me, and kept apologising for the inconvenience and telling me that Columbia was actually very efficent, and the best country in the world. I actually loved Columbia, and it was this experience of the lovliness of the general populace that really made it such a special country.
I arrived into flooded Bogota a mere 24 hours after setting out, but none the worse for wear, and having quite enjoyed the experience of spending some time with Columbian people.

The zone of coffee

Several buses and a collectivo ride (that was slightly too long for comfort) later and I was in Salento. Salento is only a tiny little town, but its managed to get itself on the backpacker trail because you can go there and stay on a coffee plantation, which might not appeal to everyone- but I was DEAD excited! Plantation House was a bit of a step down comfort-wise from some of the hostels I had managed to find along the way, and my stay was made fairly uncomfortable on my first night when my Korean roomate decided to leave all windows and doors open and lights on while I was out exploring the town, effectively creating mosquito city. Although it has to be said that, after the jungle, this was only the second time I had slept under a mosquito net on my whole trip- not bad going considering that I was expecting to spend six months under one! My first night, post exploration, was spent getting to know the other travellers staying at the hostel- a fairly easy task as Plantation House has a lovely communial living area with a big roaring log fire and they were all gathered around it. They turned out to be a group of travellers who had all met while voyaging into Columbia by boat from Panama (SO on my to-do list for next time) and seemed like my kind of people considering the amount of rum and beer around the place. And so settled in with my new friends of Ted the New Yorkiest of New Yorkers, Sandra fluent in 6 languages and IN CHARGE, Mark the Dutch ex naval serviceman (nothing to talk to him about), Andrew the lovely Welshman, Stacey the ginger Ozzy and Carl the stereotypical American, I enjoyed an evening in front of the fire and then a slightly buzzy nights kip. I didn't get much of a chance to make friends with my Korean roommate as she left the next day complaining of the high prevalence of wildlife in our locale, ironically the next night there were hardly any mosquitos.. hmm...
I spent my first day in Zona Cafe hanging out with my new friends. Literally. In hammocks. I'm very pro hammock, I think they cheer you up no matter your mood. They especially cheer you up when you doze off in yours (only for a second) and your new friends wrap it around you and swing you unitl you threaten to be violently ill on them. The majority of the day was actually spent making plans for the next day when, along with new arrival Alejandro from Peru and a nice couple from Holland, we had decided to do 'the big hike' . 'The big hike' is a 13 mile track during which you scale several small mountains (read two fairly steep hills) and you get to see the world's tallest palm trees (Photo of the gang to the right, unfortunately sin Sandra who was too ill to join us). It required planning because the trail is normally done by wusses on horseback, and is normally only about 6 miles, we had basically chosen to tack another walk on the end. But Columbia is famous for its landscape, we were all young and fit (apart from Ted who was an obstinant but unfit 50 who has had a triple heart bypass... but why mention that during the planning when you can wheeze it at mile 9 the next day) and apparently very ambitous. We did leave one tiny detail out of the planning phase; realising that due to it being the end of the rainy season the track would be muddy we had hired welly boots to hike in, in fact we had gone out of our way to get local knowledge on the surrounding area. What we had not counted on was it being MUDDY. Like you've never seen it before. AND cunningly left off the Columbian map was the torrential hurricane of a white water river we would have to cross THREE TIMES, mainly because its normally a small stream. The first part of the trek was entertainingly slow... all of us wading through the mud like stop motion animations, it took roughly 2 hours longer to reach our lunch point than we had planned for... at this point it wasn't actually dangerous, just hilariously messy (ever seen a real city boy lose his boot in the mud? It was a full 5 minues before anybody could stop laughing long enough to help the poor bloke). However, it swiftly became dangerous after lunch when, being waaay past the mid point (ie. no turning back) the skies opened and torrential downpour ensued. This was good in the sense that we weren't muddy anymore but bad in the sense that the track was swiftly turning into a swamp which was becoming impossible to walk through. We had to make a choice: to turn back and hike the nearly nine miles back to the start on paths that were bad but passable, or press on for the next four miles with the distinct advantage of actually seeing the palm trees, but with the steepest part of the trail still to traverse and unknown path quality. It was at this point Ted threw his health issues into the mix complaining of heart pain and we made the decision to press on with Andrew scouting ahead and Mark and I bringing up the rear. Luck was with us and although the path was terrible (climb with your hands and feet terrible) for the first 700m after that it bacame paved (also not on the map). Actually it became paved at roughly the same time the rain stopped. Ah sweet irony. And so, we journeyed down, joking and laughing in only the way people who've recently been contemplating the effectiveness of the Columbian Search and Rescue service can. And we were lucky enough that the mist began to clear so we did eventually get to see the famous palm trees. I have to say that apart from the few moments of serious contemplation about the potentailly mortal danger we were in (I joke not- the next day the path was officially shut, as was Cuidad Perdida in the North of the country as Columbia experienced its heaviest rainfall in many years and started to flood), it was one of the most enjoyable days of my trip. But I am a bizarre individual. Needless to say there was mas ron that evening and many tales of heroism by the fire. Plus also many tales of Ted, who repeately kept telling everyone that New Yorkers simply aren't bred for hiking, and had offered to haunt me if he died during the climb.
I was in Zona Cafe for a futher day before catching my evening collectivo out. A nice early run cured the hangover, and the rest of the day was spent indulging in locally produced fruit, admiring the coffee plantation and saying a too-soon goodbye to my new friends. And then to Bogota, and the discovery that the rain hadn't quite finished messing with my plans...

Cali... Colombia's most dangerous city...

So it was in a torrential rain storm that I arived in Cali, planning to stay at a hostel called Pelican Larry. There are several problems with trying to stay in a hostel called Pelican Larry in Columbia; firstly noone in Columbia speaks English (as a point of pride mostly) so the words 'Pelican Larry', apart from being bizarre, meant nothing to the taxi driver whatsoever. I also got to play the fun game of taxi lies where the taxi driver tells you he knows where the hostel is but actually has no idea a) what you said, or b) where you want to go. This led to us driving around Cali for a good 30 minutes before I realised from looking at my map that it couldn't possibly be that far to the hostel. At this point I told the taxi driver the address I had in my Lonely Planet book of lies, which he swiftly dispatched me to. Unfortunately the hostel was either no longer there or totally fictional to begin with as I was stood outside of what was an obviously empty building. Opting for a different tack I asked the driver to take me to the nearest hostel he knew in the area figuring that even if I didn't like the look of it I could figure out alternate digs when I had my bearings. This actually turned out to be something of a stroke of luck as the hostel he took me to was owned by a really nice English guy, was spotlessly clean and very tiny so I was only sharing a room with one other person! Perfect! Ironically I hadn't originally chosen this hostel because the Lonely Planet had given it a bad review. From this exprience I learned that the Lonely Planet is well deserved of its reputation for being a book of lies; that my policy of never taking a taxi when there is public transport available is an excellent one not to broken again (only broken this time because of the extremely low prices of taxis in Columbia); and that suddenly Columbians can't understand your Spanish when you're saying 'I'm not paying all that fare because this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't lied to me in the first place'.
Lots of people don't bother with Cali because the ever reliable guide that is the Lonely Planet chose to describe it as 'the most dangerous city in Columbia' (Actually statistically speaking Cali is the third most dangerous city in Columbia after Medellin and Bogota; Bogota being the 5th most dangerous city in the world, just before Rio at 6! Caracas in Venezuala is the most dangerous and one of the many contributing factors as to why I never made it into the country- it is, however, on my 'to do list for the future). I chose to go there because I was told by my friends who have spen a decent amount of time in the country that it was one of the best cities to get a real taste of Columbian life in a short space of time, plus it was on my way to Zona Cafe which I was dying to visit. Cali turned out rain free within the hour, and along with my solo roomate Marina I was off to explore the city having taken advice on where to go from the hostel owner. Marina and I had an entertaining morning firstly navigating the language barrier, as she spoke German and limited English and my German is shocking... we sucessfully comprimised in the end by speaking Spanglish and traded stories about our travels. First order of the day was breakfast, and Columbia has the distinct advantage over the rest of the continent as they have embraced vegetables as a source of sustinence AND sell food other than empanadas. In order to celebrate this fact we treated ourselves to these wonderful balls of rice and spinach with beef in the centre. Absolutely beautiful with LOTS of chilli sauce. We explored the local park which was lovely, a fact only slightly detracted from by the incredibly populous police presence. There are police EVERYWHERE in Columbia, like you've never seen them before; I'm all for this as we found out that there used to be lots of murdering in the park, and we were pro not experiencing that aspect of Columbian culture.
After the murder park we visited the Old Town which was beautiful and exctly like I had always pictured Columbia. We climbed a hill overlooking the city to see the view and found a beautiful little church hosting a wedding. The wedding was quite something to see as Columbian women, in sharp contrast to their Peruvian and Bolivian counterparts, are always dressing in tiny skirts and very high heels (even for church it would seem!) like something out of Sex in the City. Actually more like Liverpool on a Saturday night. On our way back to the hostel we stopped to get some fruit, Marina ordering fresh mango with lime juice and salt (highly recommended) and me going for a fruit salad. I was asked if I would like my fruit prepared the 'Columbian way' and, always game for a laugh, I said yes. I was presented with fruit covered in dulce de leche, condensed milk and cheese. Much better than you would think, but I'll stick to the mango next time.
The afternoon was spent walking the new part of the city, which is basically a giant Columbian take on an American shopping outlet, but it was kind of nice to be back in a country where such things can exist. The evening was spent with some Irish Lads watching Quantum of Solace with popcorn; I personally was delighted by their film choice as it a) gave me an opportunity to stare at Daniel Craig for the first time in months, and b) gave me an endless topic of conversation as the film is set in La Paz but so obviously wasn't filmed there. We spent the rest of the night talking about all the great places to go in Bolivia not visited by James Bond, which turned out to be everywhere in Bolivia as they filmed in Chile.
The next day, post very enjoyable run, I decided to head for Zona Cafe as I knew I wanted to spend at least three days there and 2 in Bogota, and was running out of time before my flight. So it was back to the bus station (with a more knowledgeable, albiet 18 year old, taxi driver this time) and onto Armenia, to catch a connecting bus to the tiny coffee growing town of Salento in the heart of Columbia.

A Transitional Phase

And so, on a mission to escape Equador pre census, but equally to still manage to get to Otavalo to experience the 'not to be missed' Saturday market, I was up at 6am the next day to brave a journey to the border mainly utilising public transport...
This is terrifying for two reasons: reason one is that South Americans consider a vehicle full when the doors will no longer shut due to people being squashed in them; reason two is that the Equadorian public transport system, once you've left the safety of Quito, appears to be modeled on that of rural Lincolnshire. To cut a long story short my journey to Otavalo involved several buses, many many hours, some small broken bones and other minor crush injuries, and an unfortunate asphyxiation incident when a rather large woman mistook me for a seat.
Unfortunately it turned out that Otavalo was something of a disappointment. Now this really is partially my own fault. Having been on the continent for such a long time at this stage I had already seen many a market, I had already seen traditional Equadorian dress (a minor variation on Bolivian tradional dress, and an even MORE minor variation on Peruvian traditional dress) and I had already experienced the thrill of feeling too guilty to haggle the one banana you're tring to buy down from 15p to 10p. I had also made the inexcusable rookie error of trusting the Lonely Planet book of lies once again on a matter that was subjective rather than factual. I would highly reccommend the Otavalo town market experience to anyone who didn't have long in South America and wanted to see a market. The markets really are spectacular out there and this is no exception. However, I would argue that just because its one of the largest doesn't make it the best, and there really isn't much that makes Otavalo unique beyond its size and the horrendous inconvenience it is to get to it from the bus station.
Just as a side note my favourite three markets would have to be: the Market in Arequipa which is fairly small but has everything you could possibly want and is full of lovely Peruvian treats and friendly locals; and the two markets in La Paz- the Witches Market for the novelty of seeing dried llama foetuses, toilet bowls and live salamanders all for sale on the same stall... a place where you can truly get everything- evidenced by one memorable shopping trip where we purchased ping pong balls, a chicken outfit, 3 meters of chiffon, jelly mix, foam wolf masks and a minature Twister set; and the market at Al Alto, which must be one of the highest markets in the world... an incredible experience as its the biggest continuous outdoor market I've ever seen and you wonder around spaced out from the altitude, alternately freezing and boiling as the sun goes behind clouds.
Anyway, Otavalo wont be making it onto my favourites list, and with that realisation complete I was off to investigate how I was going to get into Columbia before nightfall. The man at the bus station had bad news for me- two more local buses to get anywhere near the border, and even then I would still be 6k away. Resigned to my fate (I didn't even consider turning back... seemed a waste of a perfectly good 'life experience') I spent the next 5 hours traversing what can only have been about 30 miles to the border town of Tucan. It was here I met a fellow Englishman called Alan, which was partialy a relief because it meant not having to foot the cost of a taxi by myself... but partially worrying too as, to be brutally honest, he seemed a little strange, if harmless.
The Columbian border at Iquitos is rumoured on the Traveller Trail to be fraught with difficulty, the Columbians apparently being sticklers for searching ALL your luggage or accusing backpackers of being drug runners and refusing entry. I had been given some fairly sound advice in Peru to make sure I got 'tourist stamps' in my passport prior to trying to enter Columbia; these are passport stamps that evidence that you've been to places like Maccu Picchu or Midad del Mundo and add a little credo to your claim that you haven't spent the last 4 months sneaking cocaine in and out of Bolivia or something (ironically most of the cocaine in La Paz is brought in by Columbians, rarely by backpackers). One way or another, after examining my documents for an epic amount of time I was cleared for entry, and still with my escort of odd Alan, we were into Columbia. Once we had got a collectivo into the centre of Iquitos I decided to quiz Alan on his massive bag, you know, the kind that looks suspiciously like it might contain a corpse- thankfully it turned out that he was just carrying his paraglider around with him ("I think paragliding brings you closer to God both literally and metaphorially"), which was a small relief.
By this point I had decided I would like to see the town of Cali as my first stop in Columbia. Partly because I had heard good things from other travellers, and partly because the Lonely Planet was so negative about the city I felt it must have something to recommend it. So Alan and I borded a bus after a mere 3 hours in the fairly pretty town of Iquitos (right) and were off to Cali on a night bus only made eventful by Alan telling me his life story ("and so after three years of unemployment I met a Columbian girl over the internet and moved here, unfortunately a month later she moved to Scotland"), and being woken at 3am by a Columbian police officer to check our papers (although this turned out to be standard practise throughout Columbia so nothing to worry about).
The next morning dawned on a rain- sodden Cali and it was time for me to part ways with Alan and have my first real taste of Columbian life...

The centre of the world (Quito)

Not many people know that Quito literally translates as 'the centre of the world' in the language of the Caras. Apparently. The guide at la Mitad del Mundo told me so. Just because I now cannot find any evidence to back this up doesn't mean that its not true, although it might go a substantial way towards explaining why not many people know.
Equador does mean 'equator' in Spanish though.
ANYWAY... I arrived in the Equadorian Capital of Quito about 4pm in the afternoon the very same day I saw Lonesome George in the morning (turns out air travel is MUCH faster than bus travel, who knew?!) and set about the task of trying to find my hostel. I had been recommended a hostel called the Secret Garden to stay in in Quito, which turned out to be a little gem of a place with a gorgeous rooftop balcony with impressive views over the city (see left for Quito at night) and FREE coffee (best I'd had in a long time). I was marginally less impressed about being back in the land of cold showers, and about the fact that Quito was in the grips of a rainy season that saw the skies open at 3pm sharp each afternoon. The temperature had also taken a slight dive by this point, 17oC feeling a tad chilly after the gorgeous Galaps- I was especially suprised by this as the equator crosses Equador only a few miles from the city... but apparently proximity to the sun doesnt guarantee heat waves all year! Depite all this I was somewhat enamoured with the Equadorian Capital; it was clean, the public transport was sophisticated and functional (not that I dont miss jumping in and out of the insane collectivos in Bolivia still) and the architecture was impressive to say the least.
I spent my first evening exploring the locale: The city is divided into three sections; Old Town, New Town and La Mariscal (known on the trail as Gringolandia... as it is sin tourist attractions but con many bars and therefore many westerners.) Not especially having and desire to stay in La Mariscal, and being far more enamoured with the idea of staying in an original UNESCO World Heritage site (the largest historic city centre in Latin America) I was in Old Town, and it didn't disappoint. The photo on the left shows the beautiful cathedral that was only a few streets fom where I was staying. My second day in the city I was determined to get out to La Mitad del Mundo (literally translated as the centre of the earth) where the equator crosses Equador. Here the ever friendly and helpful Equadorians hve built a museum about the unusual phenomenon that happen at the equator, the history of the site and have painted a giant line across the floor, over which you can take a not-at-all-touristy picture of yourself (see below). I had gone to visit the museum with a lad I'd met in the hostel called Aaron who was mixed race Ozzy and Chinese, which made him look just South American enough to be mistaken for my guide all day long. A fairly entertaining set of cicumstances as he spoke no Spanish so I was having to reply to all the stall owners who were trying to persuade him to take the stupid English woman into their hammock shop. We actually had a fantastic time in the centre of the Earth, very much enjoying watching water run directly down the plughole (instead of to the left or right as it does anywhere else in the entire world), and had lots of fun trying to balance an egg on a nail (possible everywhere but much easier on the Equator apparently!). That night I enjoyed the views from the hostel's rooftop bar and didn't enjoy the sunburn I had picked up during the day, as apparently proximity to the sun might not guarantee heat, but does always warrant spf30. ApparentlyI really didn't learn anything in La Paz.
My final day in Equador was destined to be the very next day, as Sunday saw the governement conducting a national census that would mean EVERYONE had to stay indoors all day, and I couldn't help but feel that would be a waste of the little time I had left. So I was up bright and early in order to get the bus to Otavalo where apparently the Saturday market 'simply couldn't be missed' (Lonely Planet book of lies 2008), and then on to the Columbian frontera...

The Galapagos Islands ('Nuff said really)!!

Part One...
My flight touched down in Baltra at about 12 in the afternoon and I was greeted by the second smallest airport I've ever seen, plus my tour guide for the next 5 days who I caught in the act of pulling his t shirt above his belly and rubbing his stomach as I walked through 'arrivals' (this is something all South American men over the age of 50 do in public and without warning whenever it takes their fancy, takes some getting used to I can tell you...). Also waiting for further arrivals for our boat trip were American mother and son Sis and Mark, and after about 20 mins the next flight bought in the remainder of the passengers we were waiting for and we were off to explore the Angelito. The boat was out of this world, especially when compared to the digs I've been frequenting the last few months. The luxury yacht housed upto 16 passengers, but due to some last minute cancellations from Americans too scared to travel to Equador after the recent coup (the reason for my cheekily scooped last minute spot!), we were only 13 onboard for the 5 day cruise. I was sharing a cabin with a lady called Sue who's a documentary filmaker from Scotland, whose wicked sense of humour made me warm to her immediately. We were also joined by some couples from Germany, a young American guy called Don who was great fun, and an older English couple called Bob and Vera who were the life and soul of the party regailing us all with tales of their time working at Outward Bound centres.
Once aquainted the afternoon was filled with a visit to nearby North Seymour Island, where the Galapagos really lived up to its reputation when our way was immediately blocked by a sea lion feeding her pup on the path directly infront of us. Conditioned by a lifetime of not approaching animals, the group hung back, while our unaffected Galapagos- born guide nochelantly stepped over the feeding mother and beckoned us closer. The wild animals truly werent bothered by our presence, a fact that was to remain true for the totality of my visit to the archipegilo.
That first island visit encapsulated the Galapagos full on; we saw boobies, frigates, marine and land iguanas (also can I have a little support here... that word is phonetically pronounced ig-u-anas, yes? Not ig-wanas? Is that another horrible Americanism or have I gone (more) insane?) as well as a pleantiful supply of sea lions (which I couldn't get bored of looking at if I had a lifetime of it). The photo of the land iguanas to the left is taken without zoom, just to give you some indication of how close we were to the wholly-unbothered animals. It was absolutely amazing to me how incredibly comfortable animals could be in immediate human company when they have had no experience of abuse at the hands of homo sapiens.
Later that afternoon it was time for snorkeling (which the crew of the Angleito put daily into our schedule, as the marine life of the Galapagos is almost as amazing to behold). Being the brave (read stupid and broke) Brit that I am I forwent the wetsuit hire and snorkeled just in swimmers and a tshirt. Despite being equator adjacent the sea in the Galapagos is suprisingly cold (read freezing), but the unrivalled snorkelling opportunity soon took my mind off my shivering flesh as I realised I was swimming with marine iguangas, angel fish and, about 10m further on, a stray hammerhead shark that hilariously made Don inhale about half a litre of sea water in fright and suprise as it swam under him. Waiting for us on the boat on our return was gloriously rich hot chocolate and an absolutley delicious dinner encompassing local fare with favourites from home, and as such was the menu for the whole week, nicely balancing cervicé one day with spahetti bol the next. The evening saw a short boat journey to the next islands we were to visit, Chinese Hat and Bartholemew, and then once the journey was over and we were safely at anchor we were delighted to find a sea lion catching 40 winks on the wet landing area on the back of the yacht. Everything in the islands just seemed to be magical.
We started the next day on Chinese hat, which isn't actually big enough to be considered an island in its own right but was good fun to walk to totality of, and I could happily have watched the sea lions frolicking in the surf for the rest of my life. It was here we first really got to witness the dynamic of a sea lion family as the Alpha male played chasing games with a pup in the surf and then chased off an intrusive other male from his territory with a distinctive barking. We also witnessed lots of sea lion pups left alone on Chinese hat, which we were informed was standard practise for the mothers while they went off fishing, sometimes for several days at a time (where are the fathers one might ask? Sea lion males take no responisibility for the feeding or care of young pups.).
The afternoon visit and snorkeling was from the island of Bartholemew which is much bigger than Chinese Hat but has a small colony of PENGUINS! Which we were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of (the larger colonies residing on islands the boat wasn't scheduled to visit). The snorkelling in the afternoon was from the gorgeous beach at Bartholemew which reduced the visibility but meant that I had a chance to get some swimming in in this absolutely gorgous surround.
Back on the boat that night we were visited by two sea lions on the wet deck which made for the evenings entertainment along with the good company of people who were fast becoming my friends.
The next day would see us visiting Genovesa Island, which you can see from the map is something of a hike away and would take us 7 hours overnight to reach. Many onboard found sleeping while the boat was in motion to be impossible, luckily I wasn't one of them, completely dead to the world in bed linen the luxury of which I hadn't felt since leaving England.
The next day dawned lovely, and I took advantage of the fact so many others had fallen foul of sea sickness by helping them finish off their delicious breakfasts. Then we were off the the Island. Genovesa is also known as the island of the birds, the ecosystem only supporting foul and the occasional small lizard. And indeed was it a sight to behold as we walked so close to pelicans, frigates, boobies of the blue, red and masked varieties (who earned their name for being incredibly stupid- building nests in the middle of paths) and even getting within a few metres of a Galapagos Hawk. Pictured left are Male Frigates trying to attract a mate with the distinctive red pouch. The frigates are also known colloquially as 'pirate birds' and it was on this island that we got to see why as we watched a frigate steal fish from a mother blue footed boobie mid flight. The while of the islands was incredibly informative, and made doubly so by spending some time with Bob ("I'm not a twitcher, I don't keep lists") who seemed to know more than the guide about all the birds and thier projected behavioural patterns.

Part two of this post will have to be published at a later date as I've run out of internet time! Apologies, zona Cafe in columbia isnt really set up to be pro communication...

Part Two...
The next day we were away to James Bay on Santiago Island, one of the most picturesque stop- offs of our trip yet. Here we saw an abundance of marine iguanas, sunbathing carelessly next to sea lions and hundreds of pretty red crabs. We got some time to study the marine iguanas properly here as they choughed up great gobs of sea salt while they sunbathed. Then we had a fairly entertaining time here trying to get 'Galapagos' photos... ie. photos of us posing ridiculously close to the wildlife (they actually advise you when you arrive on the islands not to let the wildlife pet you, the sea lions are so interested they'll put their flippers on you to investigate if you let them). The fun however was cut short when Sue posed too close to a large male sea lion which then proceeded to bark at her scaring her half to death and causing her to fall of a handy rock. Luckily she only had bumps and scrapes, but it was a good reminder for us all that these really were wild animals and we were lucky to be invited to their world, and not vice versa. It was also at James Bay that we were able to see a galapagos hawk up close, which was amazing as these birds of prey are notoriously hard to spot. In the afternoon we were on the Rabida Island, which I think would go down as my favourite island of the journey. Here the beach is a vibrant red in contrast to the fiercely blue sea, the whole thing looks like a David Hockney painting. Because its so hot on Rabida there isn't a whole lot of viewable wildlife, apparently there used to be flamingos in the lowlands here but they moved to cooler climes in the last few years, and there are tortoise colonies in the highlands but due to the slow rate of repopulation tourists aren't currently allowed there. However we went snorkling off Rabida and were blessed not only to see sea turtles, but sea turtles mating, an impressive sight. Although my personal highlight of the trip was the swim back to the beach where we were joined by a family of sea lions swimming around us and blowing bubbles... AWESOME!! Its was so cute and just amazing to be a part of.
The final day dawned all too soon, and unfortunately we only had a few hours at the famous Darwin research station down at the South end of Santa Cruz Island... however we were off to see Lonesome George and his pals and noone minded the Navy O Clock start. The tortoises did not disappoint, just as large as promised, these huge creatures were amazing to see. And as the photos show were just as interested in as as we were in them!! We also got a glimpse of Lonesome George, who is perfectly healthy to be released into the wild but the Equadorian Government wont do it because of the amount of tourism he creates, which I felt was a terrible shame (George pictured below) .
All in all the Galapagos Islands were worth every penny that they cost (most expensive part of my trip by threefold!) and promise to be a hgihlight not just of my trip, but of my whole life. It was with a big smile on my face I boarded the airplane in Baltra ready to fly into Quito, my next stop.
Mind you this was only after Don, Sue and I had spent several hours wondering around the shack of an airport, filling ourselves with empanadas and mocking the 'local crafts' which no way had been made on the island. Oh, and finding out that the German couple had spent the whole 5 days believing Sue was my mum, and were therefore very confused about why we were flying back to different places.

Guayaquil... city of danger...

I was actually fairly dubious about visiting Guayaquil, but had chosen it as my primero Equador destination as I knew it was best best chance to secure a last minute (relatively) cheap trip to the Galapagos Islands. Guayaquil has a truly terrible reputation among backpackers and Peruvians alike, if you go there you'll definately get mugged, raped and killed apparently. So arriving somewhat sleepily into the bus station at 5am I cautiously waited for the sun to come up before venturing into the city centre at around 7am. I had a Lima moment again when I realise that not only was the twon prisine, but it was also gorgeous and deserted, to my joy, because it was Saturday nothing was open until 9. But I actually had an enjoyable if sleepy couple of hours enjoying the strangley people-bereft streets to myself, especially enjoying the recently refurbished waterfront park. I've actually never seen a South American city even close to as quite as Guayaquil was that morning, and it speaks volumes about the amount of time and money Equador has poured into its largest, and previously most dangerous city, that my total experience there spoke more to me of a European holiday destination than the noise and smell I now associate with South Am. As soon as the buisnesses opened I was away to the recommended travel agaent for Guayaquil to see if there was any chance of getting me onto the Islands made oh-so-famous my Mr Darwin. After about and hour of searching it seemed my luck had run thin, and all the cruises leaving in the near future were well out of my budget, however eventually the travel agaent had success and they found me a spot on the good boat Angleito, leaving the next day from Baltra Island. Beyond exctied, my flights booked for 9am the next day, and a return flight booked into Quito for 5 days time, I was delighted to find out that not only did the travel agent offer free airport transfers, but they also offered free accomodation the night before the trip so I was sorted for my single night in Guayaquil- for FREE! And the apartment was lovely, so I whiled away the rest of the day exploring the city, perusing the apartment books and sampling the Equadorian food (markedly much more American in influence than all South Am food sampled so far). I especially enjoyed my evening in Guayaquil which I spent wondering along the seafront (having been assured by Douglas, the fab travel agent, that I would be very safe) surrounded by crowds of young equadorians enjoying the mild evening air.
And then (luckily, because I was waaay too excited to wait a moment longer) it was the next morning and time for my flight! And I will say that Guayaquil airport is by far the most efficent air based operation I've ever been privy to, with the minimum of waiting and all things perfectly on time, I was off to the Galapagos!!