a bit of house-keeping by way of introduction to our galapagos trip. the mister is planner supreme (i mean, he only planned and executed our three weddings, no big...) and once he set his heart on visiting the galapagos, i knew we'd be doing it the best possible way. now i'm not a fan of the outdoors, nor exertion, but i'm a fan of the mister and knew how much it meant to him. to his credit, he did warn me and give me plenty of chances to put my foot down, and he finally decided on this great little outfit that practiced 1) "leave no trace" 2) supports local enterprise. what that meant is that when we camped, there was no showers because we couldn't use soap on the island. every trace of waste water, right down to the bit you spit out after brushing your teeth) was bottled and removed from the island. we also had a local naturalist guide with us every where we went, used local charters and engaged only locals (captain, sailor, guide, crew) as we made our way through the archipelago. the only "non-local" but ecuadorian nevertheless was S our amazing guide.
it was a mixed group to say the least. there were 6 new yorkers (80 year old granny, her three kids, her daughter's 9 year old and 12 year old), a mother-teen daughter pair from mineapolis and us. S basically had to simultaneousy manage guests from 5 decades (<10, 10-19, 20s, 40s and 80) and keep us all entertained. talk about multi-tasking! he did this with aplomb and i'm grateful for how he managed me and my aversion to the outdoors. incidentally, it was sort of how he handled the kiddies haha, constantly reassuring, encouraging me to "just give it a try" and allowing me an 'out' any time it proved too much. the 80 year old, by the way, is an elegant elegant parisian lady who moved to NYC in her 20s to work for the UN, married an american and has stayed on since. she's fit as a fiddle, putting me to shame on more than one occasion and exuding this old world glamour while the rest of us degenerated into a bug-bitten mess.
we spent the first two nights on a deserted beach at st. cristobal where only our outfit was allowed to camp. here's the mister carrying everything, taking photos after peeing next to a pelican in the morning, the campsite bathed in the soft morning light and breakfast being prepared by our ever-efficient campsite crew. the meals were amazing and they worked magic in the very basic kitchen.
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