On our first day in the Galapagos, we had one of several opportunities to witness something that normally isn’t easy to see up close: Avian courtship. Also, really big iguanas. But I’ll talk about the iguanas in a future post. I should state for the record that I am not a birder, but during this trip I became a temporary convert.
The Galapagos Islands are famous for their bird life. Charles Darwin observed the differences in the beaks of the otherwise-similar finches on the various islands and surmised that they had developed their differences to deal with differing environmental conditions. These and some other bird species are seen nowhere else on earth, while others, though they also exist elsewhere, have long made their homes here. But as I will keep mentioning, all of them had no fear of us humans. Continue reading “Love, Galapagos Style”
Twelve of us sat in the salon of the boat, the Xavier III, with our Galapageño guide, Fabian. We went around the circle— Germans, Americans, Brits and Australians — introducing ourselves and telling him what we most hoped to see: Tortoises, iguanas, boobies, penguins, flamingos. Fabian told us that if we smiled a lot, we might see them all. Wait— penguins and flamingos? I didn’t know you could see those in the Galapagos Islands! We must have been doing some good smiling because we saw everything the group hoped for, and more.
For the next 8 days, we would be living on this boat as we visited different islands, each with its own geology, ecology, and endemic wildlife. Almost every day included two hikes and two snorkeling opportunities. There was very little down time between our 7AM breakfasts and our 7PM dinners; sometimes we craved an afternoon to just relax on the deck and read. But those cravings didn’t last long.
Continue reading “Aboard The Xavier III”
We didn’t arrive at our hotel until midnight Friday and slept in Saturday morning. Since we were meeting our tour group at 7PM, we only had a few hours to explore. After a late breakfast, we started on the one-mile walk to Quito’s historic district, hoping to find all the circled numbers on a map the concierge had given to Yvonne.
We headed off the main drag and started uphill on smaller streets. When we were in Morocco earlier this year, crossing the street in her cities was a contest with Death himself as we dodged cars who cared nothing for our presence in the crosswalk. Here in Quito, the cars politely honk to warn you that they’re coming. Continue reading “Quito In An Afternoon”
Ask most anyone, anywhere, about a local tourist destination or activity, and there’s a good chance that they haven’t seen or done it. I’m no different. Have I driven down Lombard Street, the Crookedest Street In The World? Ridden the Napa Wine Train? Visited the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park? Ridden a Segway along the San Francisco Marina? No, no, no, and no. Continue reading “A Tourist In My Own Back Yard”
I’m sitting in the back of our taxi as we drive, looping inland and then back to the Atlantic coast heading north from Essaouira. We’ve just begun the seven-hour drive to Salé, where we will spend our final night in Morroco. The sky is overcast. Forests of thuya wood stretch from both sides of the road, as far as the eye can see. As always, Yvonne is sitting in the front seat so that she can talk to the driver in French. I am half-listening, half writing.
The trees become scrub as we get closer to the sea. Unburdened donkeys graze by the road, no work this morning. Small herds of sheep and goats populate the hillsides, their keepers always nearby. Low stone walls make corrals for the occasional horses or cows. We mount a rise in the road, and suddenly the ocean appears, calm, the beach an endless stretch of sand. Continue reading “A Bientôt, Morocco!”
It was so windy in Essaouira the evening we arrived that my hat flew off of my head as I exited the car. That much wind was exceptional, but it isn’t called the Windy City for nothing; this coastal town and its tradewinds are world-reknowned for kitesurfing. The typical weather during our visit was cool and overcast in the morning, even foggy sometimes, while afternoons were sunny and breezy. It was much more like San Francisco than hot Casablanca, which is 200 miles north. Continue reading “Jimi Hendrix, Where Art Thou?”