In June of 1991 Adrian, his son Marc, and Marc’s soon-to-be wife, Tamara, were all planning a trip to the Galapagos Islands with Bruce, a biology professor from Florida State University. The plan was to live on a small boat (Bruce called it a yacht) for thirteen days with six other passengers and crew.
For Tamara, it was a dream of a lifetime to go where Darwin had confirmed his theory of evolution. Marc was going to be with Tamara and to make his father happy. Adrian had been on other adventures with Bruce, and would follow him anywhere.
I did not plan to go with them since I hate boats, bugs, camping, and roughing it in general. But the dates they would be away included the date of our wedding anniversary. And Bruce promised that this trip would be easy, romantic, and relaxing.
At the last minute, I decided to go with them.
Our spirits were high on the plane to Ecuador and in the Los Andes Hotel in Quito. That evening we walked through town, drank beer and ate fried calamari.
The next morning we took a dinghy out to board the Espanola to begin our adventure.
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A friend told me later that she saw the Galapagos Islands on a large comfortable cruise ship, but everyone on board got food poisoning.
No one got food poisoning on the Espanola. The crew caught fresh fish every day. We had ceviche, fried bananas, and even lobster.
Not that I was always able to eat the food. The first day out on the boat, my seasickness was so bad I considered jumping off and drowning to end the agony. Every time we hit a rough passage, I re-lived this experience. Even our last night on the Espanola when we had cake to celebrate, I could not eat.
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Sleep was impossible, thanks to the giant red cockroaches climbing the walls of our tiny bunk. These compartments contained the narrowest of bunk beds, so I’m not sure where the “romance” that Bruce had promised was supposed to happen.
We tried sleeping on the upper deck, where Marc and Tamara slept every night, but it was so hard without any cushioning that we couldn’t sleep there, either. Adrian might have been able to, but I wouldn’t allow him to leave me alone with the red cockroaches.
Besides, I thought, why not let Marc and Tamara have a little romance on the upper deck at night?
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The two bathrooms were little slanted closets with toilets that overflowed occasionally and didn’t always flush. When you sat on the commode, your knees touched the door, which was a good thing since there was no lock.
Bathing meant taking off your clothes, sprinkling on a little fresh water from a hose, lathering up, and then jumping off the boat to rinse off. Climbing back on the boat was a chore that Tamara and I couldn’t manage without a helping hand up. We just didn’t have the upper body strength.
Our clothes were always damp, hanging on a line on the top deck of the Espanola or heaped in a pile on our bunks.
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Bruce’s idea of an easy, relaxing day on one of the islands was to keep hiking a little further and not care if it was getting dark and you were cold because you were only wearing a bathing suit since you were told you’d be back before nightfall.
We went snorkeling most days, often right off the boat, and sometimes Bruce would leave a few of us weaker swimmers in one spot to take the rest of our group somewhere else. I was one of the weaker swimmers.
Tamara reminded me recently that my most frequent refrain throughout the thirteen days had been, “Adrian, don’t leave me.”
He often ignored my pleas. He was too caught up in the adventure of it all. But Tamara kindly shared Marc, who acted as a protector for both of us.
Tamara was a natural ally throughout much of the trip, but even she chose to go swimming with sharks when the opportunity came up.
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We slept every night on the boat except for one, when we hiked for seven hours to the top of Volcan Alcedo on Isla Isabella. We all carried backpacks containing sleeping bags, tents, snacks and dried food.
Periodically at a rest stop, Bruce would say, “We’re more than halfway there now.”
When we finally made it to the top, giant tortoises greeted us. We got to watch them mate, so I guess that was romantic.
Everyone chose a spot and set up their tents. Unfortunately, Adrian and I set ours up in tick territory. We were scratching all night and wandering around the campground trying to find relief. We didn’t even know we’d been attacked by ticks until we got back to our hotel in Quito, had real showers, and saw ourselves naked.
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If you talk to Adrian or Marc or Tamara, they’ll tell you about the wonders of the Galapagos—the blue boobies nesting on the ground . . . frigates zooming in on baby turtles rushing to sea . . . iguanas letting us walk right up to them . . . sea lions swimming among us.
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Adrian, Marc and Tamara all had an amazing experience, but not the one I had.