Fortunately on my trip to Quito, I was upgraded to business class on both the outbound and inbound flights, which made it much more pleasurable, except for a few glitches. The first problem arose about mid-way into the trip when I got up to stretch and go to the restroom—a major bad timing decision. As I opened the door to exit the bathroom, a rather elderly man lay sprawled in the aisle preventing me from moving any further. I stood helplessly, looking down at him as the flight attendant began asking for a doctor on the plane.

Another woman who I assumed was his wife or daughter crowded in next to me. Although I am very proud to have a Ph.D., I have enough sense to never use the title “Dr.” on an airplane ticket for just this reason. How embarrassing it would be to be asked and have to say, “Duh, I’m not that kind of doctor,” which began my thinking about how attendants know if someone is a real physician.  I didn’t see them check any credentials or ask questions of the man who answered the call for a doctor. He just appeared from somewhere in the middle of the airplane in his dirty, worn trousers and dingy shirt and proceeded to look as confused as the old man lying on the floor.

The attendant brought oxygen and helped the “doctor” apply the mask. By this time, the attendant began asking the woman standing next to me questions about the older gentleman’s medical history and prescriptions.  She just kept saying, “He has prostate problems” over and over. I wanted to say, “Lady, I don’t think that’s the problem, but since I am not that kind of doctor and really didn’t know, I kept really quiet—which wasn’t easy.

How I wanted to disappear back to my seat, but as long as he was “prostrate,” I couldn’t. Finally, I mustered the courage to ask her if she was his wife and she nodded yes, quickly adding in a more frustrated than worried tone, “And he needs to be okay because we are traveling in the Galapagos for the next two weeks.” Again, I was silent, but couldn’t help but think maybe she should have thought about that when she married the ole codger who was at least 25 years older than her.

After about 30 minutes of standing in the very area where the captain warns passengers not to “congregate,” I was able to squeeze by as the attendants lifted the sick man to the jump seat. Moving quickly and in darkness, I didn’t see the two pillows in the floor and couldn’t catch myself as my foot tangled and I went hurling forward—making the second person to be on the airplane floor in less than an hour. But I was instantly up and in my seat! Within ten minutes the old man was back in his place across the aisle, snoring blissfully as I rubbed my throbbing knee.

The return trip was less eventful although I arrived at the airport at 4:30 a.m. only to be told the plane had not arrived the night before due to fog and that we would be leaving much later—2:15 p.m. I arrived home at 11:45 that night. I love flying!!!!

This little village, Puerto Ayora, reminds me of old outposts in rural parts of Mexico where one is careful to eat only at the suggested restaurants, drink only bottled water, and walk cautiously on the cobbled-stone pavers which comprise any street that is not dirt. The locals are friendly, and like in every other Latin country, night life is active and noisy. Souvenir shops are plentiful and prices can be negotiated, but not very much. It appears the vendors stick together, and besides I have seen all the “I LOVE BOOBYS” t-shirts that I care to view, and I can’t think of a single person to buy one for although I have a number of male friends who would admit to the slogan, but are too old for the shirt!

In my time here, I have decided I am not a naturalist; I do not like bugs, amphibians, or reptiles. Furthermore, I am a clean freak and picky about what I eat (this morning breakfast was fried green bananas with white cheese). I also do not like any form of “rustic, primitive living.” Obviously, I discovered quickly that I am not the perfect fit for the Galapagos Islands. So what was I thinking?? About the adventure!! I suppose it is akin to why people climb mountains, run marathons, or even write novels.  It is all about “just doing it,” because it is a challenge or a passion. This may have given me pause about going to other remote areas, but since I want to see the Seven Wonders of the World and the runners-up, I may be in some trouble with my inner being. Time will tell.

I am, though, enjoying the adventure. I enjoy every place I visit, but some more than others. And although these islands will not go down as a favorite, part of the reason may be my fault. The timing, perhaps, is not the best. I am distracted because my mind is on Keeping Faith and its completion. I have not been focused on the trip because I keep checking my email for word from the publisher and thinking about all things related to the book. Traveling is about attitude, and this time, I just haven’t been in the game.

Nonetheless, I flew from Quito, a two hour flight, directly into Baltra Island and then transferred by boat to Santa Cruz, another island, and then took a bus 45 more minutes into Puerto Ayora. I was accompanied by a pre-arranged guide who was supposed to be fluent in English, but apparently no one told him! My Spanish is better than his English, so there is a good chance I am not even where I think I am!! Getting to and around The Galapagos is not for sissies!

Baltra Airport is small, very small and pretty much open to the elements! Baltra was a U.S. military base from 1941-45 when the Ecuadorian government allowed the U.S. military to use the island in order to protect the Panama Canal during World War Two. The only inhabitants were 4,000 U.S. soldiers who never called the island Baltra or its code name Beta. To them it was simply The Rock because it is more than five square miles of rock and very little else.

The soldiers, as the story goes, were bored and isolated, waiting for a war that never came to them so they started the first beer garden in the Galapagos. Now, this modern version of the beer garden is located just a block from where I am staying, “The Hotel Red Booby.” Yes, that is the real name. The Red Booby is a bird here in the islands, as is the Blue Footed Booby, which I have already seen. So, I guess you can say that my boobies are in good company.

The “las tiendas” are closing for the next couple of hours for siesta, and I have a boat to catch, so I must close until later. Hasta manana!