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Published: December 9th 2011
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After our one and a half days of volunteering work, we badly needed a rest. The best thing to do, I thought, was to leave Santa Cruz for a week and go to San Cristobal. By an amazing stroke of coincidence (your correspondent does not believe in luck unless it involves getting the last cold bottle of beer in the shop) that is exactly what happened.
To go from one island to another you need a boat. As there are usually fifteen other people who have tickets, you need a biggish boat. As San Cristobal is roughly 60km away, you want a biggish but fastish boat and that dear readers is what we got. A sort of speedboat that could hold up to 20 people that smashed into each wave like a boat smashing into waves. After two hours of travelling like this we arrived in the small capital of the island, Puerto Baquerizo Moreno. Our first thought was to get to the hotel and sleep, while Mercy and Catalina’s first thought was to eat ice cream.
The town itself has one really noticeable feature. Sea lions. They are everywhere. The beaches are taken up with them barking at
each other, the benches on the promenade will be taken up with sea lions fast asleep like drunks in George Square in Glasgow. Walking through the square the beasts will be lounging around, casting a suspicious eye at anyone who walks too close. Your correspondent observed them with a clinical and detached eye. Wendy, Mercy and Catalina moved in to gushing mode and everything was “ awww” and “ cute”. At these utterings I would wander off in search of a harpoon, but not for the seals.
After one night in town and a meal in a restaurant where Catalina managed to upset the waitress on no less than 12 occasions, we ventured north in to the highlands towards the station where we were to be working for four days. Jatun Sacha was, and still is, it’s name. We were deep in to jungle territory (without the green and white scarves) and the station was, to say the least, infested with mosquitos and other bugs of the biting variety.
We were met by Cesar. An indefatigable man of the Ecuadorian variety. He exuded the quiet confidence and humour of a man who knew he was in charge. Everybody
in the camp would hang on his every word – there was a bit of a Jim Jones situation going on here your correspondent feared. Thankfully, nothing dramatic happened in the time we were here.
Our accommodation was comfortable if you are happy sharing the room with many 5 inch long huntsman spiders. Your correspondent was okay with this, as was Catalina. Wendy was a bit on edge, while Mercy was a quivering heap of terror who did not sleep for the three nights we slept there. I would have offered her a small puppy or kitten as a suitable replacement, but I may need them for future situations of my own.
Our voluntary work started off with the task of collecting fruit for the kitchen. Oranges and lemons were collected easily enough, as were mandarins. Then it came to papayas. We were told that the best way was for two people to hold a sack between them (two corners each as if holding a duvet) to catch the fruits as they fell from about 20ft. This was the plan we put in place. Catalina and Mercy held the sack as I threw myself against the trunk of
the tree a few times. This loosened a few papayas and the girls positioned themselves below. Two big, fleshy papayas come off the branch and fell downwards – sadly on the wrong side of the tree from our catchers. They plummeted and smashed against the stones below. Guiltily, we hid the shattered fruit with ferns and then pretended we didn’t manage to get any.
With meals provided (I checked for any hidden cyanide) the only thing missing was beer. Your correspondent was beginning to suffer withdrawal symptoms and felt as though he was hallucinating, as it felt as though he was being eaten alive. Thankfully, he realised that was just the mosquitos, so all was well. We had heard that there was a nearby bar and rumours abounded that we were going there after dinner. And, dear readers, that is what we did.
The walk in the pitch black took about twenty minutes. Some people carried torches, but your correspondent can smell beer over a 10km radius, so was able to hone in on the source. The bar itself was rather peculiar. A farm out building without walls would be a closer description, run by an elderly couple
who would just make up the price each time you bought a drink. They had worked out that their trade would be primarily from volunteers, so they had bought a DVD of Michael Jacksons’ greatest hits andblasted it out. Your correspondent reckons it was a ploy to make people buy more alcohol to numb the pain. Seating was provided by benches along the side and the entertainment was provided by two pool tables and Catalina salsaing away with the cook from the volunteer station. I made up the word salsaing.
Our work at the station included planting 6,000 coffee beans, clearing a massive area of overgrowth with rakes and machetes, shelling and roasting coffee beans for use and the worst of all, cutting back and rooting up blackberry plants. The last was an awful business. Armed with a hoe, we had to dig down and tear the plant up from it’s roots. It was very hot and we had to wear headgear like a beekeepers to avoid being eaten by mosquitos. Your correspondent was rather tired through this hard work and plans to avoid such activities in the future.
Although we were there for four days, only two
days were spent working. Afternoons were usually spent reading or playing cards or building thermonuclear missiles. Friday is always a day off and involves going for a hike. This hike, we were told would take us to a big waterfall where we could swim. Hurrah, we thought. Sadly we did not make it. Our guide – the cooks – did not follow any trail but made one up themselves that involved scrambling up hills down valleys and hacking through impenetrable blackberry forests that proved to be just that – impenetrable. After what felt like several hours (45 minutes), they gave up and returned back to the station to follow a proper trail but this time to a beach. After what felt like several more hours (another 45 minutes) we arrived at a rocky beach where we couldn’t swim.
Marvellous.
So ended our volunteering adventure. We had been sold a package that was based on three weeks volunteering on the Galapagos. In the first week, we did one and a half days. In the second week, we did two days. The third week, we were told did not include any work at all !! Not quite what we had
in mind.
The last day was an adventurous one. The four of us departed on a boat, after Catalina and Mercy bought and ate another massive amount of ice cream, towards the fantastically called Kicker Rock. Wendy, Catalina and I were to snorkel, while Mercy would tie weights around her to drag her deep down into the murky depths of the Pacific – sadly using an oxygen tank and mask.
The Rock is split in two and each cliff is about 500ft high and over 90ft deep. A beautifully savage piece of stone, but to your correspondent quite terrifying. It is one thing snorkelling in three meters of clear water where you can watch sea lions and pretty fish and starfish and sea cucumbers, but quite another snorkelling in the middle of the deep pacific, in strong currents sweeping you towards the rocks and having hammerhead sharks appearing from the darkness below you.
Thankfully we all survived. Me to drink beer, Wendy to organise our next week at the next island and Catalina and Mercy to eat ice cream.
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kathy
non-member comment
I thought you could comment on each photo but cant work out how to - the photo of you all in wetsuits, with G's off the shoulder has to be the photo of the trip. Who knew he'd make such a great tranny...! ;-)