The pinguin and the alcoholic


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South America » Ecuador » Galápagos » Santa Cruz Island
November 24th 2009
Published: November 24th 2009
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PinguinsPinguinsPinguins

Islas Plazas
Islas De Galapagos, Islas Plazas,
15-10-1990.

Swallow-tailed gulls shriek loudly at our progress up to the top of the cliff, a perfect vatage point for watching the multitute of birdlife around us, tropic birds shear by us at alarming proximity, landing nearby on a rocky outcropping to feed its two hungry chicks. Out at sea I can see pirate birds and brown pelicans slashing it out over a scaly body pertruding fromk the pelicans baggy beak. Aerial arcobatics free for the watching and prying eyes of human visitors originating from the other side of Planet Earth.

Both the twin volcanic islands of Islas Plazas are absolute wildlife watching sites with huge colonies of sea lions, the males lumbering around on the beach trying to scare away possible male competition from his personal harem of dozing females.

Lava lizards can be seen at random, their spidery reptilian legs lifting their bodies from the boiling hot sun warmed up lava rocks while they hunt for bright green grasshoppers as big as a small mouse and that abound in their thousands.

Small nozy penguins follow us around while we disembark at the jetty, their inky black beady eyes reminding me
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on the beach
of their cousin that was once living in the bathroom of a friend of mine back in Amsterdam...

Our pinguin friend ended up in that particular bathroom, in that very chaotic and messy apartment after having been kidnapped from its home at the city zoo, by a very drunk Dave on his way home late at night. He is Scottish and so apparently excused for his intoxicated behaviour...

I remember whenever I needed a pee in that dirty bathroom, Mister Pinguin would be swimmimg around in the darkly green water of the bathtub watching me and screaming loudly in protestation. How it would waggle around the mess of the livingroom while Dave and his mates where making serious work of Red Label whisky bottles, jumping on top of Dave's red haired dog, Beno, that was rumour by the neighbors of having killed off at least half the neighborhood's cat population but seemed quite peacefull with little pinguin feet jumping up and down his ruddy fur, living on Zoute Haring that Dave's boozing mates would bring along and drinking beer for breakfast from Beno's iron bowl, maybe a bit of dog food for a change of diet from the
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on a rock
pickled hering.

Eventually we, the boozing mates, rekidnapped the pinguin while Dave was on one of his little "bussiness" trips to Barcelona, and threw it across the city zoo's gate, a big sign around its neck proclaiming in bright red letters...I AM AN ORPHAN, PLEASE ADOPT ME...

These cute little b*ggers humbing-backing around me here on Islas Plazas, have no idea of the fate that befell their cousin back in Gringo Land though.

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