If Eden was paradise lost, then the Galapagos are a little piece of heaven rediscovered here on earth. Islands untouched by humans, where the sea lions are the kings of the beach and the night birds roam the streets after dark like young people stumbling home from the bars. Many a time, I’ve been one of those young stumbling people walking home alongside those night birds.
Despite popular belief, the islands are inhabited. I was one of its inhabitants. And boy, did I take advantage of that. After the awe of landing in the Galapagos Islands subsided, life settled into small town rhythm, pleasant and peaceful, not quite eventful. My day consisted of morning classes at the local private school. I’d take the same path every day, walking down the main road til I reached the end of the line. At noon I’d say goodbye to my students and take the same beaten path home for lunch. Usually, the girls and I arrived home around the same time every day. We’d all walk down to the beach together and bask in the glorious sun until it started to set and dinner time approached. After dinner, we’d meet with the rest of our little island family to drink, dance, and generally be merry. Life was good.
The cruises would come in daily and the tourists would disembark from their grand boat and get shuttled, through an otherwise bus-free town, to the local museum. In some twisted way, I felt the pride of a local – inflated because they were here to see my island, scornful that they’d never get to know its true beauty. Every day they’d come in off of their fancy ship with their tawdry waterproof hats and oversized cameras and awkward runners, gawking at us as we lithely paraded around our island in the most scant of clothing – bikinis, board shorts, skirts, flip flops. The other volunteers came and went as well. They stayed longer than the cruise boats, but they eventually left too. The island was ours.
Of course, nothing lasts forever. Soon enough our little island family started to drop off. One by one, we started our withdrawal from the island. Every week, another going away party at our favourite little dessert place. Finally, it was my turn. By the time I left only two of the nine girls remained. They, along with one of the boys, were the only ones to accompany me to the docks early that morning. It was a bittersweet goodbye and all I could do was watch wistfully as the boat pulled away from my beautiful island. Nunca se olividaré.
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