For most tourists, Floreana is a day or overnight visit and my decision to stay a week was outright discouraged. “Es muy tranquilo!” literally “It’s very quiet.”, but meaning, “There is nothing to do there!” Nonetheless, I was intrigued by an inhabited Galapagos island that has changed little in fifty years and the Wittmers, who settled here.

Heinz and Margret Wittmer, disillusioned with their lives in Germany, and inspired by Dr. Ritter (a vegetarian, nudist, dentist who published accounts of his Edenic life on Floreana), packed up their possessions and set off in 1932 to live on this speck of volcanic land, roughly 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador, (Floreana by Margret Wittmer offers her fascinating account.)

The Hotel Wittmer run today by their daughter Ingebor a.k.a. Floreanita and granddaughter, Erika, is where I wished to stay and booked a room before my arrival. The reservation proved unnecessary. I was often the only guest.

My room for $25/night had a private balcony with hammock on playa negra (aptly named black beach), table and chairs, overhead fan, double bed, and dresser: simple, but comfortable. The sea lay barely a stone’s throw away and lulled me to sleep. I awoke to the sound of the surf and the kireee, kireee, kireee song of the birds who flitted amongst the coconut palms. Sea turtles, sea lions, and pelicans were often passing by and the iguanas, lizards, and finches were never far.

My arrival coincided with Floreanita’s eightieth birthday. I was invited for cake with the guest of honor, her three daughters, three grandchildren, and nephew, mostly visitors. Only she and Erika still reside on Floreana. The following day I took a boat trip with the family, but any questions I would have loved to pose regarding their lives on the island remained unasked. l sensed they were either tired of such inquiries or had never enjoyed discussing their unique circumstance with curious outsiders.

Modern life, despite the information I had received, has come to Floreana after all: cell phones and wifi are present, but service is intermittent and the very few motorized vehicles are rarely seen. The three chivas are used to transport the tourists to the highlands and the handful of pickup trucks and jeeps are used by locals to attend to their fincas (farms) a few miles away. There are no taxis but I and my two companions (a French couple- they had planned on staying four nights and left after two) were offered a ride back from a hike in the highlands.

The population is around 150. There is one school for the roughly 27 students ages 5 through 14. Older students must travel to Santa Cruz or the mainland to continue their studies. There are no shops per se (except for a tiny room connected to a home with a sparse supply of eggs, biscuits, papaya, cucumber, and yogurt when in stock). Most goods are grown organically on the island for personal use and/or exporting: coffee, pineapple, guavas, oranges, watermelon, papaya, corn, wheat, cows, pigs, chickens and burros. Once a month a ship comes from Guayaquil transporting goods or residents make the two-hour boat trip to Santa Cruz.

The dining options were limited to four eateries. The hotel offered decent meals, but little charm. It served as my breakfast spot. For lunch and dinner I went elsewhere. Perseverance was needed and advance notice was mandatory. If my reservation at an eatery was accepted, I would find a place setting awaiting my arrival. I was often the only diner.

After a delicious meal my first evening I was told the owner/cook would be leaving for a week. It was a tough break! The second best was open when the owner was up to it. She had been tuckered out by a large group of tourists the previous week and needed to rest. The last option, with the least talented cook, was usually open and the warm, engaging locals who congregated there made up for the lack of gastronomic pleasure.(Although the choice of meals:tuna-not out of a can-and chicken served with rice, potatoes and salad were the usual choices everywhere,the preparation made all the difference.)

Despite some adjusting to the pace and rhythm, my week went all too fast. I adapted quickly to this unique enclave.

What did I do in a place “with nothing to do”? I listened to the surf and birds, swam daily and snorkeled with sea turtles and sea lions, visited the caves that housed pirates and the Wittmers when they first arrived, saw grazing giant tortoises and the usual array of creatures, kayaked in a turquoise sea, hiked along a gorgeous rocky coast and to the top of a hill/volcano(?) with a magnificent view at sunset, read, wrote, and napped during the oppressive heat of the afternoons, walked the quiet empty road at night gazing at the stars, thwarted the bites of ravenous mosquitos, and chatted with those who call Floreana home.

To appreciate the Galapagos is easy. One need only use one’s senses, but to learn some of the history adds to the pleasure.

Unlike many lands, the Galapagos claims no indigenous people, at least not one with a trace. The islands are volcanic and were never connected to a land mass. Pirates and other seamen had visited the islands, nearly devouring all the tortoises that gave the islands their name, yet did not settle here. The Galapagos was eventually founded as a penal colony where prisoners were expected to fend for themselves. The residents today, if descendants of past generations, are likely related to these original prisoners. In the 20th century a few Europeans came seeking an Edenic life–very few remained. The Wittmers of Floreana are a noteworthy and fascinating exception.

Today the population is tightly controlled and permanent residency can only be obtained by being born here or marrying someone who has.

Santa Cruz is the most populated of the four inhabited islands and connected by bus and ferry to the tiny island of Baltra where an airport welcomes flights from Quito and Guayaquil. Foreigners come in droves with predominantly pale skin, wide-brimmed hats and variations of safari attire. Backpackers are less in attendance; a visit to the Islands does not come cheap.

If one sticks to the main streets of the inhabited islands, a stream of travel agencies, t-shirt shops, and restaurants catering to tourists with highly inflated prices will be encountered. Tourism is the primary industry. But walking in the quieter back streets one discovers a life for locals where a full lunch with soup, main course and bottomless juice glass is $4 (the currency here is the American dollar converted from the sucre in 2000. Many Ecuadorians lost considerable sums in the sudden exchange. The “connected” took measures in exchanging their funds beforehand.).

My two-week boat trip passed far too quickly and exceeded all expectations.

Fortunately I have some time before my visa expires to explore Santa Cruz, Floreana (which I will be writing about next), and Isla Isabela before heading back to the Ecuador mainland on May 1.

An added bonus is that my Spanish is improving-very few locals speak English.

To be continued…

I look before sitting down on a public bench in town not wishing to sit on a sea lion. Few if any of the creatures here fear humans and mingle freely among us. They are well protected with strict laws and seemingly know it. The land, sea, and sky are havens for iguanas, dolphins, giant tortoises, whales, sharks, sea turtles, crabs, pelicans, finches, lizards, sea lions, fur seals, and hundreds of other species including the iconic blue and red footed boobies all flourishing in their natural habitats. The thrill never abates in seeing them all, many at nearly arm’s-length.

For two weeks I was on a 110 foot boat, with 12 to 15-mostly British and Australian passengers(they stayed for 8 or 5 days) exploring the islands:Santa Cruz, Isabela, Fernandina, Santiago, Santa Fe, Santa Maria, Española, San Cristobal, and Genovesa with an extremely knowledgable naturalist, gracious capitan and crew. It was a magical journey through stunning sea and scenery; an awe-inspiring encounter with the natural world.

Hikes and snorkeling, sometimes twice each day kept us fit, hungry for the three full meals and ready for bed at 8pm. It helped that the sun sets at 6pm. My nightlife consisted of moon and star-gazing, of the mostly Southern Hemisphere, while sitting on the bow of the ship, followed by the reading of Charles Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle in bed.

Darwin traveled around the world (1831-1836) years before he would challenge age-old beliefs with his theories of evolution. His arduous travels reliant on ship, horseback and foot, and descriptions of “naked savages” tell of a world not yet 200 years ago which little resembles our own.

These last four days I’ve stayed in Santa Cruz, doing my best to keep cool. Days are sweltering.  So I ride a bike to Tortuga Bay for swimming, hop into the ubiquitous white pick-up truck taxis ($1.50 fixed price) when I’m feeling lazy-I’ll blame that on the heat, and take a water taxi to the beautiful Las Grietas across Finch Bay. Chatting with locals who are open and warm–in my error laden Spanish. I watch the sea lions sleep, flirt, snarl, play and caress each other.

Tomorrow I take a ferry back to Isla Floreana–an island with a colorful history of eccentrics and murderers–to stay for a week. It is described as a relatively primitive island: no cars, basic accommodations, one phone, no wifi.

To be continued…