I’ve been thinking a lot about San Cristóbal Island, where I lived from January to April. I blame my travel writing class. Today alone, I spent five hours editing my third essay about my semester abroad. This one’s about sea lions and friendship dynamics, and it has me scrolling through old photos and messages for details.
When I start to miss the Galápagos, I remember how my feet became swollen and itchy with heat rash during my first week, how sweaty I got just walking the fifteen minutes to school, and how hard it was to get out of the water at Playa Mann at low tide.
But I also remember boat days—field trips spent circling the island on a motorboat with ten or fifteen other people, getting off to hike some remote corner and then snorkel somewhere new. Ninety-seven percent of the Galápagos is protected, so most parts are inaccessible on land. The only way to get to Punta Pitt, on the far side of my island, is by boat.
Punta Pitt
Sometimes we ran into pods of dolphins on our way back to the port, and the captain would stop the boat so we could watch them. My classmates and I would hang our feet off the bow and scream when the dolphins leapt higher and higher.
Dolphins!
The sun set every evening around 6:15, and it was always a spectacle. Sometimes the whole sky turned dark red. I’d hang my wet bathing suit over my arm and walk back up the hill to my host family’s house.
An island sunset
I was spoiled. I saw so many different species of giant tortoises that I got bored. Blue-footed boobies lost their charm when I got to snorkel with penguins. But boobies were so cool, even beyond their blue (or red!) feet. They can see deep into the water, so when they spot fish to hunt, they dive down as fast as sixty miles an hour. I used to stare at them in awe as I tread water, so entertained that I forgot how cold the water was.
A penguin and a booby ignoring each other
The water was cold. On blazing afternoons, my friends and I would hop in the water for a couple minutes before starting our schoolwork, just to cool down.
Two days ago, I saw a friend from my Galápagos program for the first time in six months. He’s missing the island, too. We walked around campus and missed it together.
It’s getting cold again in Wellesley. Most deciduous trees have lost their leaves. Campus is losing its color. On my island, I got to see the forests transform from brown to green. The same transition happens in New England, but it’s going to be a long, dark winter before the leaves come back.
Until then, I’ll be thinking of my island.
A rainbow on a morning run