After leaving my short-lived life as a Londoner, I did a week-long ultra touristy trek through Italy, hitting up Rome, Venice, Pompeii, and the Amalfi Coast. Everyone assured me I would absolutely love the romantic old-world charm of Venice. But after three days of exploring the maze-like canals and carless streets, I wasn’t impressed.
To me, I could easily see how Venice could be like the Times Square of Italy—the overcrowded tourist trap where no local in their right mind would ever go. Maybe it was just the time of year (late April) or the places I’d visited, but it seemed as though every narrow walkway was jam-packed with groups of map-wielding, camera happy tourists.
The antique architecture was enough to make me reach for my own camera at every turn. But after a while most of the streets (and my photographs) began to look the same. Okay, so maybe all of that weaving over and around canals led me in circles more times than I’d like to admit, but the narrow walkways crowded with storefronts, restaurants, and hotels really did become difficult to tell apart from one another.
Sometimes (particularly when I was hangry or had to pee) it was just downright annoying to look across the street and see where I wanted to go, only to have to go six blocks out of my way to the nearest bridge to do so—and then getting lost. Lazy/dumb I know, but I don’t like maps and well, this is what happens when you don’t use maps in Venice.
A lot of people talk about how romantic Venice is. I wasn’t there on a romantic getaway, but the sheer amount of people at every turn made me wonder how anyone could consider Venice a romantic destination. These must be the same kind of people who also think New Years in Times Square or Jumbotron marriage proposals are romantic as well.
And let’s not forgot the infamous gondola ride. I knew they would be expensive, but $80-$100 to ride down a crowded canal alongside noisy motorboats while sucking in exhaust fumes? No thanks, I’ll go stuff my face with a five course meal of carbs at an awesome restaurant for that kind of money. I saw gondola guides talking on their cell phones and shouting at one another when they got within earshot. Ooh yes, I’ll take my romance with a side of boat rage please! (Okay I’m sure they’re really not that bad, this is just my way of justifying the fact that I didn’t spend that insane amount of money).
I must say that all of the food I had was pretty delicious in Venice, even though I’m sure that I ate at more than my fair share of tourist traps. Fresh meats, milky cheeses, homemade pastas, and an abundance of wine made every mealtime my favorite time of day.
Sadly, my absolute favorite day was the day we decided to grab a glass of wine (sometimes three) at each place we passed on our aimless walk through the maze-like streets. I usually prefer traveling to places where I don’t need to get drunk to enjoy myself, but the booze really helped to block out all of the tourists and notice the things that so many people love about Venice. Suddenly the city had a kind of rustic charm to it as wrinkled couples made their way through the streets while spouting off loud Italian. Loads of brightly colored laundry flapped against the peeling paint of centuries-old buildings. Kids ran through the car-free streets kicking soccer balls, and restaurants lured us in with their accordions and wine lists.
Wine was definitely a good choice in Venice.
Have you ever been to Venice? What do you think, love it or skip it?
The Galápagos. A cluster of volcanic islands, teeming with rare, exotic wildlife, rising out of the Pacific Ocean some six-hundred miles off of mainland Ecuador. Sounds like an expensive trip, doesn’t it? Sure, it can be. But it doesn’t have to be.
Don’t get me wrong, the Galápagos aren’t exactly a backpacker destination. The costs of getting there alone will run you at least $500—including a ~$400 flight from Quito or Guayaquil, the $100 park entry fee, and the $10 transit control card. (Word of advice: do NOT lose that card, or you may end up missing your flight home if no one is around to sell you a new one upon departure.)
But really, once you get to the islands you can spend as little or as much as you want and still have an awesome time. So if you’re considering a trip to the Galápagos, or even just looking for a unique beach vacation, hopefully this guide will help you determine whether or not the Galápagos Islands could be in your near future.
Tourists in a water taxi in Puerto Ayora
All about the Galápagos Islands…aka the stuff you can easily find on Wikipedia.
The Galápagos are a National Park and UNESCO World Heritage Site, so much of the land and surrounding marine area is carefully monitored and preserved by park authorities. The archipelago is made up of about 13-18 main islands and a few smaller ones (everyone will tell you a different number). Of those, only four or five are inhabited, and the rest you need to be with a tour guide to access.
The population is roughly 25,000, with about half of those people living in Santa Cruz. I showed up expecting an untouched, desolate paradise with like a 100:1 sea lion to human ratio, so I was definitely surprised to see the town of Puerto Ayora full of bars, souvenir shops, restaurants, cars, and people.
You can easily research the different islands to find out which are best for your visit, but here are a few notes I took on the ones that stood out to me:
Bartolomé– uninhabited island with the breathtakingly scenic Pinnacle rock, and an awesome lava flow that spills right onto a white, sandy, deserted beach.
Española- I didn’t visit but since it’s the oldest island, it sounds like a kickass wildlife spot with tons of endemic species. It’s also the furthest South so unfortunately it’s not an option to visit on a day trip, only on a cruise, which we’ll jump into more in a minute.
Fernandina- basically an active volcanic island covered in old black lava flows. I got excited thinking I’d be able to see active lava flows, but after reading that tours don’t take you anywhere near the crater, I chose not to go.
Floreana- most people I spoke with liked Floreana, but I thought it was worth skipping. We saw some tortoises, did a small hike, visited a painfully rocky black lava rock beach with cloudy snorkeling due to the current, and of course stopped by Post Office Bay. Nothing special.
Isabela- my favorite Island that I visited, and not just because it’s shaped like a seahorse. There are volcanoes to hike, flamingos to see, and penguins and sea lions to swim with. Population is about 2,000 people, and the largest town of Puerto Villamil has dirt roads, no ATMs, and is super chill. I just wouldn’t recommend diving here because there’s only one dive shop on the island and they’re not exactly the most reputable bunch.
North Seymore Island- an easy day trip from Puerto Ayora and a good spot for beginner divers.
Rabida- red beaches. Enough said.
The #1 way to save money
The biggest way to save money in the Galápagos is to stay on land. It’s what I did and it’s the only way I can recommend making a trip to the Galápagos affordable (unless of course you have your own sailboat and you’re sailing down there and living aboard your own boat for free).
When most people talk about dropping thousands to visit the islands, that’s because they’re taking a cruise. These small boats of roughly 20 or so people set you up with a tour guide and tout you around to a new island each day. If you book in advance it looks like you’ll spend at least a grand—all food and excursions included—but you can also get some pretty good deals if you book last minute from the islands (not sure if I’d risk taking that chance during high season though). A lot of people aren’t even aware that you can stay on land too, for as low as $15/night in Puerto Ayora (the main town of the Galápagos), and take much cheaper day trips out to visit a number of islands.
The only downside I could see to staying on land is that you won’t be able to visit some of the islands that are much further out. But there’s so much to do and see on those nearby islands, you can easily fill up a ten-day trip without missing a thing.
Tell me more about these day trips
Most island day trips head out of Puerto Ayora, on Santa Cruz and will run about $60-$110 depending on the island, usually with lunch included. Walk along Avenida Charles Darwin and you’ll be able to book whatever trips you want from a number of vendors.
I would suggest figuring out which spots are must-sees for you, then choose a good base island or two. For example, I stayed in Puerto Ayora for five nights and took day trips out to Floreana and Bartolomé, while also spending some time exploring the island and beaches by bike and foot. Then I took the $40 water taxi to spend my last four nights on Isabela, where I walked out to the Flamingo Lagoon to see pink flamingos for free, went on a 6-hour hike up to Sierra Negra and Volcán Chico for only $35 (including lunch), and dropped $75 to go snorkeling at Los Tuneles. Sounds like a lot for a snorkeling trip, but this was a guided tour snorkeling through old lava tubes, coming across caves of sharks and manta rays, seahorses, and swimming with baby sea lions. Worth it.
All in all I spent around $300 on at least five days worth of trips and was busy every single day.
Diving is another popular activity, but just like anywhere else it’s not cheap. There are tons of dive shops in Puerto Ayora that’ll likely run you around $110-$175 for a two-dive trip along with some food and underwater photos. But when you’re 40 feet down swimming alongside hammerhead sharks, it’s obviously worth it. Even if you start puking like I did.
BartolomeA gorgeous but painful beach on FloreanaScuba diving with manta rays off Turtle Island
Where should I stay?
Like I’ve mentioned a few times already, Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz is a good place to start because it’s basically the main hub of the islands. There are a bunch of hotel options including backpacker friendly hostels for less than $15/night, more private hotels and b&b’s for around $50, and a few fancy way-out-of-my-budget places that I think were around a couple hundred a night. But with so much hustle and bustle, I wouldn’t recommend staying too long or you might start to forget you’re in the Galápagos. There are also a couple of desolate high-end resorts up in the highlands that are pretty far from the coast, and I’d imagine quite expensive.
Puerto Villamil on Isabela is another great town, and one of my favorite places I’ve ever been to. I stayed at Caleta Iguana in the $70/night private room with a private bath, which included a delicious homemade breakfast every morning. It’s right on the beach, and has the most happening happy hour in town. Every evening people come from all over the town to have a few drinks, walk across the tightrope, party around the fire, listen to music, sway in the hammocks, and watch the sun set.
Sounds awesome. So how do I get there?
For some reason a lot of people ask me this, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from giving some smartass remark about a booking site and an airplane.
Flights travel from mainland Ecuador either through Quito or Guayaquil, and take about 2-3 hours depending on which city.
There are two airports in the Galápagos, one on Baltra and one on San Cristóbal. Most people (including me) fly into Baltra, which is a tiny island just north of Santa Cruz that basically looks like Mars. After landing you’ll jump on an airport bus which will take you to the docks for free. From there you’ll cram into a water ferry, which is actually like an oversized canoe that will leave you questioning exactly how buoyancy works with that many tourists. As it chugs against the surprisingly strong current, the reality is that you could probably toss a football over to Santa Cruz so it’s a fairly quick transfer for $0.80. Once you’re on Santa Cruz you can catch a bus through the highlands, all the way to the other end of the island to Puerto Ayora. It takes about an hour and only costs about $1.50, but they cram the shit out of the bus. I enjoyed the bumpy ride while crammed between seats on the plastic astroturf-like floor.
Sweating on the bus
I can’t tell you much about arriving in San Cristóbal, as I didn’t get the chance to visit. But I do know it’s the easternmost island with a population of about 6,000 people, and I’m told you can sunbathe alongside sea lions if you visit the beach.
Either way, transportation between the islands will run you roughly $40 for a ferry ride, and take about 2-3 hours, so limit and plan your transfers wisely.
What are some free/cheap things I can do while on land?
You’ll need a tour guide to access many places, but there are still a ton of free things you can do that are just as cool.
Santa Cruz
– Explore the Darwin Research Center and visit the giant tortoise and iguana breeding center.
– Walk to Tortuga Bay. Once you reach the entry point just outside of town, locals will tell you it’s about a 20 minute walk. Bullshit. I didn’t have a watch or phone on me but it’s definitely closer to 45+ minutes. Despite the heat and humidity it’s an easy walk, but once you emerge from the partially tree-covered pathway, you’ll see a long white stretch of gorgeous, untouched natural beach with perfectly blue and white waves breaking at the shoreline. This area’s a bit too choppy to swim but there will likely be a few surfers in the water along with some sharks flapping about in with the waves. Walk another 15 minutes or so to the end of the beach and you’ll come across the swimming bay which is much calmer, and probably at least a little crowded with locals. You can even pay a few bucks and take a kayak out to explore on your own.
– I didn’t make it up there, but if you’re all about seeing some giant, old ass tortoises in their natural habitat, head up to the highlands and explore El Chato Tortoise Reserve.
– Cliff diving at Las Grietas. Intrigued? It costs like 50 cents for a 15 minute water taxi ride from the Puerto Ayora docks, and a short hike until you’re there. It’s basically a crevice between two cliffs where salt and fresh water meet, and the lack of a current makes it a popular spot to swim and take daring jumps.
– Grab a bike and explore the city. I hopped on a mountain bike and went as far as I could before the hill started to get to be too much for my lazy ass. I rode around the back streets and explored the neighborhoods and it was definitely a day well spent for only a few dollars.
Old ass tortoiseTortuga BayBiking the streets of Puerto AyoraExploring the streets of Puerto Ayora
Puerto Villamil, Isla Isabela
Isabela is an incredibly behind-the-times island with painfully slow internet, which was absolutely perfect. It’s really easy to spend mornings exploring and afternoons napping on the beach without a worry in the world.
– Hike Volcán Chico/Sierra Negra. The guided volcano hike is only $35 with lunch, and in my opinion totally worth it. Not so much worth it if you just hike up to Sierra Negra, but definitely so if you continue on to Volcán Chico. Here’s more in-depth info about what to expect on that hike.
– Walk up to the Flamingo Lagoon. There’s a manmade lagoon where flamingos tend to hang out. A pickup truck taxi will charge $10 to take you there, but you can easily walk or bike there for free. Follow the main road that runs along the water (I didn’t see a name because it’s a dirt road and I really don’t think there even was a name). Pass Caleta Iguana, the hot pink beachfront hostel on the left, and the Booby Trap cafe/restaurant on your right, and turn right up the dirt road. You’ll pass La Jungla hostel and a soccer field along the way, but keep walking. Locals will tell you you’re super close, but it took me about 20-25 minutes to get there. Eventually you’ll come to the Tortoise Breeding Center, and finally the lagoon.
– Walk on the beach. There are Galápagos penguins and gorgeous sunsets right there, so really there’s no reason to leave.
– Go down to the happy hour at Caleta Iguana, the Westernmost hostel/hotel on the beach, and hang out for some drinks and watch the sunset.
Pink flamingos on Isla IsabelaHiking Volcan ChicoCaleta Iguana on Isla IsabelaPausing for a selfie at Los TunelesSnorkeling with sharks at Los TunelesSwimming with sea turtles at Los TunelesSwimming with sea lions at Los TunelesThe perfect dirt roads of Isla IsabelaSunset from Caleta Iguana
Other helpful things to remember/expect/know
Go during low season The weather is generally the same year round, but low season is April, May, September and October. I’d suggest going then to avoid the crowds, and you may even save a few bucks on day trips and cruises.
The Galápagos are a tsunami zone Especially if you don’t know Spanish, at least learn the escape route so when you hear the sirens start waling and see people start running, you know what to do. On Puerto Ayora I learned the hard way that you should head uphill on Av Baltra until you reach Bellavista.
They’re also not necessarily a beach destination There are quite a few beaches, but they’re not really easy to get to. You generally can’t stay on a resort and walk outside to lay out during the day. In Puerto Ayora, it’ll take an entire day to head to the beach, and on many other islands the beaches are rocky or take a lot of time to get to via boat.
Bring enough cash Some of the islands don’t have ATMs, and many places don’t accept credit cards. Puerto Ayora was fine—it had at least one ATM and one bank, but Isabela had neither. I was told sometimes tourists withdrawal more money than the ATM has anyway, so sometimes they’re left SOL. To be on the safe side, bring a bit of cash.
USD is the official currency Despite being a province of Ecuador, the official currency of the Galápagos Islands is actually the US Dollar. So if you’re traveling from the US you don’t have to worry about losing money in exchange rates or frequent trips to the bank.
Bring protection
No not that kind of protection ya pervs. Okay wait actually, yeah you should probably do that too if you plan on getting freaky. But I’m talking sunscreen. Like any island, items are marked up. Like $30 for a small bottle of sunscreen. So bring what you need, the sun is ridiculous down there. I usually don’t wear sunblock on vacations, but the whole trip I was slathered up in SPF 30 every day and still left with an almost-Latin tan. Than being said, I stupidly took a 4oz Neutrogena sunblock and another travel size stick with me and had to buy more halfway through my trip. Bye bye money.
Walk an extra few blocks for food
If you visit any of the restaurants along Avenida Charles Darwin in Puerto Ayora, you can expect to pay tourist prices. I’m used to New York prices, so $9 for a beer, a cheese sandwich, and an order of fried plantains and queso was a steal. But if you walk the extra five minutes up a couple of blocks to Bordados El Alquimista, you’ll find a road full of outdoor-seating restaurants serving up super cheap traditional Ecuadorian food and $1 beers.
There’s also an amazing little shack/bar on the playground right near the docks. Almost every night I went down and had an empanada and a large, probably 40 oz Pilsener for $4.50. Other tourists told me I was getting ripped off and could’ve gotten the same snack for about $2.50 elsewhere, but I couldn’t help it. It was awesome to sit amongst locals and try to improve my Spanish right in the center of all the port action.
Bring seasickness medicine
If you think there’s the slightest chance that you might get seasick, bring some pills. You’ll likely spend a lot of time on boats down there so it’s better to be prepared than barfing your lunch out over the side of the boat for two hours. The islands aren’t close together, so it’s common to spend 2-3 hours seeing nothing but the huge, rolling waves of the Pacific on every horizon. And those waves are not small.
Bring a water bottle
The Galápagos are hot and you’re going to need a lot of water. The locals don’t even drink the tap there, and all of the hotels I visited or researched had a water cooler in the lobby for guests to fill up on. So bring a jug and keep it full. Some places ask for donations, others don’t.
Fried plantains and queso and an iced tea
So, should I go?
For better or for worse (i’m really leaning towards worse), the Galápagos are becoming more and more popular as a tourist destination. Despite the efforts to manage tourism so that it doesn’t destroy the ecosystem, the islands are definitely suffering. You see sheets of oil across the water in the ports and litter carelessly washed up on the rocks of shore. And even though most of the islands are still uninhabited, those that are inhabited are encouraging tourism more and more. Isabela for example, is the largest (size-wise) of the islands with a population of only 2,000. At first they shunned tourism and wanted no part in it—until they started seeing the financial benefits. Now there are buildings being constructed all along the beach which actually made me a little angry. I know I know, this makes me a bit of a hypocrite. But it’s a perfect island with dirt roads and no ATMs, where everybody knows each other. Hell by the end of my trip I knew most of the locals. It doesn’t need hoards of tourists moving in, changing the local cultures and environment.
Sometimes making decisions on whether or not to visit certain places that are honestly better left untouched are difficult for us travelers who are always looking for new, unique experiences and connections. So I really think that anyone visiting the Galápagos should make a conscious decision to do so. Don’t go just for the hell of it. Respect the land, the people, and the wildlife. Learn a thing or two, and give back whenever you can. And if you do go, hopefully this guide will help with your beginning steps of planning.
For the past twelve years I’ve been working towards one massive life goal— move to New York City, finish school, get a good job, and get my own apartment in Manhattan. Last September I finally achieved the last thing on that checklist. And ever since, I’ve been asking myself, “now what?”
Over those twelve years, planning and working towards something was all that I’ve known. Now that I don’t have that, I’ll admit I feel a bit lost. Kind of like I’m just moving through life everyday on autopilot, sinking into this monotonous routine that most people would call stability. I call it boredom.
I’m ready for a big change. But I also know how long it can take to get on your feet after making such a life-changing switch. Now that I’m finally stable, in New York of all places, do I really want to abandon all that I’ve worked so long and so hard for and start over, just because of my restless curiosity? It’s a question I ask myself every single day.
When I first thought about leaving New York, I couldn’t help but feel like a failure. I didn’t want to feel like I was leaving because I couldn’t make it here. It took a couple of years and finally getting my own place before I realized that it wasn’t that at all. The problem was that I had made it here, and I was ready to challenge myself to move on to what’s next. Sadly, what’s next in New York usually means moving up the corporate ladder to higher-paying, more stressful jobs, with more of a lavish social life and a bigger apartment in a better part of town. But that path doesn’t interest me, because mo money, mo problems, amiright?
This realization left me wondering—what do I want now? Unlike most chicks who might have thought that by 29 they’d be married with kids, I always thought that I’d be a pretty well-established writer by now. Well, I’m not. So this leaves me questioning yet another aspect of my current situation. Things like, while I enjoy it, why am I spending so much time and brainpower in advertising, writing for brands that already have millions of dollars and don’t really help to make the world a better place? Wouldn’t that time be better spent writing for myself? Or at least writing for organizations that actually help people and improve their lives? Something I can be proud of? Does that mean I should change careers, or just clients?
I guess I’m just not the person I was when I first moved here eight years ago. Hell, I think I’ve changed more in the past year of my life than I have in the previous 27 years combined. I no longer want to become an award-winning creative director working 60 hours a week coming up with campaigns. I want to be outdoors more. I want to help others, not just myself. I no longer want all of my social activities to revolve around drinking. I no longer want to waste the cost of a round-trip flight to Asia on one month’s rent.
So for the past eight months I’ve been trying to figure out exactly what it is I want out of my life now that I’ve proven to myself that I can make it here. This has left me with all sorts of questions and uncertainties. But I don’t want to plan for the next twelve years, or even the next two years. I just want to take one leap and see where that leads me, one day at a time. I’ve been exploring a few different possibilities, hoping that something would come up and lead me in a certain direction. But it hasn’t, so I’m left to pull the trigger.
All I know is I’m in a world of trouble when I receive my lease renewal papers in the mail (any day now).
Has anybody else felt this way, like you’re not living up to your full potential? What did you do? It’s not that I’m afraid to make a change, it’s just that I really can’t decide on what I need to change and what I want to tackle next. Maybe it is something as simple as getting involved with different organizations here in New York, or maybe it’s more drastic like a complete change of scenery, or taking an extended break from city life to live out of a backpack and see where I end up.
The downside to taking a last-minute weekend trip once I’d already splurged on a huge twelve-day trip in the same month, was that unfortunately I couldn’t afford to eat everything. Nor did I have the time. And since my hotel offered free breakfast and afternoon snacks, I didn’t wander far from the Sultanahmet area during dinner time. While there were no McDonald’s or TGIFridays, I was told that area is nothing more than a tourist trap with overpriced and under-flavored food.
All I can say is that if that’s true, then my taste buds must be seriously jacked because I developed a borderline addiction to every single thing I put into my mouth.
Sultanahmet was full of pushy hosts standing in front of every restaurant, fighting for the attention to lure in every passerby. It’s actually incredibly annoying. It took me about 30 minutes, but I finally decided on a restaurant called Masal because the guy at the door didn’t seem like a truck-stop rapist or a desperate prom date. Reverse psychology I suppose.
Thus began my extraordinary culinary tour of Istanbul. And while I’m not exactly a foodie, I do have over 28 years of experience in eating so that gives me some sort of credibility, right?
Here are seven budget-friendly foods or drinks that are definitely worth trying in Istanbul.
LAHMACUN
The first dish I tried was lahmacun, a simple pizza-like flatbread that I could’ve sworn I’d remembered Anthony Bourdain refer to as mandatory drunk food. Even though I wasn’t drunk, I knew my Taco Bell loving tummy (having been trained by years of eating—and enjoying—borderline offensive food) would love it.
The large piece of dough is topped with minced meat (beef and lamb), minced vegetables, and herbs, and then baked. It was delivered to my table with a side of lemons and a plate of vegetables including cabbage, pickles, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, and parsley. I think you’re supposed to pile on the salad, squeeze on the lemon juice, roll it up and eat it, but I chose to do it in smaller pieces because 1) it would’ve been huge, and 2) I hate the whole “now that I’ve rolled it I can’t set it down” thing. Either way, that stuff was fantastic and not nearly as filling as I thought it’d be. I could’ve easily eaten two more. And it was nowhere near as greasy or degrading as drunk food in the US.
But whatever you do, DO NOT skimp on the lemon juice. It’s key.
SIMIT (TURKISH BAGELS)
Alright, alright. I’ve lived in New York for nearly eight years, so I’ve been pretty spoiled by the very definition of a bagel. I was skeptical when my new hotel friends invited me for Turkish bagels and tea. A simit is essentially a sesame seed hybrid between a bagel and a pretzel that’s crispy and crusty on the outside, but fluffy on the inside. Splice it open and layer it with some tomatoes and cheese, and serve with a side of hot tea with a view of the Blue Mosque, and you’ve got yourself the perfect afternoon snack.
İSKENDER KEBAP & BALLOON BREAD
One night I decided to treat myself to a nice meal (and a lot of red wine), so I popped into Sura Kebab House and ordered my very first İskender kebap. Holy satisfying dinner. I never knew meat and yogurt could go together so well.
They served me a gigantic loaf of this balloon bread, which was easily the size of a brown paper shopping bag, along with a small dish of what I’m pretty sure was salted butter and a soft cheese—maybe goat cheese? I don’t know if I was supposed to mix the two together and spread on the bread, but I did and the results were absolutely phenomenal. Groups of tourists glanced at me while I devoured the bread and gulped down my Pinot Noir. Then the kebab came out, drenched in a tomato-based sauce and served next to a bed of yogurt.
As the weird girl who won’t hesitate to dine solo, I made friends with the entire waitstaff that night and got free shots of Raki when I was finished. Though it is the national drink of Turkey, Raki was nothing special in my opinion and very similar to ouzo or sambuca. Barf, pass.
TURKISH TEA
Okay this isn’t really fair because I LOVE TEA. Black, green, herbal, chai, morning, noon, and night, you name it. All kinds of tea, doesn’t matter, I will drink every last sip. So when the waiter handed me this perfect, and better yet free glass of apple tea, I didn’t think it was possible to have a better meal ending . That is, until I walked down the street and picked up some…
BAKLAVA
One cannot go to Turkey without indulging on the delicious sweets that have become so popular here in the Western world. While they say baklava’s origins aren’t particularly well documented, some suggest that the modern day form was created right inside Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.
Wherever the hell it’s from, baklava is abundant in Istanbul. I stopped by several shops and easily consumed 1500 calories in sweet, sticky deliciousness before returning to my hotel every single night.
TARIHI SULTANAHMET KÖFTECISI
Okay so this is the name of a restaurant, but they only serve a couple of things on the menu—the main item being köfte, or Turkish meatballs. The place itself is definitely a no-frills restaurant, but their meatballs are supposedly some of the best in the area. One of my new friends I’d partied with in Taksim took me here for lunch, claiming it to be a favorite amongst the locals. Unfortunately after our super late night out, I was still a wee bit too hungover to handle much solid food. The meat was definitely delicious and juicy, but I could only eat about three and a half before retreating back to my hotel room to crawl under the sheets and swear off drinking (again).
I also washed my meal down with an Ayran, which is a cold yogurt drink mixed with salt, and a national non-alcoholic drink in Turkey. Everyone in the place was sucking these down, and again the whole meat + yogurt thing is genius.
SALEP
The evenings were still chilly, so I bought a cup of sahlep to keep warm, thinking it’d be like a spicy hot chocolate. Not exactly. Salep is a flour made from some kind of orchid, but it’s commonly used in a hot wintertime drink. This drink in particular was made with milk, honey, orchid bud, vanilla, cream, cinnamon, and spices. It had a much thicker consistency than hot chocolate, almost like a glue that was so thick the piles of cinnamon clumped together on top because it was too thick to permeate. Regardless, I drank the entire cup before it got cold, and once I got past the weird texture I loved every second of it.
Turkish food has quickly moved to the top of my favorite cuisines. Istanbul is the kind of place where you will not go hungry. I only [accidentally] ended up eating chicken orzo at one super touristy place. The rest of the time I was sampling bits and pieces of Turkish and Ottoman cuisine whenever and wherever possible. But I still barely scratched the surface in trying all of the foods on my must-eat list. Next winter when flights are back down below $500RT I’ll almost certainly head back over there and explore the lesser touristy neighborhoods for a few dinners. Totally worth it.
Have you ever been to Turkey? What’s your favorite Turkish food?
This afternoon I completed the Five Boro Bike Tour in NYC. This evening my Jell-o-like limbs are confined to the couch.
The Five Boro Bike Tour is an annual cycling tour of NYC, and it’s the largest recreational cycling event in the US. This year there were 32,000 riders, as they closed off a bike-only route through Manhattan, The Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, and finally Staten Island, while crossing over five bridges.
I woke up this morning at 545AM and seriously considered staying in bed. After a hot shower to wake me up I layered on my giant diaper (aka biking shorts) and workout clothes. I was still full from last night’s Chipotle burrito, but I forced myself to fuel up with a peanut buttered bagel, a banana, string cheese, and a Sambazon Mocha Java drink. I was ready to do this.
I met the rest of the group I was riding with down at my office before we biked over to Sixth Avenue to join the first group of riders slightly ahead of the starting point. NOTE TO ANYONE THINKING OF DOING THIS RIDE: drop in slightly ahead of the starting point so you don’t have to deal with getting delayed from the massive hoards of people backed up for blocks.
We made our way up a car-free Sixth Avenue easily. Along the way there were live bands on the sidewalks, and small groups of people either cheering us on or pissed that they couldn’t cross the street. The air was brisk and the sun nonexistent behind thick grey clouds. I didn’t mind the goosebumps on my arms as I passed the first two ad agencies I worked at, the NHL store where I used to work in college, and Radio City where I walked at my graduation. It was kind of like a greatest hits tour for me. Plus it was nice riding on the city streets without the constant horn-honking traffic.
We entered Central Park at 59th Street and got our first taste of uphill riding. It didn’t take very long before we were on 110th moving into Harlem. It was still smooth, effortless sailing and we trekked across our first bridge, the Madison Avenue Bridge. From there the ride only went about two miles in the Bronx before we were crossing back over into Manhattan and onto the FDR, a road I’d so often feared for my life in the back of many, many cars, yet I was now biking in the center lane with no worries at all. The dark tunnel under Gracie Mansion echoed with loud cheers as we entered, and when we finally emerged back into the daylight the daunting Queensboro Bridge (sorry, I refuse to call it the 59th Street Bridge) began to peek out.
I was a little intimidated on the ramp, but I switched gears, stopped talking, and started pedaling. Before I knew it I was past the ramp and only a little sweaty. A few people got off and walked their bikes, but the rest of us pushed on and right over. Just like that, we were in our third borough, Queens.
Clowning around at the first rest stop in Astoria Park
The first rest stop was at around mile 19 in Astoria Park and was basically mandatory, so we dismounted and grabbed a quick snack. By now the wind was really whipping, and I longed for a long-sleeved shirt. We all agreed we were warmer while cycling so we jumped back on and kept going. I had been 100% unfazed by the ride until the moment I got back on my bike and realized my thighs were definitely getting weaker.
After Queens we found ourselves riding through Greenpoint, Brooklyn and eventually Williamsburg along Kent Avenue. This is where the wind really began to pick up, so much that it was bringing my bike to a complete halt as I continued pedaling. This is also where I fell in love with DUMBO and for the first time ever imagined myself living in Brooklyn. I know, I even shocked myself.
Somewhere along the way right before we stopped so I could take a quick pee (which as it turns out I didn’t really have to take, my girly bits were just being fooled by the bike seat) Suzannah thought she’d channel her inner biker and throw some hand signals so those behind her knew to stop—and she wiped out. I felt bad that we didn’t even noticed and continued pedaling on without her, but she gracefully rejoined us with hardly a scratch.
ESB from the BQE
We were about halfway through Brooklyn when I took on the daunting task of simple math, calculating how many more miles until the finish line. The wind was really difficult to pedal against, I was freezing cold, and my lungs hurt from breathing in the cold air. But we kept going, and going, and going, right onto the BQE Expressway. A man at the entrance ramp cheered us on, shouting only “nine more miles to go!” That would’ve been great had most of those nine miles not felt like an onramp.
After I was thoroughly exhausted, tinkering along slowly against the wind, three of us girls who had managed to stick together came to a common realization at the same time. We were all in agreement that we’d be walking over the Verrazano Bridge together.
Riding on the BQEI can’t even believe this ad. In what world would a person who’s doing or considering doing drugs turn to rugs instead?Thanks MTA
Before we got to the Verrazano Bridge there was a tempting drop out point in which a good amount of people were actually taking to be driven over. But we continued onward.
The Verrazano is the massive bridge connecting Brooklyn and Staten Island. Its central span is 4,260 feet long, which is 60 feet longer than the Golden Gate Bridge, giving it the longest bridge span in the Americas. It also has no bike paths, so the only time you can ride across it on a bike is during the Five Boro Bike Tour each year.
So close, yet still so far away
I chugged some water, took some deep breaths, gave myself a little pep talk in my head, and started pushing harder. Now that I was there, I didn’t want to stop and walk. I wanted to power through. As I pedaled my way slowly up the on ramp I looked to see just how far until the middle point where we would begin to descend. It didn’t seem THAT far. I kept going.
I sure as hell did own this bridge!It doesn’t look THAT bad…
One by one people started to jump off their bikes and walk. I kept going. The wind picked up and the impossible climb got even more difficult. By now I’d lost everyone in my group once I watched the last girl dismount her bike.
There were all kinds of motivational quotes on the ground in bright paint, people on loudspeakers giving words of encouragement along the sidelines, and I could hear music up ahead. The higher I got, the more the wind picked up and the more I swerved. I could feel my bike moving perpendicular to the direction I was riding with each gust of wind, skidding me a few inches to the left each time it blew. The incline seemed endless and felt even worse than it looked. I got close enough to hear the song playing at the finish line, Empire State of Mind, and my mind started to reminisce about how far I’ve come living in New York for the past (almost) eight years. (Yes I’m a nerd.)
It only took a few verses and I passed the rather lackluster finish line.
Finally, I’d made it! I was done! Time to throw my bike and my body onto the grass and relax!
Almost there!Finish!
Not really.
I don’t really understand how they determined where to place the finish line, but it was deceiving. I figured it was all downhill from there, but the wind was so strong we were still pedaling at a snail’s pace for another 5-10 minutes or so before reaching the bottom of the bridge.
For a second I questioned whether or not they put this side here specifically for the bike tourView of Manhattan from the Verrazano Bridge
We made it to the park at the end where they were holding a festival full of free cheese and chocolate milk, fun music, and pricey food. We only sat down for like two minutes before realizing it was freezing ass cold, and we’d be much happier to just get on the ferry and back to the city ahead of the crowds (since we were still at the front-ish of the pack).
Glory gatesThe whole group reunited at the endWe stopped on the way to the ferry for a quick shot of lower Manhattan from Staten Island
Well after the finish line and the festival we had to get back on our bikes and ride about another 3 miles to the ferry, complete with a few more hills. By now all of our butts, thighs, wrists, hands, and backs were telling us to take a break.
Luckily they moved us swiftly right onto a ferry and immediately to Manhattan where we arrived near my old apartment on Wall Street. I led the group back to our office to drop off our bikes on my old bicycle route underneath the FDR, when suddenly I felt my back wheel completely drop out. It only took 40+ miles, but I got a flat tire and was riding on the rim. Ironically we were about 25 steps from a bike rental shop, so they let me use their pump after our group’s handheld one failed. Thankfully my tire held the air so I could finish the ride.
SHOULD YOU DO IT?
Yes! It’s so awesome to see the city from a bike in so many areas where they’re usually prohibited! And no, you don’t have to be overly active or in awesome shape to complete it, but it couldn’t hurt. It really wasn’t as brutal as I thought it was going to be, and though I struggled a bit for the last 10 miles or so, I didn’t have to quit.
Just make sure to ride a good bike, wear padded biking shorts, and perhaps most importantly START EARLY. If you’re in the front of the group you’re much, much more likely to have a better time. We only experienced congestion once while merging in Central Park and once at the mandatory rest stop, but the rest of the ride we were comfortably distanced from other riders. I’d heard about other groups being so backed up they had to get off and walk for like an hour. Also remember, it’s not a race so you can stop however often you need to refuel and hydrate along the way.
The ride takes place on the first Sunday in May every year, and tickets go on sale in January so be sure to keep an eye on the site well in advance as they do tend to sell out. I paid $90 for my general registration pass, but I think it was definitely worth it. The ride itself took about four hours for us to complete, including two stops (totaling about 30 minutes), but after the festival and ferry, it took about 5 1/2 hours total.
I was really looking forward to doing a redemption dive in the Galapagos Islands—just one kickass dive to erase all the bad memories from Florida. But after reading online that the dive sites are best for advanced divers and known for their strong currents, not their water clarity, I wasn’t sure how great it could actually be.
Whatever. I just wanted to dive without emptying my guts into the ocean.
I decided to go with Scuba Iguana based on their reputation (and a solid recommendation from a very attractive Latin diver I’d met). They had one last spot on their dive scheduled for my last day on Santa Cruz, so I paid the $175, signed some paperwork freeing them from any responsibility should I die or get dismembered, got fitted with all of my gear, then went to dinner eagerly anticipating the next morning. My plan was to grab a quick bite then go back to the hotel to hydrate and brush up on my scuba skills before calling it an early night.
I didn’t get back to my hotel until the wee hours of the morning so I started to think diving wouldn’t be the best idea, especially with my nerves still on edge. Plus two divers in the shelter told me that diving the next morning would be a bad idea because there would likely be even stronger currents and lower visibility.
I woke up a couple hours later and tried to call the shop to tell them I wasn’t feeling it that day, secretly hoping it was canceled. I assumed that they would understand since my PADI courses continuously harped on the need to be a responsible diver and not go diving when you’re quite feeling up for it so that you don’t endanger the rest of the group.
Long story short, I couldn’t get through to them until they called me over an hour and a half later, and despite Scuba Iguana’s stellar diving reputation, they didn’t give a fuck about my safety concerns and hesitations. They refused to reimburse me even though it would have been as simple as throwing out the carbon copy of my card they had yet to send off to the bank. So not only did I not go diving, I was out $175.
The next day I was feeling back to my normal self and I was pissed that I’d let fear get the best of me on my last day in Santa Cruz. So I decided to try, try again on Isabela Island. There was only one diving company there and they didn’t have a great reputation. But I had made up my mind, I was not leaving the Galapagos without going diving and $150 later I was signed up for attempt #2.
Diving day came and I did everything by the book. I took seasickness pills, ate breakfast, drank a ton of water. I was ready to go. As we sped out to Turtle Island I was actually really excited, and before I could think about it all of us were bobbing around in the choppy water. We didn’t even do any checks to make sure our gear was functioning properly, they just handled it themselves and hurried us into the water.
Just as quickly Harry and the other non-English speaking divemaster were ready to go under. I dumped all the air from my BCD and once my head was under I sank like an anchor. Due to our shitty preparation I think my weight belt was way too heavy because getting neutrally buoyant is actually one thing I’m pretty good at. This time I was all over the place trying not to touch the rock and coral below me. Luckily the sign of struggle is universal, so the divemaster tried to inflate and deflate my BCD with quick bursts, using up tons of oxygen before giving up and grabbing my hand to drag me along. We floated around holding hands for a few minutes before I realized this was the most romance I’ve had in a long time, and naturally after a few minutes I got weirded out and let go.
I was using up a ton of oxygen trying to fill my lungs with air as it was the only thing that seemed to keep me slightly above the ocean floor. But I felt great. The vomit-fest of the Florida Keys seemed so far away.
Suddenly everything got really dark like a storm cloud moving in. I looked up to see we were in the shadow of a massive manta ray gliding about ten feet above me. I’ve never seen anything so big, so close in the water. I was half wishing it would swoop down and wrap me up like a pig-in-a-blanket in its massive fins.
Then it happened, the highlight of my dive. The only thing I really wanted to see while I was underwater. About 15 feet away a hammerhead shark that was at least 9 feet long slowly swam past, not paying any attention to us with its goofy eyes. I’m not particularly scared of sharks, but I wasn’t sure how I’d react to seeing one 40 ft under water, though I definitely wanted to find out. Seconds later three more hammerheads appeared and swam by. Oddly enough it felt just like seeing them in an aquarium. I was simply observing the sharks as they paid no attention to us or anything that swam by. I didn’t feel nervous or scared at all, in fact I felt the urge to swim in front of them and see if they would even notice me head-on.
We swam along with tons of crazy-looking fish, reef sharks, starfish, and more unidentifiable creatures. There was something new to see at each turn, which was definitely the selling point to diving in the Galapagos. Far too quickly I realized I was already down to 700 PSI in my tank, which was when we were supposed to start heading up. Unfortunately I was the only one even remotely close to going up, so the divemaster motioned for me to head up alone.
If you don’t know much about diving, basically you can’t just pop right up to the surface or you risk decompression sickness, and you can get the bends and/or die (hence the pre-dive paperwork). To stay on the safe side you should ascend slowly, then stop for about 3-5 minutes at around 3 meters/15 feet. Since my depth gauge seemed to be off and I was without a watch, I knew I’d have difficulty determining the right depth & duration for the safety stop. I kept trying to communicate with the divemaster that I didn’t want to go up alone, but it was pretty hard considering you can’t speak under water. And I didn’t want to ruin the dive for the rest of the group so I sucked it up and started up alone.
For the first couple seconds I started rising slowly and steadily below my air bubbles. Then out of nowhere I was being pulled up like I was being beamed up by aliens. I tried to slow down but my head was above water in a matter of seconds. Shit.
The surface was choppy, and I started to get dizzy as the boat came to get me. I swam my way against the current towards the boat, which seemed to take about a week and a half. By the time I got there I was exhausted, breathing heavily and my limbs worthless. The crew had me take off my BCD and hand it up to them which was incredibly hard to do. I felt like I was going to pass out. Then they had me take off my fins, but with such little strength left I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stay afloat without them so I latched onto the ladder like a Barrel of Monkeys game piece, my body bashing against it, bruising me with each wave.
I tried to climb the ladder which was even more difficult than all those times I failed trying to climb the knotted rope in gym class. I felt like I weighed 1800 pounds, but with the help of the crew I fell into the boat and made my way to a seat. My head was pounding and I felt dizzy. My stomach started to churn again, just like last time. Except this time I was worried I’d gotten the bends from rising up too quickly. I kept telling myself that I was okay and that I needed to calm down and focus on something other than feeling like shit.
After about 10 minutes the others made their way to the boat as I took a few deep breaths and a few sips of water. The boat crew gave us a snack but I knew that snack was going to turn into fish food if I put it in my mouth.
Everyone suited back up for dive two as I sat staring off in complete silence before deciding to sit it out. My stomach felt the same as it did in Florida, and I knew as soon as I put the regulator in my mouth I would be puking. So I went up to the front of the boat and stared off at the horizon. I made it about ten more minutes before I was bent over the bow, heaving warm bile into the Pacific. Then I wiped my mouth off and posed for this seasick selfie:
I don’t know what it is with diving, but my stomach can’t seem to handle it. I’ve been on countless boats in my lifetime and I spent more than half of my days in the Galapagos on boats, and I’ve never been seasick until after I’ve been diving.
Weird, my stomach can handle Taco Bell’s destructive goodness like nobody should be able to, but I can’t handle a little compressed air.
*All the underwater photos in this post are from a lovely girl named Dorieke, who was kind enough to send them to me since my camera wasn’t waterproof past 43ft. Thanks Dorieke!
While in the Galápagos I felt the urge to climb to the highest peaks and peer down into the very things that created the archipelago (probably because volcanoes are obviously some of the most impressive works of mother nature, ever). So my first day on Isabela I set out to hike Sierra Negra and Volcán Chico.
I was told to prepare for any kind of weather—one minute you could be walking in the pouring rain through ankle-deep mud, and the next scrambling over slippery lava rocks in the scorching equatorial sun. So I stuffed my backpack with plenty of sunblock, a poncho, camera gear, and enough water and snacks to last a couple of days if necessary. Knowing how much of a sweaty mess I am, I threw on a moisture-wicking undershirt beneath a tshirt, along with a baseball hat and sunglasses. The only place I was failing were the mesh running shoes I was wearing since I was too stubborn to weigh down my backpack with hiking boots while traveling.
Once I was all nerded out, I jumped in the bus and we made our way up winding dirt roads for about a half hour, passing the occasional hiking resort and donkey hidden in the trees.
The truck dropped us off at the hiking trail and we set out in the already-hot morning sun. Within the first few minutes I was sweating and panting my way up an incline that had me double-guessing whether or not I was physically ready for this. Thankfully the clouds moved in almost just as quickly and the dirt path became more level. There wasn’t much to see for the first hour or so, just the occasional misty panoramic glimpse of lush green trees and hills as we walked through the clouds. Luckily the mist was hardly noticeable and the ground was bone dry which made the hike relatively simple.
As we walked we grabbed guavas right off the trees, ripping them open and eating them like we hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Sierra Negra is an active volcano that rises 1,124m (3,688ft) above sea level, and its caldera is the second largest in the world at around six miles wide.
Before we knew it the caldera seemed to appear out of nowhere. As promised, it was massive, and the clouds quickly broke over top of it finally giving way to vibrant blue skies. The entire caldera floor was covered with old lava flows, some areas much darker from the 2005 eruption that lasted for ten days.
At this point I was having a bit of an “is that all there is?” moment. It was cool seeing Sierra Negra, but other than the fresh guavas I wasn’t sold that it was worth the otherwise uneventful hike.
After walking alongside the rim for a bit, we had a fifteen-minute picnic in the shade of a tree while the guide warned us about the strenuous hike that was to come.
“We’ll make our way across a rocky terrain of loose lava rocks for about 45 minutes until we reach the end of the hike. But the walk back is almost entirely uphill, so only go if you have enough energy to climb back. And you better layer on the sunscreen now because there’s no shade.”
Everyone shoved energy bars and bananas in their mouths and took a few gulps of water. From our group of about 20, only one pair stayed behind—a father and his roughly 8-year-old daughter who was already ready to call it quits (yet another reminder of why I’m glad to have zero children).
Within a few minutes of walking the grass disappeared and the only remaining plants were cacti shooting straight out of dried lava. The ground below us changed from brown dirt to red rock to crystalized black lava. I was completely blown away by the size of the lava fields, the hollow lava tubes running down the sides of the volcanoes, and the incredible amount of dried layers piled on top of one another (but the OCD freak in me just wanted to pick and peel at them one by one). Some areas seemed frozen in time—you could see where the lava flow had rolled over the sides of cliffs.
Volcán Chico is more of a collapsed/extinct crater, where several volcanoes have merged to create fissures and mountains within an environment that seems otherworldly. This made for an impressive landscape where you could look in almost any direction and see lava flows that had made their way down to the ocean below. And though we didn’t see any live lava, there were quite a few sulphuric vents with steam rising and ferns growing up inside them from the rocky ground.
It sounds super corny, but once I was standing at the top of that windy peak it was absolutely incredible to get a firsthand look at how the Galápagos Islands were formed through such raw, uninhabited beauty and force.
On the hike back I was one of the first ones to start the trek and I was determined to keep it that way. No matter how strenuous the journey, I refused to let myself look like an out of shape noob. I was going to make this shit look easy.
So we started walking, and I slipped. A lot. My ankles twisted and cracked every ten steps. My non-hiking shoes and short legs were a terrible combination for making my way up those thigh-high steps of loose rocks. We were all chugging water between deep, hard breaths and it was the first time on the hike that nobody was talking. But you could tell everyone was laser-focused on making it back to the picnic area without looking like a sissy.
Finally after what seemed like 100 treks up a grueling real-life Aggro Crags, we were all stripping off our clothes at the picnic area and splashing down with water. We only had a few minutes to rest before setting out for the last 1.5-2 hours downhill back to the truck.
I was back in my room by 330pm, absolutely covered in dirt. I had a grandeur idea of rinsing off in the ocean and napping on the beach, but when I couldn’t gather the energy to walk outside, I laid a towel across the bed and passed out for my first two-hour vacation nap.
IS IT WORTH IT? Yes, especially because the tour is one of the cheapest on the islands at just $35 (and that includes a bagged lunch). Like I said, the hike up to Sierra Negra wasn’t exactly the coolest thing in the world, but continuing onward to Volcán Chico definitely made everything worth it. So don’t bitch out at the picnic spot. It’s not particularly strenuous, so long as you’re in decent shape and don’t mind getting a little sweaty. Just come prepared with plenty of sunblock, water, and proper footwear and you’ll be fine. When I woke up the next day I could hardly walk because my toes felt like they’d been murdered in those non-supportive shoes. Lesson learned!
To say the Galapagos Islands were one of the most surreal, jaw-dropping places I’ve ever been to, leaving me with the urge to abandon everything I’ve ever loved for a simpler life, would be a massive understatement. The 19-island archipelago has a lot to offer in a relatively small-ish space, so even though I only visited five islands during my nine days on land, I didn’t need to waste days traveling in order to see a huge range of landscapes and wildlife.
The Galapagos made the ideal vacation destination for me because it was a good mix of a photography lover’s landscapes, adventurous day trips, and uncrowded beaches, all without being too touristy. Oh, and VOLCANOES. Not to mention the added benefit of getting up close (and sometimes personal) with wildlife, both above and below sea level. Even though I’ve barely seen all of what the Galapagos have to offer, I’m convinced that everyone needs to visit at some point in their life. Probably sooner rather than later.
Here are just a few of the obvious reasons why you should consider a trip to the Galapagos as your next destination. And really, it’s not as expensive as you think. But more on that later.
1. The Wildlife
Playfully curious sea lions. Blue and red footed boobies. Hissing tortoises. Lanky pink flamingos. Wobbly little penguins. Deep-diving marine iguanas. Whether you’re on a boat, bike, feet, snorkeling, or scuba diving, you’ll get to interact with so many different species that are generally unafraid of humans. That means they’ll stand there and examine you while you examine them. They’ll swim alongside you and continue about their journey. Or if they’re really playful like the sea lion pup we encountered, they’ll come right up and hug you and beg for you to scratch its belly.
2. The Landscape The different elevations of the volcanic islands give way to several ecosystems. At first glance some of the islands look like lifeless spans of nothing, but if you look closer or walk a few meters all of that can easily change. One minute you could be on a long stretch of white, resort-free beach, the next walking up a shaded dirt road, then suddenly you’re scrambling over a Mars-like rocky surface, peering into an active volcano crater. Some of the beaches on uninhabited islands such as Bartolome have layers upon layers of undisturbed lava flows covering soft white sand that looks like it’s never been touched by man.
3. Snorkeling
You can jump in the water with a snorkel just about anywhere and see all kinds of fish and sea turtles. But in places like Los Tuneles, you’ll get to swim through caves and tunnels where sting rays and schools of sharks sleep, sea horses huddle, and baby sea lions swim, who just want to play tag and have you tickle their bellies.
4. Scuba Diving I didn’t take my camera diving because I was worried about exceeding the depth at which my camera is actually waterproof up to. But diving in the Galapagos is a must. Many of the dive sites have strong currents and are for more experienced divers, but there are a few spots you can visit even if you don’t have that many dives under your belt. I mean really, you don’t have to go very deep to find yourself swimming below a ten-foot manta ray or alongside a school of hammerhead sharks.
5. Active Volcanoes
Sierra Negra is a fairly easy hike that can be done in about 5-6 hours from the car drop-off point. The first, more relaxed part of the hike breaks through the clouds on a dirt path surrounded by trees. Before long you reach the summit, which is actually the second largest caldera in the world (behind Yellowstone). While it’s definitely a sight to see, especially the lava flows from the 2005 eruption, the real awesomeness comes when you continue onwards to Volcan Chico. Climbing out there took another 45 minutes or so of climbing alongside lava tubes and lava rocks in the brutal sunlight, only to find ourselves looking down into steaming craters at the end of the trail.
6. Colorfully Diverse Beaches One day you can choose to make the hour-long trek from town to Tortuga Bay before finding yourself on the flawless, secluded stretch of white sand beach. The next you can try to play tough guy while running barefoot across hot, black, rocky sand. Either way, land is more abundant than people here so it’s easy to find plenty of space to claim as your own for the afternoon. Though I didn’t see them all, I’ve heard the Galapagos also have dark green, pink, and red beaches too.
And with that I’ll stop at six because I’m pretty sure the photos speak for themselves.
Stay tuned because I’ll be giving you all kinds of tips for making a trip to the Galapagos more affordable than you think. Until then, you might as well go ahead and request at least two weeks off work whenever works for you—because there’s never a bad season to visit the Galapagos thanks to their location.
Mother Nature played a very cruel April Fool’s joke on us down here in Puerto Ayora yesterday.
The day started off great. I woke up early, went on a relaxing yacht ride to Bartolome (my new favorite place in the world by the way), took some fantastic photos, and met quite a few travelers to hang with. Once we were on dry land I planned to grab a quick drink alongside the ocean with Lucas, a Canadian who’d been traveling around South America on his own as well. But first I had to set up my dive for the next day which ended up making me about 45 minutes late for drinks. I finally got down to the waterfront bar at about 645PM, right after sunset and only 15 minutes before happy hour ended.
I wasn’t really feeling up for drinking so I figured one Pilsener, a quick bite to eat, then back to the room I’d go to refresh on some scuba stuff. But before I knew it there was an icy cold, perfectly mixed caiprihania in front of me. I was looking at the food menu when Lucas casually mentioned “my friend messaged me something about a tsunami but I don’t know.” Immediately I looked up at him, “what do you mean, tsunami?” He just kind of shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation.
Even for four sips, you were delicious caiprihania.
Five minutes later I looked up at the TV and saw a news channel with “ALERTO” in big bold letters across a red banner on the screen. It was hard to make out anything that was going on, but one by one I noticed the locals pausing mid-chew, entranced by the television.
“Is there a car chase or something going on, what the fuck is on TV?” I asked, still not putting two and two together, while Lucas kept yammering away about something that had completely lost my interest by now.
Within ten seconds the sirens started wailing throughout the streets. I still had no clue what the hell was going on, so I looked around for some sort of information. There were only a handful of tourists and they all looked just as confused as me, but everyone had gotten out of their seats by now. A few locals had begun racing down the street while others just walked quickly. Then an announcement came over the loudspeaker entirely in Spanish and I couldn’t make out a single word. Just as quickly as he began talking the locals kicked it into high gear and started sprinting in every direction except for towards the sea. Waiters and waitresses were dropping their menus and running out the door, while others were yelling and pushing people out in order to close their shop.
At this point my heart was racing and I kept yelling out “What is going on? Tsunami? Where do we go?” It was terrifying, not knowing anything that was happening because I wasn’t able to put the situation into context or gauge the urgency of the situation. Was this a tsunami warning? What IS a tsunami warning? Is it like a tornado warning, meaning they’ve spotted a giant wave headed for shore and we’ve got thirty seconds to get to higher ground? Where is higher ground? On an island as small as Santa Cruz is there even such a thing as higher ground? WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?
Me and this older English-speaking guy from Zimbabwe ran back and forth looking for information, but we knew we had to get moving because the street was emptying out quickly. All we could make out in English were people shouting “run! up!” so we quickly tried to decipher which way was up.
Lucas seemed more concerned about the drinks than his surroundings, as he grabbed them both and started strolling.
“Fuck the drinks dude, leave them!” I shouted back at him while formulating a solo mission to get out of dodge because he was definitely not the kind of person I wanted to be holed up with in a survivor-type situation. Plus I did NOT want to be drunk in case some serious shit went down, and those drinks were definitely strong. I was only a few sips in and I already had a buzz going.
“I know of a hotel, we’ll be safe there just climb to the roof.” he yelled, trying to get me to follow him against the flow of locals fleeing. I started to follow when the older man also ran in the same direction saying he knew of a place too. Stupid me thought maybe they knew of some magical tsunami shelters. We made it about a block, still along the water, and Lucas turned into a half-built shack with shoddy construction work going on.
“Are you fucking crazy? I’m not going in there, you’re on your own!” I told him. At this point I realized he was too slow-moving for my taste and I was concerned his island-time ways were going to get me killed, so I kept running with the older guy. We made it a few blocks and ran into another hotel to the third floor. I still felt uneasy but luckily we ran into the staff who were gathering up their laptops and printers and shouting “no” at us. We had no idea what else they were saying beyond that, but they kept pointing out so we knew it wasn’t safe to stay there.
I still had no idea what was going on. My brain kept imagining scenes from a movie where you hear a warning and ten seconds later a gigantic, disastrous, city-consuming wave hits. But here we were probably about ten minutes after the warning and we were still standing 20 feet from the ocean. I finally semi-realized how incredibly stupid I’d been in my panicked mindset and figured we just need to run uphill as fast as possible.
I was fully fucking terrified at this point and I grabbed my phone out to start texting my mom while running as quickly as possible in a strapless dress and flip flops. The older guy and I ran together for several blocks before someone finally told us “go two blocks, turn right and keep running uphill.” Thank God we were on the right track now, not franticly scattered at sea level. We passed a puppy going absolutely insane while tied up to a storefront. Someone yelled to get the puppy, but we kept running as my heart broke a little. After a few more blocks uphill he began to run out of steam, but he knew I was terrified and he told me to continue on without him. Again it was exactly like those movies and all I could think was “no man left behind.” But then again I was in the Galapagos Islands, and if there’s any place where survival of the fittest should hold true, it’s here.
So I ran. And ran. And ran. Everyone was running with babies and loved ones in tow. Every restaurant was gated up with half-eaten food and drinks still at the tables. Motor bikes and taxi pick-up trucks were all crowding the only street out of town now, heading for higher ground. I looked to hop onto one but so did everyone else. Every truck cab was full of locals and people hanging off the sides. I kept running and looking downhill behind me, waiting to see if a wave was coming. At this point it seemed to be just me and the locals, I didn’t see any more tourists in sight. Finally I got exhausted and started fast-walking, while still wondering what the hell was going on. I figured in the urgency that all of the locals had gotten the hell out of dodge, it must be serious.
A few minutes later I heard someone shouting in English so I turned around to see the older guy I was running with earlier crammed into the back of a pickup with a mix of tourists and locals.
“Hey! HEY! Do you want to get in?” he screamed at me.
“HELL YES, THANK YOU!” I screamed back in utter relief as I ran over to the truck.
Now that I was mostly out of danger, I attempted an “I’m fucking terrified” selfie in the back of the pickup truck
There wasn’t much room to climb in but I wiggled my way in, probably flashing everyone within eyesight of my dress. Even though there were about nine of us and a bicycle crammed in there, I finally felt at ease for the first time that night. I was in a vehicle, and we were headed up. Plus there were two kids who were about 4 and 8 in the cab with us, so I felt like I had to keep my shit together and not frighten them.
We drove up the main street in bumper-to-bumper traffic moving at a steady pace for about 15-20 minutes. We passed a gas station along the way that had cars and motor bikes lined up for blocks.
Finally we got to Bellavista where it seemed like the entire island of Santa Cruz was crowding the streets. The shops were open, locals were holding bags and pillows, chatting amongst themselves. Vans, tour buses, construction vehicles, and motor bikes were dropping people off in hoards. The woman in the cab happened to be a tour guide so she spoke English fairly well. When we got out she directed us into a soccer/football complex to stay put. She assured us that we were definitely high enough up and we would be okay to wait it out here. I thanked her profusely and went into the stadium with the others.
Locals were camping out on the steps, but most of the tourists met up in the corner trying to piece together what the hell was going on. It was almost 8PM now and we finally heard about “an 8.2 earthquake in Chile” and the “last time this tsunami evacuation happened was in 2010.” It was then I realized it wasn’t an ordinary occurrence like a tornado siren is in the Midwest.
Pulling into Bellavista
I finally felt at ease knowing there were other tourists here who didn’t speak Spanish and had left all of their belongings back at their hotels. I definitely felt a strength in numbers and have never bonded so quickly with fellow travelers.
We sat in the shelter and watched children chase bugs and each other around the concrete field. About an hour later we got an update that they were expecting a set of three waves to hit in ten-minute-intervals around ten o’clock, so we were to stay put until then. I ventured out to the nearest corner store and picked up a few bottles of water and a family size bag of animal crackers in case we were going to be up there for a while. I was fully expecting some serious American style price-gouging, but I only paid $3.50 for my whole purchase.
Our shelter for the evening after most locals were allowed to return to their homes away from sea-level
Our tourist corner of the arena
My water & animal cracker survival kit
Some time passed, stories were told and information was shared as people came and went. Once it hit about 11:30 we were told the first waves were only about a meter high and not a big deal, but there was another earthquake and a second set of waves set to come through around 1AM, and they had no idea how big they could be but they feared much bigger. Luckily fear and compassion are language-independent, and it was at this point that a nice Ecuadorian family invited the Dutch family with children whom I’d been with into their home to spend the evening as the kids were clearly exhausted. Another nice neighbor came and brought everybody tea he’d made in his home, but I politely declined for fear that the water could be contaminated (wouldn’t that be great, a tsunami and diarrhea?)
We kept waiting and waiting, but I was back to my normal self. I was entertaining people and bringing groups of people together. I started going back and forth between the shelter and the local store, looking for new bits of information and trying to catch a glimpse of the news to relay to all of the other tourists. A policeman and an armed military guy came in and made announcements that we of course couldn’t understand over a loudspeaker. Loads of buses began trying to head back down only to be turned away by the police and told to come back to high grounds.
My British and Canadian tsunami buddies
All in all this went on for about five and a half hours before the police drove through with their lights on, making announcements over the loudspeakers. Of course we couldn’t understand a damn word being said, and in such a remote town there were no English speaking translators. But we heard the crowd cheer and the shops began to close up so we could only assume it was good news.
Almost everyone had left at this point, just a few of us stragglers were left behind
A few minutes later buses and pickup trucks began to arrive and people piled in. We managed to fit eleven people into the back of a tiny pickup bed and head back downhill.
Apparently we were one of the first trucks to make it back down because the oceanfront was empty. All of the shops were closed up, lights off, and no one was on the streets. Coming from New York, this was actually very eerie. Especially since I had been dropped off quite a few blocks from my hotel and still needed to walk a good 10-15 minutes on my own.
Eleven deep in a pickup pileup
I still felt uneasy since no one was on the streets, but I saw several police cars patrolling the area so I assumed the threat was over. Just to make sure, I popped into the police station to double check. They didn’t speak any English but I was able to convey a simple “thumbs up/thumbs down” gesture hopefully without offending anyone, and got a thumbs up in response.
There had been another tourist speaking with the policemen as well, but as soon as I approached I asked him if he spoke English to which he said “yes.” Then I asked if he knew if it was okay to leave and he didn’t answer, he just looked at me. So I said thanks and turned around to walk to the hotel.
Only problem was, this weird guy who was built like he could kill somebody with his bare hands was now following me on a deserted street. I knew I had to go down a couple of poorly lit side streets to get to the hotel, and even then there was no guarantee it’d be unlocked and I’d be able to get in. So I tried to ditch him by crossing the street—twice. He followed me across both times. He then caught up with me and I stopped and looked at him and asked him where he was going and if he needed help. Again he didn’t respond, he just looked at the ground and started walking with me. Completely freaked out, I started looking for a shop or something to go into but nothing was open. So I walked faster. He let out a huge sigh and then threw his backpack on the ground, and I was convinced he was pulling out something to kill me with. Just then I spotted three caucasian girls wandering around the docks so I quickly walked towards them. I could hear the guy pick up his pack again and continue following me. When I approached the girls I said “please, do you speak English?” to which they all cheerfully said yes.
“Can I please walk with you for a minute because this guy has been following me for blocks and it’s freaking me out.”
They all looked at him as he approached me and stopped about a foot away from me. We all turned to him and I said “do you need help, are you lost?” and he said something none of us understood, though it may have been Italian. We all kind of huddled together and told him we were leaving and waved goodbye, so he finally let out a huge sigh and walked onward. I don’t know if he was just a scared solo traveler or what, but the fact that he was following me and not responding to anything was definitely not cool.
The girls walked me to my hotel and I thanked them profusely. I’d arrived just before 2AM and completely wired yet exhausted from the night’s events. I came in my room and sat down on the bed and started texting my mom now that I was on WiFi. My body finally went through a series of emotions, and I began shaking for a good twenty seconds while trying to text. I started Googling things on my painfully slow internet connection, piecing together the story and seeing if there were any risks of aftershocks, but it seemed unlikely.
Needless to say I couldn’t sleep for a few hours. I packed a “get the fuck out” bag in case the sirens blared again in the night I would at least have my passport and some cash. I Googled what to do in a tsunami and earthquake situation, and I finally started to relax.
This has made me realize that I haven’t been in too many scary situations in my life. I’m so grateful that nothing serious happened and everything turned out to be okay though, obviously. It was really just the ignorant naivety and the initial phase of not knowing what the hell was going on and where to go that was utterly terrifying. I think the next time I travel somewhere I’ll just make sure I know the threat of natural disasters and what to do should one happen. But fingers crossed I never have to deal with that again.
And by the way, after only sleeping two hours last night I didn’t go diving today. The Galapagos Islands are known for strong currents anyway and I’d heard they’d be even stronger today so I just wasn’t comfortable swimming with sharks for the first time on a day like today. Lame.
“Just slit the throat, cut the anus, and let it all fall out.”
Not exactly the first words you want to hear after walking into a cabin full of strangers you’ll be locked up with in the woods for the next 48 hours. What the hell did I sign up for?
Most single 20-something girls in New York City spend their Friday nights prowling the clubs in short skirts and high heels. But I started mine standing on a dark street corner in the Bronx, waiting to hitch a ride upstate with a complete stranger for a wilderness survival workshop. I wasn’t sure if I should expect to be dumped in the middle of nowhere Bear Grylls style or what. After all, I live in Manhattan where I’m used to getting anything I want at any time, and for the right price, there’s always someone to do my dirty work for me. The closest to “survival mode” I’ve ever come while living in the concrete jungle was hunting down mice in my apartment, or boiling a pan of water to wash my face when the hot water went out. So when I walked into this cabin to hear two guys discussing the gory details of how we’d be killing tomorrow night’s dinner, I began to question whether or not I was ready for it.
I pretended not to overhear them and went to introduce myself to Kay, the workshop organizer. She’s a natural leader with wild hair and an even wilder personality, who’s always the first one daring people to do something crazy. When I nervously tried to make myself seem like more of a badass by poking fun at her, I immediately regretted the words the second they came out of my mouth. She fired back by listing all of the injuries and surgeries she’s had thanks to her adventurous side—trumping them all and silencing the conversation with “and then my uterus fell out.” Then she told me who those two equally insane guys were who were discussing dinner details in the corner—Jamie, a retired British Army officer, and Wild Dog, a jack-of-all-trades survivalist who purposely gets lost all over the globe, scares off bears with his bare hands, and forgoes showers for weeks on end by the looks (and smells) of it. They were our instructors for the weekend.
When I’d read in the workshop description that a British Army Officer would be teaching us, I was expecting a drunken Churchill-esque man, showering us with spit as he shouted at us to use our teeth and tear the flesh off of live animals until blood spilled down our chins. Instead, Jamie was an ordinary looking suburban dad type with crazy grey hair, a charming smile, and flashy L.L. Bean style. His dainty accent made him seem anything but intimidating, and he even helped do the dishes every night after our group dinner. Mad Dog on the other hand looked like he’d just walked in from a week of roughing it in a pile of leaves outside the cabin, with his thick matted beard and thinning ponytail hiding most of his face.
Saturday morning came, and after a warm shower I joined the rest of the group to learn how to track and hunt animals by their footprints and scat trails. Since it’d take some time to actually track and kill an animal in the wild, Kay went to the market to buy a rabbit while the rest of us followed random piles of shit around the woods. We came across traces of deer scat and a questionable pile that I’m pretty sure was from Mad Dog. They were right, this was nowhere near as easy as tracking mouse droppings in my apartment. We’d probably starve to death before we ever found, trapped, and killed anything to eat.
My first fire—which nearly burnt down the entire area since I forgot to clear the leaves.
I was off building my very first fire from sticks and dried leaves when Kay arrived with a box.
“Now I know we’re not supposed to play with our food, but does anyone want to see what’s for dinner tonight?” Kay said as she opened the box. Suddenly it all became real.
I was imagining one of those generic, rabid looking yard rabbits you shoo from eating vegetables in the garden. Instead she pulled out this huge floppy-eared bunny with a shiny, healthy coat of fur, whose only fault was putting his trust in us not to harm him. As people gathered around to hold the rabbit, I knew this was exactly what we weren’t supposed to do. Pet him. Become friends with him. Look into his big chocolatey eyes. Treat him like a pet. Name him Mr Floppy. And yet here we were, hugging Mr Floppy and assuring him everything would be okay. Good to know this group of strangers was full of liars.
I made the mistake of making eye contact with Mr Floppy and immediately started planning how I could free him while making it seem like an accident. Seeing ten fires around him, he looked as though he knew what was about to happen. I could have looked away and continued working on my fire, ignoring the fact that an innocent bunny was about to be murdered 20 feet away. But instead I found myself pushing past everyone, and next thing you know I was front row with my camera.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love meat. It tastes amazing, it’s fun to play with raw, and the marbleized cuts are worthy of framing and hanging on a wall. But as an animal loving child who couldn’t even throw away stuffed animals for fear of hurting their feelings, I’ve managed to continue loving meat by completely ignoring any stories of how animals are raised, treated, or killed before they make their way to my mouth. Thankfully once that slab of meat is unrecognizable as an animal, it was never a living creature as far as I’m concerned. But the thought of actually watching a cuddly living thing take its last breath as its heart stops beating, just for the sake of a delicious meal, is a bit much for me. It’s best if I leave that part to someone else.
As Jamie elaborated on how to catch a rabbit in the wild, my mind wandered back to that initial conversation I’d heard: “slit the throat, cut the anus, and let it all fall out.” Oh shit. Things were about to get messy. What would happen when he slit the throat? Would blood squirt from the aorta and hit my camera lens? What about everything that “falls out” after he cuts the anus? Is that going to spill out in a pool of red blood, like a warm liquid piñata?
Then he grabbed the rabbit from the box and I instinctively pressed record. Just as quickly, Mr Floppy was dead. It was uneventful, anti-climatic and almost humane. I had envisioned Jamie, with his tongue out Gene Simmons style, grabbing Mr Floppy by the ears and slitting his throat while he was still alive, his whole body spilling out organ by bloody organ onto the leaves below. But there was no blood at all, he just stretched the poor thing to death like a defective Stretch Armstrong doll.
Once Mr Floppy was proclaimed dead, we all watched in silence as his body twitched and convulsed on the ground atop the dead leaves. I wasn’t convinced he was dead, and I thought about pressing pause to try and resuscitate him. But I kept recording.
Emptying the organs wasn’t exactly the gushing outpour of crimson chunks that I was expecting either. Everything was neatly packed into the body like it had been elegantly gift wrapped. Though he never slit the throat, Jamie grabbed a knife and cut the underside, starting at the anus. Still, no blood came pouring out. He reached in and grabbed the bladder, which looked like a latex water balloon full of urine, and lay it on the ground. It was perfectly dry on the outside, no blood or liquid of any sort. Then he pulled the intestines out carefully like a string of used anal beads as his hands started to get covered in blood. The slimy strand dropped to the ground as he removed the kidneys, then the perfectly healthy lungs that suggested Mr Floppy was an admirable non-smoker, before finally reaching way up inside, almost turning Mr Floppy into a headless puppet, and pulling out the heart.
It was still beating. What. The. Fuck.
Mr Floppy was not dead, yet he just had his body cut open and all of his organs pulled out like a high school science project. I almost puked, but I kept recording.
Jamie insisted he was dead and proceeded to cut the meat out as everyone passed around the bloody beating heart. Well no shit he was dead now, his entire body was disassembled on the ground. The two wallflowers of the group snatched up the organs and disappeared somewhere off on their own to grill them up. Jaime tossed Mr Floppy’s signature ears into a hole along with other non-edible body parts and carried the rest back to the cabin to be prepared for dinner. I finally stopped recording and put out my fire.
That night I wasn’t feeling very hungry while we waited for dinner to be served. But apparently I was the only one feeling a bit queezy from what we’d seen. Before the dish even made it out of the kitchen, all of those heartless carnivorous beasts had practically devoured the whole thing. I forced myself to try one bite in an attempt to convince myself that killing Mr Floppy was justifiably necessary for survival. But the meat was tough, sliding between my teeth like a rubber chicken for several minutes before I was able to swallow. I’m convinced it was Mr Floppy’s way of getting revenge, making me chew over his dead body for just as long as I sat recording his autopsy while he was still alive.
After this experience I’m even more convinced that I could never kill an animal, let alone with my bare hands. I guess I wouldn’t know for sure unless I was in a real life-or-death situation, but seeing as I can hardly open a stubborn jar, I doubt I’d have the strength to stretch a rabbit to death. I’d probably injure it just enough to leave it paralyzed and whimpering on the ground while I cried hysterically and apologized to its immobile body.
Maybe I should stick to the streets of New York City for now, and keep ordering my meals from Seamless. I think it’s safe to say I wouldn’t make it very long trying to survive in the wilderness. Nor would I have the heart to selfishly kill an animal for my own survival.
But then again, maybe I’m not as sensitive as I think considering that I recorded the whole thing.
