# 33 Journey to the Galápagos (V): Is the Universe Telling Me Something?
On aging, bad luck, and the stories we tell ourselves
What do we do when things don’t go as planned? Are we naïve? How do we deal with drawbacks and disappointments? Are we old? When does admirable persistence turn into idiotic stubbornness? Are we blind? When is the time to change our mind? Are we giving up?
Hello, I’m Claire Polders, not pictured above, and I write essays about my life as a nomad. Free subscribers to Wander, Wonder, Write enjoy weekly posts on traveling, mindful living, books, and more. Paid subscribers will receive a few additional essays, but the greatest benefit might be my gratitude for your support.
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This is Journey to the Galápagos episode V. For previous episodes please read Quito and First Impressions (I), Exploring San Cristóbal (II), Hiking and Snorkeling (III), Living off the Grid on a Cacao Plantation (IV), and How We Prepared for our Journey to the Galápagos.
Is the Universe Telling Me Something?
In February, Daniel and I lived off the grid in a wooden house in the highlands of Santa Cruz.
We liked being in the middle of nowhere. After enjoying city life in Rome, Florence, and San Francisco, where we met with friends, roamed museums, and ate like royalty, we now longed for the simplicity of isolation. But we didn’t like being separated from the beach.
Bicycles were our solution. We would rent them. We imagined it wouldn’t be easy to ride 9 km (5,6 miles) twice a day. We knew about the steep 275 m (900 ft) uphill climb. The hot and humid weather. The gravelly potholed road. Our level of fitness: mediocre at best. Still, we were confident we could perform this commute because the alternative—being dependent and old—was unacceptable.
Our host agreed with our plan, which meant we weren’t crazy. She asked her taxi driver friend (against his own interest) to help us negotiate a deal with a bike shop in town. Renting a mountain bike with gears on the Galápagos costs about $15 per day, so our total for a month without a deal would have amounted to a cost-prohibitive $900. We got away with $300. This was more than we’d paid for buying second-hand bicycles in Vietnam and Japan, but it was worth it. Or so we told ourselves. Because… did we have a choice? Foreigners aren’t allowed to rent a scooter or car on the Galápagos, so without bicycles we would have to rely on infrequent buses (only into town) and taxis ($10-$20 a ride) to the beach.
Horse Flies
The first swoosh downhill was spectacular, despite the bumps in the road and my front brake jamming. With the wind in my hair, I felt elated. A lyrical tribute to the route already composed itself in my mind. The flash of lava lizards before my wheels, the blinks of turquoise ocean below, the sensation of flying into paradise.
Halfway down, we met a giant Santa Cruz tortoise who was probably twice my age. I took seeing it on our first day as a sign that nothing but goodness lay in store for us on this route.
El Garrapatero beach was unspoiled beauty, with white coral sand, mangroves, and black lava rocks alive with red crabs. The water was refreshing without being cold and there were hardly any other humans around. Mighty pelicans made clumsy dives along the shore while sandpipers ran to and fro as in a race.
The numerous horse flies, however, were annoying. We couldn’t ignore them. They buzzed around our heads with vicious intent, and as soon as we left the water, we had to slap them off us and quickly get dressed.
Yet how could we complain about paradise? The horse flies were a small drawback. Nothing more.
Flat Tire
The climb uphill was hard. We couldn’t deny it. The effort turned our faces red and our legs into noodles. We walked the steepest parts and let despair set in. Not even a third of the way up and we were already thoroughly not enjoying ourselves. How would we ever get home today? Or for the next thirty days?
Then I had a flat tire. Now, we would never make it back before dark.
Minutes later, though, a taxi came uphill. I flagged it down. The driver had a customer in the front seat, yet he stopped and was all smiles after I said: “Tengo un problema!” He understood our situation instantly—as though he’d seen it many times before—and offered us a ride.
(Perhaps I should mention that in the Galápagos every taxi is a white pickup that can easily transport bicycles in the open rear. It’s how we got the bicycles from the town to our house.)
Just before we drove off, I remembered that I’d spent my emergency cash in the bike shop and had forgotten to add a bill to my phone case. We had zero money on us. I apologized, but the driver said he didn’t want money anyway. When he dropped us off, I wrote down his number in case we later needed a ride. He was called Felix—Luck.
Back home, we felt reassured by the kindness of this stranger. One flat tire was only a small drawback, right? Nothing more. We would continue to embrace our plan and content ourselves with things as they were.
Grueling Ride
We neither had a bicycle pump nor a tire repair kit in the house—an oversight. So we called Felix the next day to drive us to the bike shop, where they repaired my tire within minutes. We spent the day at the gorgeous Tortuga Bay, accessible by foot from the town, where we watched several spotted rays in the shallows.
On day three, we returned to “our” beach downhill. There were still too many horse flies, yet by now I had decided that one or two bites a day was acceptable. I didn’t want small discomforts to stop me from life-enhancing experiences.
The ride uphill, however, was grueling. There were no taxis coming to our rescue. Whose stupid idea was it again to rent bicycles? We felt terribly out of shape. Instead of confirming our imagined strength we were flaunting our weakness, and the gap between our dreams and reality was embarrassing.
We debated over dinner: Had we been over-confident? Should we change our plans?
But later, lulled by a gin and mint tea cocktail, we became proud of our accomplishment. We’d made it uphill! We didn’t need to get taxis. We would make the best of it and get fit.
Black-Tipped Reef Sharks
The baby sharks were everywhere. They came so close to shore that we spotted them from the beach, their top fins sticking out of the water. Some fed in packs and caused a great disturbance in the water. Most were lonely little hunters chasing after finger-sized fish.
Locals with their children were in the water, apparently unafraid of the baby sharks. They were no bigger than my arm and most likely not interested in me, but I couldn’t stop wondering: Where were the mama sharks?
I went swimming anyway, pleased with myself that I wouldn’t let my fears hold me back. I did stay in the shallows where there were different dangers to contend with, such as sharp bottom rocks.
But I wasn’t going to let anything spoil my experience. If I couldn’t fully enjoy myself, because of horse flies, strained muscles, rocks, and sharks, there was something wrong with me.
Pin Tack Seeds
We had three more flat tires that I repaired on the road or at home.
The sharp seeds that did us in each time were called “goat’s heads” or “puncture vines” (cachos de chivo), and the road was full of them. The advice was to drive in the middle, not near the shoulders, but because there was traffic, the middle wasn’t always safe.
Our physical condition, meanwhile, was not improving. Each ride uphill remained a struggle, and all kinds of vanities met their end on the road. Was this what other people went through in the gym? We were miserably failing to prove we were still young.
Should we Give Up?
I don’t really believe in signs from the universe. Bad luck is bad luck, and adverse conditions are nothing personal. Still, as the pattern-seeking animal I am, I slowly began to fear that all these small drawbacks were adding up to a warning. What if a tragedy awaited us if we didn’t give up our bikes? I worried about Daniel hitting a rock on the road and making a terrible crash, skin torn open and blood everywhere. I worried that going up and down that road everyday was flirting with disaster.
At dinner, I asked him, “Is the universe telling us something?”
He couldn’t tell either whether we were being admirably persistent or idiotically stubborn, and wanting it to be the first, we kept going down the hill.
Portuguese man o' war
Imagine us in the water like this: as submerged as possible to prevent the horse flies from biting; peering into the cloudy water for signs of rocks; scanning the surface for the black fins of sharks.
Then—what’s that? A piece of plastic? The bright blue color seemed unnatural. Could it be a small floating jellyfish? Or worse, a Portuguese man o' war?
We avoided the blue blob the size of a coin and had almost forgotten about it when I spotted another one, slightly bigger. This one was without a doubt a Portuguese man o' war. Although we’d heard how painful their stings were, we didn’t get out of the water immediately. The blobs were so visible and so few that we would avoid them by swimming with even more vigilance.
But with my eyes only on the surface now, I didn’t notice the sharp rock in the water, and I scraped my knee. Great, now I was bleeding with an army of baby shark around me.
I got out of the water angry with myself, because I couldn’t be angry with the island for being how it was. As I was getting dressed, a horse fly bit me through my rash guard. I’m not ashamed to say I killed it in one slap.
Later, as Daniel and I walked along the shore, we spotted hundreds of small Portuguese man o' war—they were so prevalent, we had to step carefully among them as though on a mine field. How had we avoided not getting stung in the water?
On the ride uphill, one of my pedals fell off, and I nearly smacked on the gravel road.
By the time I finally reached home, I’d made up my mind. I was going to accept defeat. We create our lives with the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what we can or cannot do. But now giving up felt like the right thing to do.
Tropical Rain
After we returned our bicycles to the shop, it rained for three days straight. The roads turned into rivers of mud, and I became an author again. If the universe is telling me to write, I raise no objections.
This was Journey to the Galápagos episode V. For previous episodes please read Quito and First Impressions (I), Exploring San Cristóbal (II), Hiking and Snorkeling (III), Living off the Grid on a Cacao Plantation (IV), and How We Prepared for our Journey to the Galápagos.
Author News
My review of Jennifer Friedman Lang’s wonderful memoir “Landed: A Yogi’s Memoir in Pieces and Poses” is up at World Literature Today.
“In unconventional, sharply written vignette chapters that cover seven years (2011–18), Lang flashes back and forth between crucial family scenes and transformative yoga experiences, between losing herself and pulling herself together to brave greater threats. When three kidnapped Jewish boys are found murdered, the chain reaction of violence starts again between Israel and Hamas, hurting civilians on both sides. Each time the sirens blare as a warning for incoming missiles, Lang’s life comes to a halt.”
Lang’s memoir was part of my 20 Book Recommendations post last December.
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Time to Say Goodbye
Daniel and I are in Colombia now, somewhere between Medellín and Jérico when this newsletter finds you. We left the Galápagos with a heavy heart and promised ourselves we would be back. I’m grateful we could spend such a long time among all the amazing creatures, kind people, and gorgeous landscapes.
On our last day snorkeling, we spotted a group of unfamiliar birds on the water—a type of duck? As we approached, it became clear we were swimming with penguins— penguins! We were giddy with delight. Like the sea lions and marine iguanas, they weren’t afraid, and just floated around us. We leisurely crossed the bay with them and when they climbed on the rocks, they wagged their tails, and stretched their fins like we would stretch our arms in the morning.
All my best,
Claire
P.S. Do you remember a time when the universe seemed to be telling you something?
The horse flies alone would have done me in!
OMG! Well, tenacity is certainly your thing Claire! But you survived! And lots to write about. Colombia should be a dream after your Galapagos adventures.