Nick and I are up early today for some scuba diving an hour or so north of where we are staying. Our original plan was for everyone to join us (just for snorkeling in the case of non-divers) as the boat is quite large, but by the time we make up our minds, there are only a few spots left. So at 7:00am, while the majority of our group are still drooling on their pillows, two hearty adventurers are speeding across the island towards the ferry dock.

There is a bit of a wait there while the rest of the divers show up, but it’s breakfast time for the boobies that nest in the nearby rocks, so we entertain ourselves watching them dive bomb the schools of small fish that have gathered near the shore.

Today we’ll be diving near an couple of islands called Seymour Norte and Mosquera. According to the dive shop, we should see hammerhead sharks here, although the warmer waters caused by El Nino have forced them a little deeper than usual. There should also be a variety of rays, eels, turtles and white-tip reef sharks, but it is the hammerheads that we have our hearts set on.

As promised, our first dive is chock full of animals, and once back on the surface Nick ranks it as his best ever. With all the nutrients in the water visibility isn’t great, and the temperature changes constantly as you move through the currents, but there is ton of stuff to see. And as an added bonus, much of the time is spent drift diving – staying literally motionless in the current as it carriers you across the reef. It’s sort of like being on a conveyor belt running through an acrylic tube they have at some aquariums nowadays, just much, much better. no hammerheads though 🙁

With the water hitting 64 degrees fahrenheit in places (aren’t we right next to the equator?), the sun on the front deck of the boat is more than welcome. We spend the next hour eating a bit of lunch, talking about all the cool things we saw, and simply soaking up some warmth. Of course just when we’ve slipped fully into the comfort zone, it’s time to suit back up for dive number two.

This time the water feels even colder, and for a few minutes I wonder if I am going to be able to stay down the full 30 minutes. The doubt gets quickly pushed to the background when we a see a large school of hammerheads passing not below us in the deep water, but directly overhead. They aren’t as close as the schools I remember seeing when I dove here twenty years ago, but set against the light coming down from the surface it is a pretty impressive experience (much more than the pictures do justice I suspect).

The rest of the dive takes us along the reef where we see more rays, a turtle and an array of colorful fish. At times, there are so many fish in every direction it feels like we’ve been absorbed as part of the school (which, along with only the sound of your breathing is crazy peaceful).

Back up on the boat, the ride back to port takes about an hour, which is the perfect amount of time for a nap while slow roasting my head. By the time we dock, the dull stinging sensation tells me a good case of lizard skin is in my future.

We get back to the house around 3:30, and while we’ve been gone, the rest of the Roberts party has taken the opportunity to get some souvenir shopping done. Sam has cornered the market on small wood tortoise carvings, picking up one for each of his friends. I figure at least one of them must be for his best buddy of all (me, of course), but it looks like I’ve been forgotten yet again – pobre tomate.

The weak sauce teenagers are having a little trouble maintaining the pace of their father and have made a request for a “down” day. Sitting in the house when there are things to see makes my soul hurt, so we settle on a return trip to Tortuga Bay, this time with our entire group. The walk in hasn’t gotten any shorter, but fortunately it’s earlier in the day and the temperature is not yet unbearable. Traveling’ Gran is on a mission, breaking trail and threatening to leave the rest of us in the dust.

We stop first at the body surfing beach, but the tide is out, putting the good waves a bit further away than Mom is comfortable letting her flock wander. Nevertheless, they kill some time being silly in the shallow water, just like they used to when they were little. There is something magical about a beach that strips away the burdens of growing up and makes them all kids again.

The low tide has also exposed a land bridge to what was a rocky island a few days ago when we were here last. It looks like some blue-footed boobies have set up shop there so we do a bit of minor scrambling to check it out. We are rewarded not only with some close up encounters, but front row seats to a booby dance as well. When this species of bird mates, they attract a partner by lifting up their feet, one after the other, showing off how blue they are (presumably the bluer the better).

Around this point is a cove with calm water and some trees along the beach that provided much needed shade. We stake our claim on a nice patch of sand, and as the boys head into the water to do some snorkeling, the rest of our party starts in on a nap-Kindle-nap rotation. Just as I fade off to sleep, I am awoken by the sensation of tiny claws on my feet. Peering out from under my hat, I see one of the countless finches that inhabit the island, in search of crumbs that may have fallen to the ground. At the same time, my trusty traveling companion is downright giddy as another tiny bird hops up her leg. It’s another reminder of just how special this place is, and no matter how many times I see it, the level of comfort the wildlife has with people amazes me.

After a relaxing day, we pack up and start the long walk back to the house. We’re dragging it a bit more than on the way in, but before we know it, we’re back in the hammocks, enjoying a cold glass of Inca Cola (well those of us that can tolerate the taste of liquid bubble gum anyways).

With some trepidation, our plan for the day is an organized tour of sights around the bay Puerto Ayora sits on. Some of the stops sound a bit uninspiring, but we’re swayed by the trip out to a small island where a sea lion colony has set up shop and the waters are calm enough to snorkel with them. One of my fondest memories of my trip year two decades ago was swimming with sea lions during a break between dives, and it is an experience I definitely want to share.

When we arrive at the pier, to our amazement (not so much), the boat isn’t the shiny new model the tour company showed us pictures of, but a raggedy, old water taxi, designed to ferry people from the live boards docked in the bay to shore.

Of course, Travelin’ Gran is an old sea dog in her own right, and perfectly content to tackle the waves in such a vessel, so we follow her lead an pile aboard.

On the way to the island, we get our first close ups of the blue footed boobies (I used up all my good booby jokes the last time we were in Galapagos, so feel free to insert you own here), and some shots of a marine iguana out for a swim.

We also pass by a big National Geographic ship the boys think is pretty pool. It turns out that for a mere $7,000, they too could be on board. Cost aside, I’m guessing it is one of the better ways to see the Galapagos, but sadly not something I’m likely to every find out for sure (although I’m happy to write about if anyone would like to send me).

Unfortunately, things start to head downhill after this. The approach to the island is a little tricky in our glorified skiff as the waves are quite high. As we finally work our way close to the beach, the guide starts to tell us about the sea lions that live there and how curious they are to come out and play with snorkelers. He says that people really enjoy it, but apparently not us, as snorkeling is cancelled because of the rough water (no mention of any discounts or refunds though).

We’re hopeful the next stop on the tour is better, as head off back across the bay to a calm cove where dozens of white tip reef sharks come to hang out. Our guide talks about how big the sharks get, and how they leave the cove several times a day to go out and hunt in the open water. He tells us how interesting it is to see them gathered together in the cove, which I guess we will take his word for as today the water is so murky that it is impossible to see anything.

By this point, I’m feeling pretty defeated by my purchase, as going to snorkel with the sea lions you can’t snorkel with and seeing the sharks you can’t see doesn’t seem like great value. Nevertheless, morbid curiosity keeps me going as I need to see what else can possible go wrong.

It’s a fairly pleasant walk to the next stop, and we manage to get a few good pictures along the way, but, keeping with the spirit of the day, the destination is a tad underwhelming. It is a beach where marine iguanas hang out, but there are fewer here than we have already seen elsewhere on the island.

After returning to the boat, we head off to the final spot, which is Las Grietas. We’ve already seen it of course, but it’s the hot part of the day and a cool dip sounds quite appealing. Fortunately, I didn’t wear my plum smuggler/hiking boots ensemble as there is nothing more embarrassing than showing up at a party wearing the same outfit as someone else. Maybe I’ll wear it tomorrow.

We have our good camera with us this time around, so are able to get some action shots of the boys jumping off the cliffs.

Back at the dock, we do get our sea lion fix for the day, as a rather energetic soul has crawled up the ramp and taken up residence on a comfy bench for a nap.

While the day didn’t exactly match the brochure, it’s been fun and we’ve managed to check a few items off of Travelin’ Gran’s to do list in the process. All in all, we’ll call it a win.

If walking out the front door yesterday into a blast furnace taught us anything, it is the value of an early morning start. Today, we’re cleaned up and ready to go by 8:30 – a pretty impressive feat given the cast of characters. Our plan is to hire a couple of taxis for the day and have them take us around a few of the sights on the island.

First on the list is the El Chato Tortoise Reserve. Here, for $3 a person, you can roam the grounds looking for tortoises that are free to come and go as they please. There are no enclosures like at the Research Center, so while you still need to keep a bit of distance, it is possible to get far more up close and personal.

Back at the ticket office, they have a couple of shells on display to give you a sense of just how big they are.

From the tortoise reserve, we head off to a spot called Los Gemelos. This is a pair of sinkholes that formed when the roofs of empty magma chambers collapsed. The boys entertain themselves by tossing rocks over the edge and counting until they hear them crash through the leaves below. Twenty years ago, I might have remembered enough physics to teach them how to figure out the depth, but now I defer to Google to tell me the answer – 2,300 feet.

After returning to town, we get dropped off at the municipal market to pick up some fruit (sadly not the bananas I wanted Joey and Sam to carry home on their shoulders) and the wallet-friendly almuerzos (a set lunch, generally consisting of soup, rice, some meat, and a drink, all for about $4). The tap water here isn’t drinkable, so the tub of juice sitting on the counter gives Travelin’ Gran the heebies, but she earns a shout out for trying the soup with what looks like testicles.

Just outside of town there is a second beach that our guide books recommend, and since it is still fairly early in the day, we decide to give it a go. It is a shorter walk than Tortuga Bay, but requires a short ride in a water taxi to get to the trail head. Traveling’ Gran has decided to take a pass on this adventure, so it comes as no surprise that our testosterone-heavy group votes down Mom’s preference for relaxing on the sand in favor of jumping off the cliffs into a nearby swimming hole.

Las Grietas (which translates literally to “the cracks”) is a long ribbon of crystal clear water between a deep fissure in the volcanic rock. It is a popular destination for the locals, as in addition to swimming and snorkeling, the 30 feet of rock wall on either side provide plenty of opportunity for climbing and cliff jumping. About halfway down, there is also an underwater tunnel, connecting one pool to an even more tranquil one on the other side. In other words, a perfect spot for a group of teenage (and almost teenage) boys to spend an afternoon.

By the time we return home, there is not a lot of support for doing more walking to find a restaurant for dinner, so the boys settle in for a lively game of Name That Soup. That there are only two flavors available on the island limits the challenge a tiny bit, but between the soup and a cabinet full of DVDs, they are in vacation nirvana.

Our first full day here gets off to a bit of a slow start as we are still getting over the long journey here. The good news is that after sleeping in a bit, people are in a pretty good mood. The bad news is that by 11am, it is hot. Really, really hot. So while pretty much everyone that lives here retreats to a shady place for a siesta, a small band of brave, but pasty souls heads out in search of adventure.

We are headed to the Charles Darwin Research Center on the other side of town, to get our first glimpse of the giant tortoises. They don’t let visitors into enclosures anymore, which is probably for the best, but twenty years ago when I was first here, I still remember not only walking right up to the animals, but the guides giving you lettuce to feed them as well. Nevertheless, seeing giant tortoises up close is still an amazing experience, and for many in our group this is the first time seeing them outside of a zoo, so pretty cool.

Of course the Galapagos Islands are well-known for a number of endemic species, and one of my favorites has always been the marine iguana. This is the only iguana on earth that spends part of it’s life in the ocean, and during the day you can usually find them sprawled out on the black lava rocks soaking up the sun.

We find a beach not far from the research center, and the cool water is a perfect respite from the midday heat. Still no sea lions though, which has me second-guessing if we should have flown into San Cristobal again. The town of Puerto Ayora is much bigger than I remember it and I’m hoping the development hasn’t scared the wildlife away.

With the heat, it has been a fairly long day, and the two oldsters in our group retire to the air conditioned comfort of the house. The boys and adventure on to what the guide books say is the nicest beach in the archipelago. It is a mile and a half away down a trail that starts not far from where we are staying, but after coming out of the trees, we are rewarding with beautiful white sand and perfect waves for a bit of body surfing.

We also come across a group of marine iguanas that, like everything else here, really don’t mind posing for pictures.

For dinner we head back into town to find a spot to satisfy Nick’s new ceviche addiction (I fear his expensive tastes may mean he can never afford to leave home). Afterwards, we wander down to the pier and finally come across a few furry locals, stretched out for an evening nap.

A few hours of rest has recharged the batteries a bit, and while no one is thrilled at the prospect of heading back to the airport, there are no outward signs of mutiny. That said, the last part of our journey is a little brutal, starting with a midnight flight to Quito. From there we transfer on to Galapagos, but not before having to check in at a small kiosk and paying a $20 transit tax. Unfortunately, as we know from our past trip here, the kiosk is closed until 6am, so for the next fours hours we’re stuck in the lobby of the main terminal.

The airport folks have clearly tired of people like us squatting in the airport and gone to great lengths to remove anything remotely comfortable. The hard metal chairs all have fixed armrests, and even those are in short supply. I guess it has something to do with homeless people coming in and sleeping on the floor, like this one, who looks suspiciously like Travelin’ Gran.

After more than 24 hours of travel, we finally board our final flight to Baltra (we are flying to a different island than we did when we visited with Sam). The plan is catch a few hours of sleep while in transit, and hot the ground with at least enough energy to get through the day. The baby in front of us is definitely excited to see the islands, and her mom is kind enough to play peek a boo and tickle games all the way so that we could all share the joy. I think some of the passengers in the back complained that they couldn’t hear the squealing enough, but fortunately, if you lift your baby high enough in the air, the sound carries much further.

By the time we finally land, the Roberts party is spent but happy to finally be back.

We still have a short ferry ride (the airport is on its own small island) and 30 minute cab ride to town, but before long we are setting our luggage down in our home for the next week. Given that there are 6 of us, we gave AirBnB another and have reserved a 3 bedroom house a few blocks away from the water. It has plenty of space, and after stocking up provisions at the local market (including Sam’s beloved yogi), gets put to good use for a round of well-deserved naps.

Our day wraps up with a short walk around town to get our bearings and dinner at one of the local restaurants we have read about. Unlike our trip with Sam, the malecon here isn’t full of sea lions you have to walk around to get where you are going. That’s a little disappointing as being so close to the wild animals are some of my best memories of the Galapagos, so finding their hangout on this island is definitely something we are going to have to work on.

While our spring break plans didn’t start anywhere close to where they finally ended up, fate has us back on our way to the Galapagos Islands, a once in a lifetime twice in a lifetime pretty regular destination for the Roberts’, this time as a small horde. Leaving Seattle, where we’ve picked up the newest member of our group, Travelin’ Gran, there is a palpable sense of excitement.

15 hours later, after checking in, clearing security, flying to LAX, changing terminals, checking in again, clearing security again, flying to Lima, clearing customs, and driving to our hotel, the cracks are starting to show in the wisdom of our plan.

With 13 hours to kill before our next flight, we have opted to see a bit of the city instead of holing up at the airport. It’s not a lot of time, but the hotel is the same one we stayed at with Sam a few years ago near the old city, so walking distance to a few of highlights. Along the way we pick up a few street cart snacks, with churros winning the best reviews.

The main stop is the the Convento de San Francisco, a monastery dating back to 1673. Angela and I remember it from our last trip here for its stunning library and hall of paintings by Rubens and Van Dyck, but the big attraction for the boys is the catacombs. Holding the remains of more than 20,000 people, wandering through the twisty passages and seeing bones stacked up and arranged in a variety of designs has teenager written all over it.

No photography is allowed in the Monastary so I’ve taken the liberty of co-opting a few images from Google.

By this time, the enormity of our itinerary has settled in (what were we thinking?), and with the exception of Nick and I, everyone heads back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep. Nick has taken to learning Spanish with an interest I can only dream I had 30 years ago sitting in French class wondering why my female teacher had hairier armpits than I did. And while the travel has worn him down, the opportunity to hear the people speak and try to understand all the signs is too much to pass up.

As the last two standing, we head off in the direction where I think I remember the local market being. It takes a few course corrections, but we finally find ourselves in the middle of the organized chaos, where pretty much everything is for sale if you are patient enough to locate the right stall. We also find a polleria (which will make Sam sad, as they are his favorite restaurants in Peru) and stop for a quick plate of chicken and fries. I guess it makes sense for a country that has 3,800 different kinds of potatoes, but I think the french fries here are some of the best in the world.

By this point, Nick is starting to fade and I need a few hours to catch up on work, so we decide to call it a day and head back to the hotel as well. In just a few hours we’ll be headed back to the airport for the next leg of our journey, so not much rest for the weary.

We’ve never been much for visiting big cities, and were it not a necessary evil in order to catch our flight home, we likely wouldn’t visit Melbourne at all. It is what it is however, and after the 3 hour flight from Alice Springs, we’re determined to make the best of it. We opted to stay in the center of town so we’d have no need for a car, and after dropping our bags in our room, we head off on foot to do some exploring and find some dinner.

There is a big Chinatown area in Melbourne, and that seems like a good start. We duck into a bakery (it’s no Lou’s) and solve one of the great mysteries of our trip to China. There, we discovered the dreaded hairy doughnut. A delicious looking snack with a topping so unexpectedly nasty that we still speak of it. Here, the signs are in english, and it turns out the offending item is pork floss (which, according to Wikipedia, also goes by other mouthwatering names as meat wool, meat floss, flossy pork, pork sung or yuk sung). I’m not sure who first came up with the idea of putting meat wool on a doughnut (maybe the same person who though cat poop beans would make great coffee), but count us out.

As we wander through Chinatown and into Greektown, we sample dumplings, bubble tea, baklava, gyros and turkish delight, all capped of with, of course, a McSpider.

It’s noticeably cooler in Melbourne, and still dressed for the desert, we’re getting a taste of what we have coming in a few days when we get back to Seattle. With but one day left, my trusty traveling companion is determined to find koalas, so call it a night and head back to the hotel hoping Google can give us a few options.

On a map, Alice Springs looks fairly close to Uluru, but it turns out some 400 kilometers separate the two. I don’t really want to drive that far (and back), and here, rentals car companies charge based on distance, so all signs point to a guided tour. It’s the mother of all tours though, as our pick up time is 6am, with an expected return roughly 18 hours later.

Between Alice Springs and Uluru is pretty much nothing. The bus driver jokes that the most exciting part of the drive is that about 150 kilometers in we get to turn right. At least it seemed like a joke at the time.

Every few hours, an outpost fresh out of a Crocodile Dundee movie pops up from the desert. At the first one, Stuarts Well Roadhouse, they even have a couple of kangaroos and emus that are much more engaging than the ones at the Desert Park. Mom even gets her chance to feed one.

A few hours away from Uluru there is another formation called Mount Connor sticking up out of the ground. The guide talks about how some tourists drive themselves all the way out here from Alice Springs, figure it’s Uluru so stop and take a few photos, check a box saying they’ve seen it, and turn around to drive home. I don’t know how much truth there is to the story, but we’ve seen tourists like that in our travels and I’d like to think karma evens things up.

When we finally make it to Uluru, it quickly becomes clear that this is another one of those experiences that pictures just can’t capture. We take a ton and I’ll include some here, but they are nothing like seeing it rise out of the desert, and walking around the base, hearing tribal stories of how it was created by their spirits.

What do translate well are the ridiculous hats my fellow travelers are wearing because they are afraid of breathing in a few flies.

While Uluru gets all the PR (deservedly so as the largest monolith in the world), and admittedly is the only one I have heard about, there are a number of formations in this part of the outback. About 30 minutes further on, we stop at Kata Tjuta for our third and final hike of the day. It is over the top hot, and you can almost feel the moisture being sucked out of your body walking the kilometer or so into a gorge and back. I’m definitely dragging by the end, and how they don’t have to medi-vac out some of the older and more full-figured folks we pass along the way will always be a mystery to me.

We finish the day back at Uluru, where the guides grill up some kangaroo and sausages while we watch the sunset.

As night falls and the temperature drops, the desert seems to come alive. I have no idea where they were all hiding, but looking out the front of the bus, there are kangaroos constantly jumping across the road. Joey joins the guides up front as a spotter, and as we drift off for a nap, we can hear him chatting away a mile a minute, telling them all about his trip.

It’s been a long but amazing day. Sadly, we can definitely sense that our travels are almost at an end. Tomorrow we’re headed for Melbourne, the final stop on our journey. Que triste.

There is a kangaroo rescue center located not far from Alice Springs where, amongst other things, visitors get to hold bay kangaroos and feed them. There’s no better day than that for my travel companion, and more than enough justification to fly all the way to Alice Springs. That may explain the very unhappy camper I have on my hands today, as things in the Outback appear to run with a very different sense of urgency than we are used to, and much to her disappointment, the rescue center is only open a few days a week (none of them matching the days that we are here). Add that to the news that, outside of Queensland, you can’t hold koalas and it’s one of those days you tread very, very carefully.

It is Sunday here, which makes am already slow town even slower, but we manage to cobble together a plan to visit a local market, the Alice Springs Desert Park, and then head out for a few hikes in the mountains (or what pass for mountains in these parts) to some swimming holes.

Like the town, the market is small, and were it not on the same street as a few art galleries, we’d probably be through in 30 minutes or less. 90 minutes later, Joey is on the edge of revolt, meaning it’s time to move on.

Most of the exhibits at the park are centered around birds, which aren’t really our thing, but critically, they have kangaroos. During the day, they mostly just want to find a shady tree and move as little as possible, which makes them pretty easy to sneak up on.

I have to point out to Joey where all those bottle openers come from because he’s 11 and, well, I pretty much act like I’m 11.

There are also some dingos and emus to see, but like the kangaroos, they’re just trying to stay cool, so not really that exciting to see. We all enjoy the exhibit of nocturnal animals (wallabies and such), in no small part because it is in an air conditioned building.

We finish up around 2pm, and with the the temperature up over 105 degrees, I my merry band of travelers has lost all interest in heading further out into the mountains. They instead opt for a McSpider run and a temperature controlled hotel room. Joey has been talking for days about a game called Name That Soup, which I’m sure he would be thrilled to tell you about. Mom refuses to take seriously, but it turns out she’s not very good at it, so I think that must be why.