The Mind, Body, and Spirit Are Challenged by a Galápagos Cruise

The golden cownose rays glided through the lagoon in silence, resembling autumn leaves floating down a river. A fin would poke through the surface every few seconds, displaying a white underside in striking contrast. Out of respect for the animals, our Zodiac's driver turned off the motor, and soon the red mangroves—whose thick roots provide home to countless different species—were silent.

A second inflatable raft disturbed the silence with shouts. Along with seven other passengers, I was excitedly exploring the waters around Punta Moreno on Isabela Island, the largest and youngest volcanic island in the Galápagos, like a seahorse. Our companion boat was now following us. Among them were my husband Rob and son Bobby, who were pointing at the triangle of rays. Examine closely! 

Even though there were thick drops of rain, neither the animals nor the people seemed to be troubled by it; it was just nature taking its course. I willed the thought across the river and into Bobby's impressionable yet roving seven-year-old mind, hoping he was paying attention. Is he aware of his luck? Are we aware of our luck? 

My family and I were on the fifth day of our arduous voyage on the 16-passenger boat Grace Kelly had formerly received as a gift from Aristotle Onassis. I use the word "rigorous" in order to dispel the notion that this is a vacation where you sip cocktails while flaunting your feet. A Galápagos voyage tests the body, mind, and soul—possibly more so than most African safaris. We went snorkeling several times in the Pacific surf while wearing bulky wet suits, and penguins scuttled by our flippers. Hikes in the shadow of sweating volcanoes (yep, plural). Kayak trips past immobile cormorants, who appeared ready for the midday heat, batting their stubby, degenerated wings after a dip. We, on the other hand, languished in our pointless headgear. 

One of the fourteen members of the Grace's crew, Scarlett Briones, our always-on cruise director, said, "You're going to need a vacation from your vacation." We saw our first sea lion sighting shortly after our plane landed on Baltra Island, which is in the middle of the archipelago. Although it was somewhat exciting at the time, by the time we got to the end of our journey, they were nonexistent. As we paddled toward the Grace, he growled at us like a restless kid. My son, who is not very shy, curled up by my side at that moment. We had only ever gotten this close to sea lions at the Central Park Zoo. 

The Grace and one other vessel, the 32-passenger Evolution, are currently operated by Quasar Expeditions. (The Conservation, a new 18-guest yacht, will make its debut in December 2024.) Since 1986, the Diez family, the owners, have proudly called the Ecuadorian islands home. Just before our departure, Dolores Gangotena de Diez, the founder of Quasar, informed me over dinner in Quito, the country's capital, that "there's been a huge increase in multigenerational family travel." She continued, saying that years ago, the majority of the guests were adventurous retirees or marine researchers who didn't mind having scheduled showers. Additionally, the majority of the cruise ships that did travel through the area did not accept kids Bobby's age. 

Over the last five years, cruise lines Aqua Expeditions, Celebrity Cruises, and Silversea Cruises have introduced ships designed to satisfy the needs of guests who want to be pampered and learn something at the same time (76 cruise ships are currently permitted to visit the islands). To protect a vital maritime migration path, the protected seas surrounding the archipelago were extended by 23,000 square miles in 2021, for a total of 76,450 square miles. Additionally, in May of this year, Ecuador successfully concluded the largest "debt-for-nature" swap ever, a reorganization agreement made possible by Credit Suisse that resulted in the creation of the $656 million Galápagos Marine Bond, which will support conservation efforts going forward. 

What hasn't changed is that Quasar, like all other cruise lines, adheres to rigorous itineraries established by the National Park Service to prevent crowded landing zones. By 6:30 p.m., passengers have to return to their ships, and they are not allowed to leave anything behind. 

The children on our trip ranged in age from five to eighty, and they all grew close. With over 35 years of combined expertise, our naturalist guides, Dolores Villacreses and Monica Reck, were in charge of overseeing the group's expectations, talents, and learning styles. Every sixteen guests must have a professional guide with them at all times, per legal requirements. Quasar staffs one out of every eight people on the Grace.

Upon nearing Genovesa Island, a volcanic spit shaped like a horseshoe, I glanced at Prince Philip's Steps, an 82-foot-tall natural rock staircase, and wondered if we would make it up. As we started to climb, Villacreses led the more agile passengers forward, and Reck instinctively stretched back to hold our hands. We passed enormous frigate birds, the males' crimson throat pouches bulging like balloons. Reck explained to Bobby that the inflating pouches were a part of a mating ritual as he inexorably drew him in for a closer look. (I cheerfully delegated that one to her.) The humidity eventually got to us all, but our two guides understood when to stop so we could all take a breather in the vast lava-rock field. With the Pacific serving as the background, hundreds of storm petrels performed a humbling theater show. 

Every day had a cadence that let us go beyond our own personal limits. Get up before the sun comes up. breakfast. excursion. Munchies. excursion. Lunch and perhaps a performance. More travels. A super-pod of dolphins materialized on the horizon as we cruised away from Isabela Island's northern shore, enjoying grilled fish and veggies for lunch. As the skipper swiftly navigated us around them, Bobby gave up on his mostly consumed burger and joined the other children at the bow. Standing elbow to elbow, they watched in awe as hundreds of the creatures simultaneously shot out of the water. Social beings seeing fellow social beings.

Later that afternoon, Rob and I decided to hike a trail past Darwin Lake, close to Tagus Cove, a secluded harbor on Isabela, while Bobby stayed on board. The cliffs are marked with graffiti left by sailors and past visitors. It is worth noting that Charles Darwin stopped at this location on the Beagle in 1835.

I listened for finches, freed from daycare and comforted by the late afternoon shower's little burst of humidity. I talked little with a fellow traveler who was also a mother and from New York; strangely, it felt less small. I recalled reading On the Origin of Species in my beloved high school biology class. Over a coffee in the afternoon, Reck stated to me, "We want to share this place with the world." "However, the Galápagos must be managed to minimize human impact and preserve its pristine state for as long as feasible."

I imagine that most tourists are similar to me in that we go to the Galápagos expecting to be uprooted and end up with sights like stolid 100-year-old tortoises, throngs of marine iguanas that cover one another like quilts, and skittering orange Sally Lightfoot crabs. We visit the Galápagos Islands in the hopes of gaining credence for the theory of time travel—that objects might appear and act exactly as they did in 1835. I haven't seen such plenty in a long time there. 

I picked up my wildlife book right before we snorkeled the chilly waters off Puerto Egas, a breathtaking black sand beach on Santiago Island. I wanted to get us ready in case we spotted the strange seahorses or the lightning-fast shark. (I did manage to see one shark flick, but no seahorses.) Nothing could match the enormous school of silvery black-striped salemas, a modest fish that is vital to the entire ecology despite receiving little air. Countless numbers were present - I gave up attempting to keep track. Bobby and I extended our hands to try to give each other a tight hug after I grasped theirs.