There's a lot more to this place than one expects.
It's surprising just how much I'm learning about the Galápagos in the few days that I'm here. Last night I attended two short lectures that Ashley needed to see for class. One was a guard for the Galápagos National Park, another is a professor at Ashley's school who is a former director of the
Charles Darwin Research Station. As much as I appreciated both talks, the professor spoke to us about tourism and ecological conservation, and I thought that was just fascinating.
Consider this predicament: About 30 years ago, tourism began to boom here. Back then, fishing was the primary industry, and prosperity on the island was directly linked to respect for ecological balance--don't overfish, and all of the villages will be able to eat for years. But as the islands became more popular tourist spots, immigration increased. Now, only about 20% of the people who live here are native to the islands. That means 4 out of 5 "locals" are actually from elsewhere. They have a connection to the islands, sure--this is their home. But they don't have the same connection that the natives do.
This changed things. More immigration meant much more fishing and a larger ecological footprint, and that depleted the ocean's resources. Thus, in the past few decades, fishing has suffered where tourism has flourished. Now, many of the beaches and coasts are built up with hotels and souvenir shops. Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, the village I've stayed in for the past few days and the capital of Galápagos province, remains small and humble, but an observer can see how it's tried to become more of a destination than a home--there is constant construction virtually everywhere, with the beautiful building facades by the pier concealing the one-room shanties and dirt roads only blocks behind them.
There is a plus-side, though. There are regulations in place that require hotels and other businesses looking to profit from the prime location and unique nature of these islands to at least have some sort of partnership or professional connection with a local person or business. That was put into place to ensure that people here are not exploited for the profit of, say, US-based hotel chains or European cruise lines. And while the intentions are noble and at least somewhat effective, corruption and back-room deals have had a tendency to sully the industry.
The new locals, though--that 80% who migrated here--don't seem to mind much that tourism has become so large. And many of the natives likely don't, either. After all, tourism has brought jobs, jobs have brought money, money has brought electricity, telephones and wireless internet connections.
But tourism is a fickle industry. Whereas fishing, when done properly and with respect for an ecological balance, is a relatively sustainable market, tourism is reliant on good weather, effective marketing and advertising, and local resources (particularly labor). One small change can influence an entire island here. Example: The airport in San Cristóbal is under construction right now, which is why I had to fly into Baltra, the only other commercial airport on the archipelago. That's also why I had to take such a long, difficult ferry ride (which was incredibly easy, by local standards--my ride took only 2 1/2 hours, Ashley's took four and most of the passengers were seasick). You might imagine that a 4-hour boat ride through Pacific waves is not all that enticing to your average tourist. Thus, most take the short ride to Santa Cruz or the larger 500-person cruise ships around the islands. So Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, and San Cristóbal in general, are missing out on lots of tourist cash right now because their airport, usually the primary airport here, is closed. You can bet that they eagerly anticipate the day it re-opens.
On an early morning run to La Lobería today, Ashley and I passed the airport. It's just on the edge of town, separating a humble civilization from the parks and reserve where wildlife roam free. Even at 7am men were working hard to bring that place to life. When you exit that airport, you can take a right, head past the dig site and go about a mile down the dirt road to the coast, where many lobos and finches spend their days. Or you can take a left and head down the same dirt road, which eventually turns to pavement, and in about a mile or so you'll be amidst hotels, cafés, bars, restaurants and shops.
If you take that right, you'll see more of what the Galápagos once was and, in many ways, still is--pristine, protected, isolated, pure. But the livelihoods of some 8,000 people now depend on you taking that left.
The view from the flight; landing in Baltra.
Lobos greet you at the pier on Baltra island. It's always nap time, it seems.
Saw these guys at the Galápaguera.
Puerto Chino, a tiny little cove on the southern coast of San Cristóbal. This was my first excursion into the Pacific Ocean.
Ashley's street. Her house is the one all the way to the right, cut off, with the blue on the ground floor. On the horizon: the Pacific. Ashley is on the left.
On the left, a lobo. On the right, a lobo pup. Relaxing on lava rocks at La Lobería.
Dude's chillin'.
...Dude's chilin'.
