In Darwin’s Footsteps

August 9, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, Galápagos Islands. 04.57.

I woke up to the sound of the waves this morning. Well, I suppose morning is a stretch, since the clock on my bedside table said ten past four. I must have passed out around eight last night, beaten down by the lack of sleep on the plane and lulled into a Pacific lullaby by the sea. I can think of worse ways to spend a summer.

The garúa rolled in off the mainland last night, bringing with it relieving cloud and gentle rain. A passing shower came and went a few minutes back, but now it’s just the tap-tap sound of the lingering raindrops falling onto the roof of my cabin from the giant daisy tree.

There’s no point going back to sleep now, so I’ll spend some time writing up yesterday’s account of my first day on San Cristóbal.

The magic begins as soon as you’ve left the airport. Technically before, I suppose, since I could see the sharp-angled silhouettes of the island’s frigatebirds well before we landed. Outside the terminal, it’s a ten minute walk to the centre of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, the largest settlement on San Cristóbal.

Three of Darwin’s keys can be found right next to the terminal building: small and medium ground finches, of evolutionary fame, and one of the island’s endemic species, the San Cristóbal mockingbird. It’s this last that’s especially important, as Darwin didn’t realise the significance of the finches until after he’d departed from the islands, but he did notice that the mockingbirds on each island were different in some way.

Like so many creatures on these islands, they are completely unfazed by the presence of man. They have a funny way of walking, with their cocked tail wagging from side to side. If I were a scientist, I might have called them metronomebirds for this singularly odd gait.

Most of the other travellers piled into taxis outside the terminal, which seemed a bit ridiculous, given just how close the town is to the airport, but I guess some habits die hard. I was quite happy pottering about with the ground finches. It’s not often you get to spend time with a species that literally changed the way we think about our place in the world.

The first thing you notice is the sea lions. They are absolutely everywhere. If you can’t see them, you can certainly hear them: that cartoonist arf arf arf you associate with children’s TV carries for quite some distance.

They don’t stick to the beach, either. A large number of them seek out shadier spots on the seafront parade, dozing quite carelessly on roads, park benches and boardwalks. It’s pupping season, so there’s no shortage of pups in varying stages of development sticking close to their mothers. I’d suggest giving them a wide berth – you never know where the bull might be.

In this case, I did know where the bull was – because he was announcing his presence every minute or so with that barking call, as though to remind everyone in the vicinity that the harem on the beach was his and his alone. Which, I suppose, is close to the truth.

You can tell the bulls apart from their size – nearly a third larger than the females – and the significant boss on their heads. I also hadn’t noticed before the claws in their flippers, but you can get so close to the great sea beasts here on the islands that there’s hardly a detail that will pass you by.

I had to wait a little while before checking in to my cabin on the edge of town, just a stone’s throw from Playa Mann. At a glance, there seem to be a lot of people who come to these islands for the beaches. To a dyed-in-the-wool naturalist like me, that does somewhat feel like going to the Serengeti for a tan, but I’m far too happy to judge. Who could possibly turn away from a chance to see these spectacular islands, given the chance?

I took myself straight back down to the sea once I’d checked in and found two more Galápagos specialities almost immediately. I’ve been mad about Sally Lightfoot crabs since they turned up in a wildlife spotting book I won as a prize for a sunflower growing competition when I was a kid. We have crabs in the British isles, of course, but none nearly so colourful as the Sally Lightfoot. They’re everywhere here, ranging from dark green to sunset red, hugging the molten rocks along the surf line and leaping between boulders with surprising agility.

The other specialty is a real treasure of the Galápagos, arguably as iconic as the giant tortoises that gave the islands their name. Marine iguanas, a short-faced ocean-going variant of the green giants found on the mainland, are often described as “ugly”, perhaps on account of Darwin’s first description of the creatures. Certainly, their patchy salt-washed skin and snub faces make them strange-looking beasts, and they’re not nearly as active as the sea lions as they soak up the sun on the beachfront, but they are tremendously interesting creatures.

Around midday, it gets rather hot here on San Cristóbal. Not unbearably so, but the humidity doesn’t help. I found a night heron sheltering from the heat in the shadow of the rocks earlier, and when I returned, it was sunning itself in a posture I haven’t seen in herons before.

A smaller heron was lurking among the boulders nearby: a lava heron, an island variant of the striated heron that can be found all the way up and down the coasts of the Americas. It was mesmerised by the dragonflies hawking over the beach, tilting its sharp beak and golden eyes every time one came close. I didn’t stick around long enough to see if it caught one.

After sorting out my snorkel gear for tomorrow’s expedition to Punta Pitt, I made for Cerro Tijeretas, a promontory to the north of town known as Frigatebird Hill. I passed a large Dutch contingent and a couple of Germans looking for a mockingbird, but other than that, I had the trail pretty much to myself. The Galápagos aren’t like Manu – you aren’t going to be tripping over a new species every few steps – but the encounters you do have with the island natives are more than a match in their total lack of fear. I found a Galápagos flycatcher hunting by the boardwalk and spent most of the afternoon followed by warblers.

From the top of the hill, you get a spectacular view out across the island to the east, all the way to the cliffs of Punta Pitt. The bay beneath Cerro Tijeretas seems to be a popular snorkelling spot, and I can see why. One shape drifting in the water seemed to the naked eye to be too compact to be human, but too mobile to be a rock, so I turned my lens on it to confirm my suspicions: a green turtle, one of a number that can be found around these islands. I’ve brought my own snorkelling mask so I’ll have to check this place out sometime, when it’s quieter, maybe.

I didn’t make it as far as Playa Baquerizo, which really is a proper hike from town, across several kilometres of molten rock and daisy trees, so I’ll have to check it out later. Instead, I perched myself on a boulder and watched the sunset in a beach I had to myself. Noddies dancing across the surface of the water. Boobies hunting offshore. Frigatebirds wheeling above the bay on those vast black wings. This really is a paradise like few others. I hope for the islands’ sake it remains that way.

It’s nearly seven o’clock. It’s light now, and the island is covered by a merciful blanket of cloud. There are birds called outside but Merlin is struggling to identify them. That may have something to do with the generator that keeps clicking and whirring noisily outside. I’d better have a quick shower and then head out. I’ve rented a GoPro for today’s snorkelling adventures, but there’s also likely to be a heck of a lot to see at Punta Pitt itself, so watch this space! BB x

To Guayaquil and Beyond

August 8, 2026August 10, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Aeropuerto de San Cristóbal, Puerto Baquerizo Moreno. 10.55.

When I was just a kid, there were a few things I already knew wanted to achieve in life. I wanted to fall in love and have a family, write stories and, one day, go to some of the places I used to see on wildlife documentaries like Blue Planet, Land of the Tiger and Natural World. All of those dreams are still with me, but today, one of them comes true.

One destination in particular was a prize beyond all others, especially considering I was much more into reptiles back then than any other creature. A destination so remote and so wild that the animals that live there have little to no fear of man, despite centuries of visitors and worldwide fame. A volcanic archipelago that inspired a certain British naturalist to design one of the most revolutionary scientific theories of all time. A chain of islands named for their iconic, lumbering residents, some of which patrol the same corner of their highland world since they hatched in the early 1900s.

I’m talking, of course, about the Galápagos Islands. Here I am at last, about to embark on an adventure twenty-four years in the making. Here I am – and here we go!

Now that the secret is out of the bag, I can stop speaking in riddles!

I slept for at least part of the flight from Santiago to Guayaquil. I must have done, at least, because I don’t remember it feeling like a five hour flight at all. I woke up here and there, usually at opportune times such as when the flight crew came down the aisle with water and an in-flight snack of diced fruit and chocolate, but after sleeping little the night before, I think my fatigue got the better of me – and just as well! I don’t think I’ll want to miss even a second of my time on the islands for something as trivial as sleep.

Ecuador is one of the birdwatching capitals of the world, but I’m no lister, so I don’t begrudge my brief pit stop being limited to the interior of Guayaquil Airport. All the same, there’s a lot to be seen from the ceiling-high windows on the south side, near the KFC. I’d seen tanagers, hummingbirds and kingbirds before, but the cuckoo-like anis that live in the palm grove beside the departures lounge are a lot of fun to observe, as are the long-tailed grackles with which they share the scrub.

Now – logistics. Traveling to the Galapagos with a tour company may mean a lot of the admin is done for you, but if you, like me, prefer to strike out alone and do it yourself – which really does keep the costs down – you’re going to want to do a couple of things before leaving Guayaquil.

Make sure you have US dollars in hand – $200 at the very least for the island entry fee for foreign tourists, which must be paid in cash immediately upon arrival at the airport on the islands. If you have large denominations, now is the time to use them, as you’ll need smaller bills for day-to-day expenses around the Galapagos. There are ATMs in the major ports, but they have a reputation for running out, so having a float of ready cash is vital. There’s an ATM in the south corner of the terminal, between the KFC and the Salidas Nacionales door.
Before going through security (via the Salidas Nacionales door on the south side of the airport), make sure you go to the check-in desk that says “Tourists traveling to Galápagos Islands”. You can’t miss it – it’s the one in the middle with the big queues of gringos. You’ll need to queue twice for two different mandatory pre-flight checks.
Make sure you fill out the TCT (Tarjeta de control de tránsito), also known as the Tourist Transit Card, before you go through security. It costs $20, but there is a small surcharge for doing it online. Select “pay at airport”, use some of the dollars you’ve picked up and dodge the online fee.
Once you have your TCT, you also need to fill out a separate form declaring you’re not bringing any illegal goods onto the island. Processed food and plants come under that bracket, so polish off any snacks before you leave. It’s the islands and their wildlife that are at stake if you don’t. When you have the form in hand (or on your phone), join the queue to run your bags through the scanner. Once you’re clear to go, that’s it for the checks.

August is the tail end of high season in the Galapagos, or so I’ve been lead to believe. However, the 9.17am flight to San Cristobal was one of the emptier flights I’ve taken on my travels in South America, so despite skimping on seat reservation and being assigned an aisle seat, there was nobody else on my row at all – or the two in front, come to that – so I landed a window spot after all. Result!

Given the magnitude of what’s coming, I’ll leave it there for today’s post and fall into line one day behind, which should give me the breathing room I need to write each day without racing against the clock. So come back tomorrow to find out about my first day on the island of San Cristóbal, easternmost of the Galápagos Islands! BB x

Adios, Mister

August 7, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Aeropuerto Arturo Merino Benítez, Santiago de Chile. 23.23.

Three weeks at Craighouse School have come and gone in the blink of an eye. In that time I have seen and done all sorts of career-boosting things. I have observed Maths, English, Spanish and French classes, as well as a number of department meetings: sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish. I have taught the basics of French conjugation with -ER verbs, folktales from England, the Basque Country and the Middle East for a middle school kamishibai project and Augustinian theology within an exploration of good and evil in Othello. I have moderated an extended essay, taken part in an MUN debate on the two state solution, discovered that what I have only dreamed of doing for years – teaching English Literature – is well within my capabilities… and I have made some friends for life out here.

I think one of the reasons I avoided anything and everything to do with Latin America at university was because I wasn’t ready yet. I should have known that, having lost my heart to an American once already, I would be drawn back across the Atlantic like a moth to a flame. It’s not the light – it’s the warmth. The warmth of the people here. I have barely begun to scratch the surface of this country.

First things first – my Othello lesson was a triumph. After dropping in on a couple of Y12 classes and offering my take on Carol Ann Duffy and the religious context behind Shakespeare’s work, I was told that the senior deputy head and former head of English wanted to see me teach. Teaching a forty-five minute French lesson that I’ve taught for years is one thing. Teaching a ninety minute class on hardcore morality ethics, Protestant ideology and social context within one of Shakespeare’s weightier plays is another matter entirely.

Lucky for me, I had a bloody good teacher back in my schooldays, and a quick refresher last week was enough to remind me that I had forgotten very little of what I was taught, even across a distance of fourteen years. I’ve also been gearing up to teach Othello myself as part of the Spanish Language A course, so I was not unprepared. Still. No pressure.

I’ve got to hand it to the kids. They might have only been a standard level class, but they handled the higher level material extremely well. When I circulated as they were practising a Paper 2-style comparative task, I had some really enlightening conversations. So many great questions, so many bright ideas. I was really proud of them. Ninety minutes seemed like a tall order when I turned in around eleven o’clock last night, but it was over far too soon.

I spent the afternoon wrapping up. Signing out of all my accounts on the school laptop. Handing back the IB Language books I’d borrowed. Switching out my teaching boots for hiking shoes. I dropped in on the middle school Lenguaje department to say goodbye and had it corrected to a see you soon. Hispanics don’t do goodbyes. Much too final.

One final and unexpected resident of the English department hung around to see me off: the mockingbird that has been hanging around the office for the last couple of weeks. Somebody had left the door open so it had popped inside to see if there was anything edible. After a small circuit I managed to guide it back outside. They’re extremely characterful creatures, mockingbirds. I hope to see more of them where I’m going next. It’s a place where they made history. Natural history, that is.

To close out my time here, Alfredo (the head of English) took me and a couple of colleagues out to dinner at Baco, a swish restaurant in upmarket Providencia. It felt like I’d been part of the team for a year, rather than a week. Chileans may have more in common with the Basques than the Andalusians, but they’re an incredibly warm and honest people.

I’d say that’s that, but I’ve got to come back to Santiago to pick up my suitcase and catch my flight home in nine days’ time, so I’m not quite done with Santiago yet. But now I’m sitting in the departures lounge of Santiago’s Arturo Merino Benítez airport, absolutely buzzing about the last great adventure on my South American odyssey. It’s been an amazing month so far, full of unforgettable wildlife encounters and exceptionally warm people. This will just put a seal on the whole thing.

Or maybe even a sea lion… BB x

Anagnorisis

August 6, 2026August 7, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 19.22.

How do I describe what I’m feeling right now? I’m not sure. So I’ll do my best to reason my thoughts as I write. That’s what this whole blog exercise is for, after all, right? To throw down all the scattered puzzle pieces in my head so that they make a lot more sense on paper. That’s the idea behind it, anyway.

It’s like this. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life teaching foreign languages: English, Spanish, French, Arabic and even Italian. I do it because it’s what my degree was all about, primarily, but also because I have a pretty good ear and, frankly, I’m pretty good at it. In the last five years – after I’d earned my stripes – I’ve started teaching more and more literature, first through the Spanish Language B section of the International Baccalaureate Diploma, then as a fundamental part of the A Level course for both French and Spanish. The further I get into my teaching career, the more I hunger for the literary side of the course, genuinely revelling in the exploration of theme, character, identity and authorial philosophy. I love teaching the little ones, too – it’s immensely entertaining to go from discussing the corruption of the soul in French to learning Spanish phonics with various animals within the space of an hour – but every year I feel myself drawn ever closer into the literature.

Here in Chile, for the first time since my schooldays, I’ve had the freedom to teach English Literature as though it were my alma mater. It feels as natural as breathing. It helps that I have being using the same skills for years now to deliver the literature aspects of the French and Spanish courses, but… there is something more to it. This feels… right, somehow. Like this is what I was meant to be doing all along. And I’m feeling very conflicted about this.

I shouldn’t. This was always the plan – to move back to Spain and teach English Literature, if I could. But it is never going to happen in the UK. Never. I wouldn’t be allowed to cross over because of a lack of subject expertise and experience, no matter how much I point to my long years teaching literary analysis in another language. Similarly, it’s tremendously unlikely I’d be hired as a Spanish Language and Literature teacher in Spain, for which I am arguably more qualified, because why on earth would you hire a foreigner who has acquired your language from scratch to teach it to children when there are so many native speakers who are far better equipped to do so?

In short, my qualifications and my intentions simply do not add up. I did Spanish at university because I wanted to move back to Spain, but because my profession is teaching – a career path from which I will not stray on principle – I find myself stuck, unable to break into the Spanish education system as easily as mother did with music. I know what I want to do, but the barriers are all around me.

It’s frustrating – and yet the impression I get out here, in a school built upon the IB core philosophy of the universality of thought, is that none of that matters. Where I came from, what credentials I hold, what language I use from day to day. The only thing that matters is a passion for literature and for inquiry, wherever that takes me.

We could learn a lot from this system. Rather, I could learn a lot from it. The only question is, does Spain have anywhere that follows the same philosophy? That really would be the dream, if I could only track it down.

The sun has been out all day. Only now, in the last moments of the evening, has a thin carpet of cloud been pulled up as though to tuck it into bed. This would be only the third day of sunshine I have had since arriving in Chile, now four weeks ago to the day. So I have come up to the top of Observatory Hill to watch the sunset lay its Midas touch upon the Andes, perhaps for the last time, and think about the future.

Tomorrow, one last class of Othello – a proper hour and a half’s marathon on morality and ethics, Augustinian philosophy and Paper 2 preparation – and then it’s over. This strange exchange with Chile that was never on the cards until suddenly it was. I hope I leave a good impression.

And after that… somewhere completely different. Somewhere I have wanted to go since I was six years old. Somewhere… enchanted, even. BB x

AI Agencies Ltd.

August 5, 2026August 6, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Lo Barnechea, Santiago de Chile. 15.00.

Today has been a bit more of an admin day. One of my activities for next week fell through, so I spent a fair part of this morning re-arranging my plans with a couple of other agencies to keep my itinerary as close to the original as possible. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve been leaning heavily on AI, not as a lesson planner, but as a travel agent, and I have to be honest, I fear for the travel industry. ChatGPT and Copilot may need gentle nudging and correcting as they work, but they do a phenomenal job at trawling the net for deals, dates and travellers’ tales from TripAdvisor, Reddit and beyond.

I’m not the biggest fan of AI, but as an impartial entity to bounce ideas off, it’s an absolute doozy. It has really helped me to streamline my plans, keeping them within a very reasonable budget – especially important as my choice of location is not exactly famous for being a budget destination. I do often have to correct its mistakes, which is why I would caution any students of mine from meddling with it unless it’s on terms they understand – good advice for just about anything unknown – but as a rule it does a pretty good job at doing the heavy lifting.

I genuinely can’t wait – I’m practically chomping at the bit here – but I promised to keep it a secret, so I will leave just the smallest of clues in this post in case you want to hazard a guess at my intentions.

I’m currently sitting in the English office, listening in on the weekly department meeting on debating strategies and what constitutes a suitable number of poems within the Language A anthology. On my left, the windows open out onto the hill country around Manquehue, where I saw no fewer than sixteen condors circling shortly before lunch. That makes three days out of three this week where I’ve seen the titans of the Andean skies from my office. Normally it’s just the diucas and mockingbirds that pop in for a lookaround once the kids have gone back inside for the third hour of the day. On my right, the windows open out onto the enormity of the Andes to the north, still wearing a wintry mantle of snow. Further down the hill – just out of sight beyond the classroom blocks – are the school’s sports pitches. Our kids play rugby against the backdrop of a nineteenth-century clock tower and the Southwestern Railway. These kids have the towering heights of the Andes all around them. These are just the foothills: somewhere beyond stands the fearsome Cerro Plomo, reaching some 17,861 feet into the sky.

Upon reflection, by journey’s end, I will have spent an astonishing two months south of the equator this year. The last time I was this far south I was tracking mountain gorillas in the impenetrable cloud forests of Bwindi on the Congolese border.

I remember being of the opinion that Chile was a destination I was only prepared to visit thanks to some generous financial assistance with the flights, considering it otherwise a prohibitively expensive destination. I see now just how wrong I was. Not about the money – Chile is easily one of the more expensive South American countries – but about how much there is to see and to do.

I’m now genuinely considering coming back someday to pick up the things that I missed: Chiloé, Conguilio, Punta Arenas, San Pedro de Atacama and so much more besides. There’s simply too much to see here, even when you have five weeks to play around with, and for a naturalist like me, the fact that it pales in comparison to its megadiverse neighbour, Peru, means very little when a casual glance out gives you one of the most spectacular birds of prey on the planet.

Two weeks from now, I will be back home, a brief pit stop on the island before duty calls me to Athens for one last dance. I had a brief moment of nostalgia for it today when I popped in to help a colleague set up a game of Just a Minute to give her students a boost with their listening skills in debating. I love that game to bits – and the BBC Radio show from which I have poached it.

Two days remain. Let’s do this! BB x

Loose Ends

August 4, 2026August 5, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / 1 Comment

Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 17.14.

It’s getting to that stage of my time in Chile where I’m starting to take advantage of every moment remaining. Over the last few weeks I’ve gotten quite used to the sight of the Andes, the caracaras that seem to be constantly somewhere on the horizon and the wheezy call and response of the characterful meadowlarks. But soon I’ll have to say goodbye. So, while the weather holds at least, I’ll try to get out after work and soak up as much of that view as I can.

After a productive day spent exploring Carol Ann Duffy’s poetry (specifically Quickdraw, Demeter, Shooting Stars and Delilah) and hanging out with the Senior English team, I popped in to grab my camera and went straight back up the road to Observatory Hill (Cerro Calán). It was smoggy and overcast on my way up, but by the time I reached the summit, the sun had found a breach in the cloud line near the horizon and came shining through – just in time to light up the meadowlarks that were scrambling about the summit.

I went all the way to Patagonia for pumas and took a boat out into the Pacific to see an albatross, but the meadowlarks have been a feature wherever I’ve gone. For me, they’re probably the bird of Chile – after all, national bird or not, I’ve seen condors in Peru, albeit perhaps not as frequently as I have here.

If I had more time – and the weather were kinder – I’d head south again in search of the chucao, a smart little Chilean speciality, and try my luck in search of the Magellanic woodpeckers that reside within the forests of Chiloe. I’d also try to track down the elusive tucúquere, the largest of the owls of Chile, that has thus far eluded me. I suspect I’ll be absolutely knackered when I return from my final adventure next week, but if the sun decides to make a very overdue return, I might make one last jaunt out to Batuco, a wetland reserve to the north of the city, in the hope that I might find the burrowing owls that live around the lake.

Until then, I’m quite content to watch the meadowlarks bousting about.

When the sun can be seen, Santiago experiences an incredible second sunset. The dying embers of dusk catches the peaks of the mountains and showers them in golden light, before they fade to an imperial grey against the iron skies beyond. Then, just when you think it’s over, the mountains erupt in an incredible crimson light. I’m not sure what triggers that second burst of light. Maybe it’s the sun hitting the Pacific, or some trick of the clouds. Either way, it’s breathtaking.

As I walked back down the road toward Avenida Charles Hamilton, the clouds became a mirrored beach, like so much stippled sand. To the north, the triangular summit of Cerro Manquehue rose into the ether like a child’s drawing. It’s been the eternal backdrop of my stay here in Santiago, visible from both my home in Las Condes and my office in Craighouse on the other side of the mountain.

Before I came here, Manquehue was just the name of a Chilean Catholic community who I met once in Durham, many years ago. Now it’s one of my favourite waymarkers in the Valle Central.

Tomorrow brings an observation – one of my last – and a planning session with the Deputy Head for a fully-fledged 90-minute lesson of my own on Thursday. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were testing me. It almost feels like a job interview.

I saw a fox near the car park as I left today – a gold and silver vixen, rooting around the trees just beyond the fence. These culpeos are a lot closer to wolves and jackals than they are to true foxes, but nature clearly likes the design of the fox, because the culpeo and its cousin the chilla have both evolved to fill that niche.

I’ll take that as a good sign. Nothing that beautiful could be anything else. BB x

Upgraded

August 3, 2026August 3, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Lo Barnechea, Santiago de Chile. 15.35.

After a relatively quiet week left largely to my own devices, my third and final week here in Santiago has got off to a thundering start. Not only did I get to observe an English Language A lesson on Othello – easily my favourite Shakespeare and one of my chosen texts for next year – I actually got to teach a large chunk of it, steering the lesson firmly into the context-heavy waters of racial and religious subtext.

It could hardly have felt more natural. Granted, it was only half of a double lesson that was in my hands, but it was everything I wanted my experience of teaching literature to be. I remain very much attached to the idea that one day, God willing, I might get the chance to teach the literature of my own language, too. It’s a tremendously uphill journey, as my degree is in Modern Languages and Cultures and my training is entirely in French and Spanish, though I did skew almost all of my modules into the realm of literary analysis during my university studies. It’s also worth noting that my grades in English Literature – and my passion for the classes – were simply streets ahead of my interest in languages at school, which, I admit, were something that came naturally to me rather than a particular passion of mine. No, I haven’t read nearly widely enough in English as one might have done reading English Literature at degree level, but then, I’ve read a great deal less in French, and here I am teaching Albert Camus and Gael Faye for the third year in a row. Go figure.

It must have gone down well, because I’ve been invited by the Director of the Senior section of the school to teach another Y12 class the same material, but in more depth, on Thursday morning. Realistically, this is what I expected what my placement to look like, albeit in Middle – but this is much more my sort of thing.

I also popped in on a Y11 French class, which was suggested as a possibility in my very first week, but has been held back due to the ongoing cycle of assessments. Students start French much later here (which seems logical, with France being seven thousand miles away), so they were only learning the basics of introductions and masculine/feminine adjectives, but it was good to get my eye in – because on Thursday I’ll be taking the entire class as they move into the realm of verb conjugation. Fortunately, it’s only the regular -ER verbs I need to concern myself with, and being native Spanish speakers, they should be able to grasp the concept of verb conjugation considerably more capably than my English students. They reminded me a lot of my Y11s back home: lively, bolshy, but keen to do well and to impress. Two thirds of them are carrying on with me to A Level, which I’m still raving about. I don’t imagine it’ll be a trend moving forward, but I’ll do my best to try and engineer that kind of success in the years to come. After all, with languages on the decline across the UK, my job does depend on it somewhat!

My final commitment for today, after a lovely lunch with the Senior English department, was to drop in on the school’s MUN/Debate Club, hosted by Sebastian, one of the English team. I’ve got to hand it to their ambition, tackling the two-state solution between Israel and Palestine for one of their first debates, but they handled it superbly, and some of them stuck around at the end for feedback, just like mine do at the end of a Burke or Interhouse Debate. After a couple of weeks where my attention and interaction has largely involved my colleagues and their respective schemes of work, it feels incredible to be working with the students directly at last. It reminds me just how much I love this job, which is surprisingly reassuring, even in the middle of my summer holidays.

Saying it makes it so. Today is the start of week five. Four weeks remain, which will be down to less than two by the time my responsibilities in Chile and Greece are concluded. Once again, I have contrived to whittle down the gargantuan private school holidays into a much more manageable break by keeping myself as busy as my sanity will allow, though with a full seven weeks of ever-changing plans, this summer really does take the biscuit. I might feel guilty about relinquishing time I could have spent refreshing my memory behind the wheel of a car if I weren’t so busy… but you know as well as I do that that would be an out-and-out lie. Between the mountain lions, albatrosses, hummingbirds and Shakespeare, I couldn’t be happier with how this summer has gone.

Tomorrow calls for Carol Ann Duffy (…!). We haven’t crossed paths since she and her stolen snowman were unceremoniously shunted to one side in favour of Seamus Heaney and his litany of potato poems during my GCSE years. I’ll hit the books tonight and come armed and ready to muck in with a Y11 class, who are presenting their analysis tomorrow. The fun never stops! BB x

Question Time

August 2, 2026August 3, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 18.45.

My time in Santiago is drawing to a close. Five days remain before I pack my rucksack with a few warmer weather supplies and set out for one more grand adventure – before responsibilities call me back to drought-afflicted Europe. It’s been so long since we had a day of truly clear skies – not since the day I arrived, to be honest – that it’s hard to imagine what most of Europe is going through right now. I’ve almost forgotten what’s it’s like to be hot outside.

I took it easy today. The weather was supposed to be miserable, but while the forecast rain did eventually come down, it was only for about five minutes. I thought about exploring the rocky mountainside reserves around Santiago’s east side in search of a few Chilean specialities that I have missed thus far, like turcas, tapaculos and the one and only tucúquere or horned owl… but in the end, it looked far too complicated to get there and back again under unpredictable weather conditions in time for a social outing at 2pm, so I gave it a pass. That’s where I draw the line between birder and twitcher – I’m not going to miss out on a chance to meet people and practise my Spanish just because I’m leaving the country in a week and haven’t seen all the Chilean endemics. There are limits even to my obsessions.

It was a lovely gathering at one of Tomás’ cousins’ apartment, in true South American style – that is, thirteen people and two dogs squeezed into a living room, with a lovely array of snacks and conversation.

Most of their attention was demanded by the new puppy Tomás’ sister has acquired over the weekend and his cousin’s dog, who went absolutely ballistic at the presence of so many strange-smelling new faces and a puppy to boot. I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest, but I think it’s safe to say I am not a dog person. They really are far too much.

Growing up with cats has had more of an impact on me than I realised. Tolkien once that “sheep get like shepherds and shepherds get like sheep”, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happened to me. Cats are loving and affectionate in their own way, but they’re also highly independent and will only tolerate so much attention before they need to slink off somewhere on their own. Maybe that’s why I’ve also ways been drawn to the quieter, more noble dog breeds that don’t bound about so much, begging for your attention, like mastiffs.

I feel very welcome here. Sure, there have been times when it has not been lost on me that my assigned department aren’t entirely sure what to do with me, since I did seemingly fall from the sky, but most introductions lead to some sort of inquisition, born from a natural curiosity as to what I, an Englishman, am doing out here in Santiago.

I wonder how my colleagues will treat Tomás during his stay. I know they will be welcoming, but I doubt he’ll be the centre of attention as often as I have been out here. I don’t think it’s even a generalisation to say that the British simply aren’t as curious. It’s not in our nature. An Englishman’s life is his own affair, and to ask too many questions is to intrude. I had that much beaten into me by a previous girlfriend who found my inquisitiveness and love of deep questions nothing short of invasive. She might have been an isolated case, but I will always remember a dinner with her colleagues where not a single one of them asked me a question or even acknowledged my existence for the entire three hour sitting. She is the only Briton I have ever dated, and it was enough to convince me that it is a mindset I must avoid at all costs.

The sunset from the cousins’ eleventh floor flat was quite spectacular. I’ve been away for quite a while now, so I am starting to look forward to the familiar trappings of home, but I will miss the mountains. You’d have to go as far as the Himalayas to get mountains as impressive as these… and don’t think I haven’t considered that – once I’ve saved up some more, of course, after what really has been a very splurge-y summer!

Tomorrow should – I hope – bring me the structure I have been craving. Two hours of Othello followed by another couple of hours of French. It will make a nice change from working on my novel in the Middle School Lenguaje department! BB x

Firecrown

August 1, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 17.40.

With strong winds and heavy rain forecast for much of central and southern Chile this weekend, I decided against any madcap travels beyond Santiago. It’s just as well, too: even my whimsical considerations of hopping over the border to tick Argentina off the list with a flying visit to Mendoza would have been impossible, after yesterday’s renewed snowfall blocked the mountain pass, closing the terrifyingly steep Ruta 60 for what is likely to be quite some time.

For once, I erred on the side of common sense and spent my Saturday in downtown Santiago, stocking up on a few important supplies for my final adventure in South America, now less than a week away. My main target was the sportswear giant Decathlon, but while I was hunting it down I stumbled upon a fabulous bookshop specialising in natural history in an underground mall at Tobalaba. I’ll simply have to come back here before I go – the selection of books on offer was incredibly tempting.

I still can’t get over how much birdwatching is a thing over here. I’m so used to Hispanics being generally disinterested in birds they can’t shoot out of the sky. It’s so heartwarming that that particular aspect of Hispanic culture is shifting, and that Latin Americans seem to be the driving force behind it.

With my Decathlon business concluded, I popped into Jumbo – Chile’s answer to Spain’s Mercadona – to grab a couple of snacks for the week ahead. Amazingly, the supermarket did me for lunch, too: they were giving out free samples of the seafood stew mix (which was amazing!) as well as free samples of strawberry yoghurt and pistachio ice cream. They weren’t exactly full-size dishes, but Tomás ordered far too much pizza last night, so I was quite happy with a couple of free nibbles for lunch.

The heavy rains of the past couple of weeks have transformed the Mapocho River which runs through the city. When I arrived, it was little more than a steady flow in a largely dry canal. It’s now a roaring torrent that cuts above the din of the traffic when you’re close enough. Chile really is a country of extremes: when it rains here, people have to be prepared for property damage and flood control, even up here in the mountains.

By the time I reached the car park at the foot of Cerro San Cristobal, it was already half past one, and a lot of city folk had come to the same conclusion as me: that is, that it would be nicer to go for a walk today, rather than tomorrow, when the scheduled rains are due to come down hard. Parquemet was full of cyclists and runners, as it was on my last ascent now three weeks ago, but after a flying visit to the Japanese Garden – which was probably the noisiest zen garden in creation, thanks to it being located within a Hispanic capital city – I ducked off the road, following one of the many forest tracks intended for downhill mountain bikers. But for a lone jogger, I had this route to myself, which meant it was alive with wildlife.

The first critter to show up was a woodpecker. I never did find the famous Magellanic woodpecker during my visit to Patagonia – a very good reason to come back someday – so this striped woodpecker or carpinterito is my first in Chile. Like most woodpeckers, it was a nightmare to capture on film, being in the darkest part of the forest, moving constantly and under a dark, overcast sky, but I just about managed a couple of shots before it disappeared among the trees.

A large flock of finches followed me along the spine of the cerro, feeding among the dead foliage at the side of the path. The siskins here look and sound a lot like the ones back home, but the sierra finches are really rather special. I saw some of these pretty birds in Cusco, but in Santiago they’re essentially garden birds.

I hoped I might find some of the pretty diuca finches that are so common at school. There weren’t any on the cerro today, but I did keep running into diucons, their fiery red eyes even more obvious in the midday light than they were the other day, when I was shooting into the sun.

The best find of all, though, was a bird I’ve become very familiar with here in Santiago. I hear them every single day, and see them at least three days out of seven, whenever I should be near a poker plant. The green-backed firecrown is probably Chile’s most well-known hummingbird, since it seems to have a home on even the busiest streets in the city centre.

The last time I had a close encounter with one of these living gemstones, I didn’t have my camera on me. This time, I came prepared. Firecrowns are fearless little creatures, driven by an insatiable hunger that is a side-effect of their rapid metabolism – so, once again, I was able to sit quite close and watch, until the bird landed so close I could see its heartbeat and its tiny tongue tasting the air.

The firecrown gets its name from the male’s plumage, which really is quite something. Even with the naked eye, you can’t miss that sudden flash of scarlet when they alight upon a branch, just like hoopoes do with their crests when they land.

The secret is the iridescent sheen to its feathers, each one bending the light slightly differently depending on its position on the bird’s forehead. They can, of course, flatten and raise their crests at will, so I had to wait a little while before I was able to capture that ripple of red light.

After spending a happy half hour or so with the firecrowns, I wound my way back down the cerro and used what little battery I had left on my phone to catch a bus back to Las Condes. I only stopped one more time, just before stepping on board the 409, to see a couple of Southern Lapwings that had flown in and gone down to the river. I see and hear these birds every day, too, as they’re a lot noisier than the firecrowns, but I haven’t yet had the chance to get a photo. They’re usually patrolling the rugby pitches in pairs, and they have a reputation for being ferocious with passers-by in the spring, when they have eggs or chicks near at hand.

Well, it’s getting dark outside. I didn’t expect to have such a good afternoon’s birdwatching on what was essentially an extended shopping trip, but sometimes, it’s the outings you don’t plan that turn out to be the best.

That said, I’ve done a lot of planning for next week’s mad adventure, so I hope that turns out for the best, too. It really is going to be rather special. BB x

Birder in Suburbia

July 31, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Las Condes, Santiago de Chile. 5.06.

I’m up early after falling asleep far earlier than usual last night (around 8pm – shocking!), so I thought I’d use the time to pencil in my afternoon’s adventures.

While I’ve been working around the Craighouse campus, I’ve had a lot of time to watch the comings and goings of the birds that make their home around the capital city. Taunton has its fair share of feathered friends, of course, but I’ve had thirty years to get used to herring gulls, crows and woodpigeons. I might be in my third week out here, but I still get a big smile watching the rufous-crowned sparrows hopping about. Naturally, I don’t bring my camera to work, so given that we actually had some sunshine today – and that my colleague Tomás was done an hour before the end of the school day – I thought I’d capitalise on the sunlight and do a bit of suburban birdwatching.

One bird that’s easy to find around Santiago is the mockingbird. I’ve come across these characterful creatures in New Orleans, Lima and the open steppe of Patagonia, but the cheerful Chilean mockingbird is very much a feature of Santiago itself. I imagine they’d be garden birds, if one had the money for a garden in this habitually dry part of the world.

I thought I might try and snap one of the many Chilean swallows circling the heights of Cerro Calán, but they were much too fast and never came down to roost. I did, however, finally have manage to capture a fire-eyed diucon – a little grey bird with striking red eyes, almost like those of a Victorian doll, that moves just like a flycatcher from back home.

It was really encouraging to see more than a couple of other walkers up on Cerro Galán with binoculars and the BIRDA app on their phones. I can’t help but notice that birdwatching seems to be a lot more popular here than I anticipated. I suppose it helps a lot when your average city birds are really quite spectacular to start with.

Take the meadowlarks, for example, who make their presence known with a tremendously loud wheezy call that goes off like a Mexican wave as soon as the first one in the flock puffs out its chest and sings. These are the birds that the locals in Santiago seem to love the most, and with such an eye-popping splash of red on the males’ chests, I can’t say I blame them.

Definitely saving a corner of this post for my favourite little sparrows, though. Slightly smaller than our house sparrows, with an endlessly cheerful chip to let you know they’re nearby, they also have a beautiful song when they’re feeling more musical.

I was up on the cerro long enough to catch the sunset, which was an added bonus. It must have been tremendous from Valparaíso, no doubt, but even here in Santiago, with the forested mountains of La Campana between us and the horizon, it was quite a sight to see.