Jötunheim

August 13, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Ayora, Galápagos Islands. 18.55.

Coming all the way to the Galápagos Islands and leaving without seeing the giant tortoises would be like going to Jordan and skipping out on Petra, or bypassing any kind of safari whatsoever on a visit to Kenya or Tanzania. You could do it, but you’d be missing out on something truly special.

As luck would have it, you don’t have to go too far to find them. Though they may not be as numerous as they once were long ago (an astonishing 350,000 were carried off the islands by sailors and scientists as a source of food and oil), there are still thousands of them to be found even on the populated islands of San Cristóbal and Santa Cruz. The ranches in the interior will give you your best chance at seeing them, but don’t get it confused: they’re not open-air zoos built to accommodate the surviving giant tortoises. They’re functioning orchards and pastoral plots that happen to sit right on the tortoises’ migration route to and from the clouded highlands. The fact that they provide a ready supply of fruit is simply one of the reasons they can often be found lurching around the ranches.

I was picked up from my hostal at about 8.42 by a slightly irascible taxi driver. On the way out of town, I couldn’t help noticing a dollar store selling all sorts of cheap plastic tat: brainrot bracelets, a K-Pop Demon Hunters make-up kit, imitation night goggles from Lilo and Stitch and a plastic figurine of Haaland. For an island that makes such a big deal about not importing single-use plastics, there’s a lot of single-use plastic junk on sale here for locals and tourists alike. I hope one day we learn to stop mass-producing stuff like this and give capitalism one almighty sock in the jaw, though I doubt that will happen in my lifetime.

My destination today was Galápagos Frontier, the closest accessible ranch to Puerto Ayora. I was going to walk there, but when the heavens opened shortly after seven o’clock, I decided to take up the ranch owner’s offer of a taxi shuttle and save myself the hour and a half’s hike. By the looks of things, it would have been a pretty straightforward route, as a separate cycle lane follows the highway right into the interior, but it did allow me to slow down and enjoy my breakfast, so I guess I was grateful.

The taxi driver dawdled a bit, so he made up for lost time by hurtling along the highway, narrowly missing a couple of chickens and a very fleeting glimpse of a pachay – the Galápagos crake, a rare and endemic cousin of the moorhen that came to these islands over a million years ago. It was some relief when he finally slowed down near the ranch gates, because I don’t like to think what would have happened if we’d met a giant tortoise around the bend.

Speaking of which, I counted at least three of the lumbering giants before we’d even arrived. At four feet tall by five feet across, they’re pretty hard to miss.

Our guide, Julio César (ave!), had a lot to tell us about the ranch and its flora and fauna, so he brought along a Canadian volunteer to translate for him, as the American mother and son on our trip didn’t speak any Spanish. We butted heads a bit over travel advice for Peru as the young American fella was headed there next. She recommended Paracas and Huacachina as her highlight. I told him I’d managed Paracas in a day and she said I was “fucking insane”, which seemed an odd sort of way to talk to a client, but… that’s North Americans for you. No filter. I gave them a wide berth for the rest of the tour and stuck close to Julio, bypassing the need to speak in English for the rest of the morning.

It’s only a small boundary of mine, but I don’t take kindly to being sworn at without uttermost provocation. Priggish, perhaps, but it’s a principle I try to stick to.

Anyway. I wasn’t here to hang out with tourists. I came up here to see the giant tortoises. And see them I did.

I’ve always known they’re incredibly long-lived creatures, but just how long has never really dawned on me. Some of these tortoises were well over a hundred years old, with at least one or two individuals over the one-hundred-and-fifty mark. Julio showed us the sun-bleached shell of a male he had found dead on the ranch at the start of the tour, adding that it was the only such cadaver he’d found in forty years working this corner of the island. That statistic alone hints at the ridiculous surviving power of these creatures, whose metabolism is so slow that they can go for as long as a year without food or drink.

Turtles may have been around since the Triassic in one form or another, but these giants really are reminiscent of the age of the dinosaurs in their almost miraculous longevity.

You can age a giant tortoise by their shells. Younger tortoises have more clearly defined grooves in their shells, which wear away with age. Ironically, the fewer the lines, the older they are. So it stands to reason that some of these tortoises individuals we saw – like the one below – were incredibly old. Old enough to have seen two world wars come and go. Old enough to remember a time before tourism on the islands. And with the record age in captivity pushing 174 years, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that one or more tortoises on the islands remember a young Charles Darwin who came here in 1835.

I don’t know about you, but I found that absolutely mind-boggling.

Many of the tours on the ranches include a visit to the lava tunnels, a labyrinthine network of caves hollowed out of the mountain by ancient rivers of molten rock, long since cooled and emptied. Near the coast, these are the preferred burrows of the Galápagos penguin, but up here in the highlands, they’re more commonly used as roosts for barn owls and the three endemic bat species that call the islands home.

The most amazing thing about the lava tunnels – apart from the fact that they seem to go on forever – is the way their ceilings sparkle and gleam in the torchlight. Thousands of water droplets and bacteria scintillate in silver and gold, making the long dark of the tunnels alive with light.

Back up and out in the light, we were tailed for a short distance by a flock of anis. These cuckoo/crow-like birds aren’t native to the Galapagos but were brought here from the mainland in the 70s to deal with the horsefly problem blighting the highland ranches. Now they’re everywhere, attacking much of the native wildlife, so every few years the local community organises a major cull of the species to keep their numbers in line.

It doesn’t help that they’re actually a very endearing kind of bird. This sort of job is much easier when the culprit is small, faceless and preferably creepy-crawly.

Living and working in Santiago this summer has, at times, felt decidedly European. You’re never under any allusion that you’re in an entirely different hemisphere, but all the same, the roads and the streets are very western, very cosmopolitan. Up in the highlands of the Galápagos, there’s something very… equatorial about the place. One-storey houses at the roadside with chalkboards selling fruit. Red earth roads leading into the distance with thick green vegetation on either side. Tarmac roads without pavements or bollards. It almost feels like being back in Uganda.

With the vegetation so high at this time of year (following the daily rains), it can be hard to encounter a giant tortoise that isn’t buried up to its neck in greenery. So I was glad to find at least one by the roadside that was wandering out in the open. It can be hard to gauge their size when they’re on their own, but if I told you that their shells can reach a man’s waist or even abdomen in the very largest specimens, that may give you an idea.

It’s been quite a wild ride, this summer, and spending the last few days with the giant tortoises of the Galápagos seems like a nice way to wind down what has been a total blur of events since I left the UK to burn under the unforgiving summer sun of July 2026. It’s still burning now. In South America we’ve had rain almost every day here since I arrived. If only I could send some of it back to Europe ahead of my return. Folk might welcome it there.

A week from today, I will be in Athens, on what really will be the last of my labours for the summer. I had originally planned to make my own way home across Europe after that, but then the Galapagos happened, so I’m going to save both money and time and come back to the UK when the wedding festivities are over to edit my photos and rest. Lord knows I could do with the comfort of my own bed and books again.

But before that, I have one final Galápagos adventure upon which I must embark: the frigatebird colony of North Seymour Island. I hope the weather is kind on this last expedition. BB x

Mangrove Junkie

August 12, 2026August 13, 2026 / Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Ayora, Galápagos Islands. 21.00.

This morning I said farewell to San Cristóbal. The easternmost island of the Galápagos chain has been a blissful retreat from the world, shrouded in stormclouds and sunshine. Having a cabin all to myself on the edge of town made a change from the usual hostel circuit. After several years of bunk beds of varying stages of comfort, I think I earned it.

I arrived a full forty-five minutes early at the harbour, as instructed, to be last in the queue. I should have known: the majority of the tourists on these islands at the moment are Dutch, Germans and Americans, who aren’t known for being slack when it comes to appointments. As such, when I finally did get onto the ferry, I was given a seat at the very front of the boat.

The Israeli sitting next to me was incensed. “Shit, man. This fucking sucks. These are the worst seats in the whole boat.” I smiled and shrugged it off – windowless or not, it was only a two hour boat trip across the open ocean – but he was seriously ticked off about what he saw as the rank injustice of the affair.

Fortunately, due to a mix-up involving the unexpected arrival of a family of four, the captain asked if we’d be so kind as to move up on deck so the family could sit together – so I effectively got an upgrade for free. So did the Israeli, whose response was a lot more vainglorious than mine, but I guess it takes all sorts to make a world. Up top, I had the refreshing breeze of the ocean wind, the occasional spray of saltwater and views all around – and, unlike a number of passengers, I wasn’t sick once. For somebody who isn’t exactly a sailor, I have always been surprised at my resistance to seasickness. Surprised – and very grateful!

The ferry between San Cristóbal and Santa Cruz takes about two hours, passing the uninhabited island of Santa Fé shortly before docking in Puerto Ayora, the largest town in the Galápagos. It was only shortly after nine, so I had a quick breakfast and then thought I might at least check in my luggage, but the lovely ladies at my hostal, the Flightless Cormorant, let me into my room right away. With my rucksack unpacked, I set out to explore and get my bearings of Puerto Ayora.

As they always are in the Americas, the fisherman’s wharf is a hive of activity. In Valparaiso, it draws gulls, terns, pelicans and the local sea lion population right up to the harbour. Here in the Galapagos, the frigatebirds add some local colour. They almost never seem to land, and the reason for that became clear when I saw one resting on the roof of a boat: their feet are tiny, almost vestigial in appearance. It seems that this was the sacrifice they made millions of years ago in order to become masters of the air, just like our swifts back home in Europe, only more than five times the size.

Here, as on San Cristóbal, you can find lava herons, with the added touch that the mangrove trees make for a slightly more interesting backdrop. The mangroves are easily my favourite thing about Santa Cruz – I’ve only ever seen them in books and documentaries, and they are every bit as spectacular as I always thought – even here, where they start right in the heart of Puerto Ayora itself.

Obviously my turtle encounter yesterday wasn’t enough, because a short burst of breath near the boats alerted my attention to a youngster drifting near the surface, less than a stone’s throw from the harbour. It was feeding on the algae growing on the bottom of the boats, particularly on the propellers raised just inches above the surface. The Galápagos Islands are famous for the close encounters you can have with the local wildlife, but I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see both sharks and turtles without even having to leave the larger towns.

One of the big draws in Puerto Ayora is the Charles Darwin Research Centre to the east of the city. Free to visit – except for the Fausto Llerena Giant Tortoise breeding centre, which is perilously easy to stumble into (and be politely removed from) as it has no fencing! – it is worth a look-around even if just for the passport stamp you can acquire here, the only legitimate way to obtain such a stamp (as they do not issue any stamps at the airport).

The walk there takes you into the wilder country around Puerto Ayora, and you have to watch your feet: there are reptiles everywhere. I lost count of the lava lizards and marine iguanas, and I’m almost certain I saw the looped body of a Galápagos snake disappear into the bushes as I turned a corner.

Follow the trail that leads east of the Charles Darwin Research Centre and you’ll reach Playa Ratonera, a wild and wave-battered volcanic shoreline. It has a few sandy stretches, but it’s hardly a pleasure beach, as it gets the full force of the Pacific. It’s mostly mangroves, carpet weed and black volcanic boulders, with the shattered white remnants of millions of years of coral taking the place of pebbles.

One huge draw is the local population of marine iguanas. There were always a few around the harbour on San Cristóbal, but Santa Cruz has hundreds of them.

The collective noun for marine iguanas is a mess, which is about right. They are absolutely everywhere, sprawling all over each other on the path, off the path, among the weeds and atop the rocks. You really do have to watch where you step, because they’re a lot more sluggish than the lava lizards and don’t tend to move even when they’re only inches away.

They were attended by a massive great blue heron, the American cousin of our grey herons. Herons of this size have a Catholic diet, so I imagine the smaller iguanas form a part of that, before they become too large for even the most ambitious herons. I’ve seen these birds swallow fish that are far too large for their long necks, but they probably do go down the hatch a lot more easily than a spiky, scaly adult iguana.

Time and again here I am bowled over by how unafraid the local wildlife is of us. Herons, iguanas, mockingbirds, finches, boobies and oystercatchers… none of them seem to mind one jot that they share their world with us. Only the whimbrels seem to have retained their wariness, though given their status as migrants in these islands, perhaps their behaviour may be excused.

The other beach worth visiting in Puerto Ayora’s immediate area is Playa Tortuga, a stretch of exposed white sand to the southwest. Getting there requires registering with a park ranger and a half hour’s trek through the opuntia cactus forest, but when you see the final destination, you’ll understand why so many people both local and foreign make this trek every day. It’s a paved route, so it’s not exactly arduous, and it does have the benefit of sending you through bird country. I finally saw the largest of the ground finches, with its impressively large nutcracker bill, as well as the local species of mockingbird, noticeably different in voice and appearance to the birds on San Cristóbal.

I believe Playa Tortuga is so named because it plays host to a breeding colony of green turtles at the right time of year, but to get there, you first have to cross Playa Brava, beaten savagely by the force of the ocean. When I got there the afternoon’s daytrippers were all heading back to town in a slow and sandy procession. The rangers close the beach at five, so as I arrived at twenty past four, I didn’t have an awful lot of time.

Time enough, though, to appreciate the strange beauty of the mangroves. On the far side of the red flag beach (where the waves are far too strong to allow for bathing) you’ll find the not-so-secret mangrove-lined bay of Playa Tortuga. It’s no hyperbole to say that it is by far the most beautiful beach in the Galapagos that I’ve seen so far: quiet, secluded and with views to die for all around.

I didn’t bring my swimming gear, and it would have been too late to pop in for a swim even if I had, but it was a hard-fought temptation not to dive right in. I confess I usually have more than a little contempt for those who travel the world just to lounge around on a beach without a care for the local wildlife or culture, but when the beaches are this good, I can begin to understand why somebody might be mad enough to empty their bank account to be in a place like this.

If you walk just a little bit further, you can see the entire bay with the mountains behind from a rocky peninsula, where the opuntia cactus grows. Tomorrow I’ll head up into those highlands in search of giant tortoises, but for now, it’s just me, the sea and the pufferfish swimming among the rocks below me.