I took a vacation to the Galapagos in hopes that mingling with peaceful animals would provide some relief from writing about Vladimir Putin's bloody crimes.
To an extent, it worked. These remote volcanic islands, 600 miles off Ecuador's Pacific coast, which famously provided the basis for Charles Darwin's theories of evolution, are now so carefully protected that their creatures show little fear toward the limited numbers of visiting humans. Garish red-gold land iguanas may freeze in place as hikers pass, but blue-footed boobies freely perform their mating dance and sea lions roll around on land, oblivious to intruders.
Yet it was the giant tortoises that fascinated and soothed me the most.
It is awesome to witness an enormous reptile with a huge, humpbacked shell and enormously thick legs glomp slowly forward, with majestic indifference to the gawkers by the trail, myself included. What is even more awesome is to recognize that this peaceful, grass-eating creature was nearly exterminated in the 1800s by whalers and fur sealers who captured thousands and stored them alive in their ship holds to devour later for meat.
But the tortoises survived, with some variants developing long necks on mostly barren islands where edible foliage was high up, and others retaining short necks to grasp low-lying vegetation. The Ecuadorian government, and private environmental groups such as the Galapagos Conservancy, are attempting to restore the diminished tortoise population.
There was something inspirational about this placid, nonviolent creature that has withstood man's invasion and brutality (and can survive up to 100 years on a vegetarian diet).
Although any comparison with humans is strained, it was hard not to imagine the Galapagos tortoise as a symbol of steadfast determination to survive the injustice and political turmoil in so many areas of the world.
Back in Quito, Ecuador's 9,000-foot high capital in the Andes, I was privileged to see examples of such human determination in a working-class neighborhood, or barrio, called La Colmena, which climbs the slopes of the Pichincha volcano not far from the historic center of the city.
Ecuador, like many Latin American countries, has veered politically between self-proclaimed leftist, populist governments and more conservative leaders. Left-wing socialist Rafael Correa, in power from 2007-2017 and self-exiled since a 2020 conviction for corruption, is plotting a comeback after his party did well in recent local elections. Conservative banker-turned-current President Guillermo Lasso has seen his popularity plummet, after early success in vaccinating Ecuador's population against COVID-19.
Meantime, the residents of working-class neighborhoods such as La Colmena are suffering from crime and underdevelopment, and are disgusted with both left- and right-wing parties. And Quito, whose lovely historic center should be a global tourist destination, is far too empty of visitors.
But leaders of La Colmena's volunteer associations are fighting to overcome these obstacles. On a tour of the barrio with newly elected city council member Sandra Hidalgo — whose centrist SUMA Party (its full name translates to United Society, More Action) lost a close race to Correa's party in the Quito mayoral election — I witnessed their determination. Hidalgo's brother, Mauricio Rodas, is a former mayor of Quito and a visiting fellow at the University of Pennsylvania's Perry World House.
Hidalgo's goal is to attract Ecuadorian and global tourists to Quito's historic center, its narrow streets filled with glorious baroque churches and colonial-era buildings. She also wants to extend tourism — and better services — to the barrio. That will require overcoming middle-class fears that the city center and the barrio are crime-ridden (robberies and bag snatching have indeed risen during the pandemic).
La Colmena's organizers, aided by Hidalgo, aren't waiting for help from the presidential palace. They have organized a collective association to market local goods and develop tourism. With Hidalgo, I accompanied a tour of the barrio for students from Central University in Quito who are studying how to develop neighborhoods via tourism, and who were visiting the area for the first time.
"Correa listened to the people for his first term," I was told by Victor Sandoval, a leader of the collective whose family keeps bees and manufactures honey. "But then Correa turned into a dictator like in Cuba or Venezuela," Sandoval complained, as we walked down a steep road from the mountaintop where a Temple of the Homeland Museum pays tributes to Ecuadorian leaders who won independence from Spain in 1822.
"We need commercial loans for entrepreneurs in the barrio," Sandoval fervently continued. At one of the neighborhood's two-story rowhomes that line the hilly main street (the most handsome of which have been built with money sent by relatives who work in the United States or Europe), Sandoval laid out a table full of wares made by collective members. Yogurt, woven bags and rugs, jarred honey, and baked goods covered the surface.
"We need more bus routes up the mountain so Ecuadorians can visit our neighborhood," Sandoval continued. Council member Hidalgo said she considered the additional buses to be one of her prime political objectives.
As we visited local instrument makers, kite makers, artists, and a new café in a rowhouse, the middle-class students exclaimed they had no idea the barrio would be so friendly, and were eager to develop plans to promote tourism as part of their class assignment.
The enthusiasm of the barrio volunteers and the energized students, despite crime and political disillusionment, remain vivid in my memory.
I will recall my three-masted sailing ship MaryAnne, my hikes and small boat trips, the blue-footed boobies, the iguanas, and the mating male red-throated great frigate birds. But it is that barrio enthusiasm — along with the steadfast tortoises — that will linger longest in my mind.
