It wasn’t pretty. Indeed, it was a bloody mess. Here, thought Brian, the thesaurus entry for ‘scruffy’ could enjoy an extended workout, and the workout would have to include ‘tacky’, ‘unkempt’, ‘shabby’ and ‘run-down’. It might even have to extend its session by borrowing some other descriptions, descriptions such as ‘unfinished’ (as in ‘never-to-be-finished’), ‘derelict’, ‘(possibly) abandoned’, ‘shambolic’ and ‘litter-strewn’. It was as though the 7,000 people who had made this town their home had no sense of aesthetics and certainly no sense of pride. And if that sounded like a deeply unjustified, middle-class assessment of the inevitable results of poverty, then so be it. Because, in the first place it was true, and in the second place poverty and a disregard for one’s environment are not joined at the hip. Brian had previously seen really poor people living on the banks of the Brahmaputra, whose humble villages were both spotless and neat. He’d seen others who were equally impoverished, carving out a living in the depths of Papua New Guinea, whose own villages were not only clean and tidy but were also filled with vernacular works of art in the form of their wonderful houses. But this place… well, what were they up to?
This is a town on an island in the world-famous Galápagos archipelago. It is occupied by people who, through their fishing activities and latterly their involvement in the tourist trade, are not desperately poor. So why do they need to make such a blot on the unique landscape and why do they feel they need to live in what looked to Brian like the meanest of urban squalor?
Now, it has to be said that Brian did have a bit of a thing about the way so many people in this world, through their activities or through their disdain for their immediate environment, seemed intent on promoting ugliness in all its forms. It was as though they wanted to make this the indelible mark of mankind: a level of despoilment and degradation visited on their own little patch that no other living animal could even contemplate let alone achieve. But to pursue this disgusting practice in somewhere as precious as the Galápagos seemed not just malicious but also highly immoral. And it didn’t stop on the outskirts of town either. For here, along the road into the interior, was more scruffiness, more despoilment – and more litter by the minute – as demonstrated by the pillion passenger on a moped who clearly thought that the roadside ditch was a suitable receptacle for her now-empty pop bottle. As she cast it into the ditch in full sight of the busload of Nature-seekers, Brian felt really despondent and not very proud to be human.
Jesus! This lake thing had better be good, or he might go into a terminal decline.
Well, he would soon find out, because the bus was now in the process of being parked, and within minutes the Nature-seekers would be… climbing a sodding great flight of steps!
Oh dear. Brian hadn’t been paying enough attention during that briefing back on the boat. Because only now did he remember that Darwin was bringing them to this lake, not because it was a regular lake, but because it was a lake in an old caldera. And, of course, as old calderas tend to be ‘up’ somewhere, they often entail a climb. And in this case, not just a ‘short boardwalk’ (as maliciously described in a guidebook aboard the Beluga), but a set of wooden steps rising quite steeply into the distance and no doubt stopping somewhere near the bottom tier of heaven. And if not at the bottom tier of heaven then at the lip of the caldera that held Laguna El Junco, the fabled body of water that once held out the promise of lifting Brian’s mood.
Well, for now he’d just settle on something that could lift his frame up that stairway to heaven, and he wouldn’t mind if the rain held off as well. Yes, it was now not just a little cloudy but a lot cloudy and those clouds looked as though they meant business. Nevertheless, the ascent was commenced – by Darwin and by all his willing and not so willing disciples, and Brian’s reservations were soon confirmed. This stairway had far too many rises in it and it also had the nature of an escalator – going down – in that the top of the stairway appeared to be getting further away. Indeed, Brian found he had to stop on a number of occasions on the way up (and so did his wife). And all this did was give him a view of the surrounding farmed countryside (complete with cows and wind turbines) and a confirmation, as if he needed it, that San Cristóbal was pretty well screwed up and had as much in common with a pristine environment as did downtown New York. So… that terminal decline might still be achieved.
However, finally he was at the rim of the caldera, and there was the lake. And thirty seconds later, just as Darwin was explaining that what was left of the natural vegetation here was under threat from introduced blackberry, common guava and other invasive species, there was not the lake. Because a curtain of mist had now joined the Nature-seekers on their elevated observation point and the lake had become completely obscured – never to make an appearance again.
Darwin did suggest a (quite long) walk around the lake, but let slip that the path they would need to take was a little dodgy in stretches – especially in the mist and more especially when it rained. So that offer was enthusiastically eschewed and the Nature-seekers embarked on a further engagement with that long stairway, this time in a downwards direction (obviously) and whilst being rained on (obviously). It would now take only a lightning bolt to hit Brian, and he would have had the most perfect expedition imaginable – not.
Ah well, you can’t win ’em all – was the nature of Sandra’s consoling words. And at least Brian hadn’t been bitten by anything, and the bus, even though driven at a reckless speed, managed to return him and his fellow travellers to Puerto Eyesora without any loss of life. So, it really could have been worse. Although not by very much…
Needless to say, both Brian and Sandra were pretty relieved to be back on the Beluga and with the prospect of no more steps to deal with but just the demands of an oversized meal – and that would be a doddle. In fact, Brian might even have an opportunity to work on his and Sandra’s designation on this trip, and maybe push for that ‘cool but not that cool’ appellation. Although, there again, given their dismal showing on the ascent of those steps, maybe they’d already defaulted to just ‘willing but wimpish’. Or, with Brian’s (over)reaction to the squalor of Puerto Baquerizo etc, maybe even to ‘the miserable misanthropes’. Never mind. There was still a chance to work at it over dinner. Or there would have been if the table had not included two new guests.
There were eight people at the table in all, including Brian and Sandra and the increasingly subdued Bill and Andrea. Then there were Evan and Mandy. These Nature-seekers were another middle-aged couple from the south of England who had already proved themselves to be both jolly and bright. Evan had spent his life in IT, and was now spending as much time as he could taking photos. Mandy, his appreciably smaller and more attractive wife, was spending her time being both congenial and considerate. In fact, she had already been very kind and very responsive to Sandra. And then, making up the final pair at the dinner table, were Shane and Shelly…
Earlier in the day, this pair had landed at San Cristóbal Airport, having travelled from their home in San Francisco. From there they had been ferried to the Beluga and had installed themselves in its one remaining unused cabin (there were eight cabins and only fourteen Nature-seekers). And they would now be accompanying their British shipmates for the remainder of the Galápagos trip. This late insertion into an ‘established’ group of foreigners must have been a little daunting for them, and probably almost as daunting as it was for their new table companions as the table talk advanced. And that is ‘advance’ in the sense of Bill and Andrea and Evan and Mandy becoming mere observers as Brian found himself ‘chairing’ a presentation by Shane, a presentation that was principally about Shane and one that removed any possibility that Brian could work on his preferred designation. In fact, it was during this meal that he decided to abandon this futile pursuit completely and just let the ship’s passengers decide for themselves. Even though they’d all have their work cut out in evaluating the Shane and Sh
elly Act, and especially Shane.
He was not unpleasant – at all – but he did appear to be keen to mark out his ‘intellectual and identity’ territory as quickly and as forcefully as he could. The intellectual elements of the territory were reinforced by his discussing his business, which had, until recently, been the changing of people’s lives with the aid of a three-day course – and… well, with some sort of ‘new way of thinking’. (This proved rather hard work for him, in that he had overlooked the fact that he was addressing a tableful of Brits, and none of them had left their innate scepticism, cynicism – and their suspicion of life-changing techniques – back in their cabin.) The identity bit didn’t go too smoothly either, especially when Shane made the observation that all new initiatives in the world now originated in California – with a straight face and in all seriousness. It was probably at that point that Brian began to suspect that Shane’s and Shelly’s joining of the Beluga would probably be like two new choristers joining an existing choir, and it soon becoming apparent that whilst they did not sing out of key, they would always insist on singing in a different key to that chosen by the rest of the choir.
They certainly didn’t seem to be in tune when the dinner finished and the Nature-seekers were assembled in the bar, in order to inaugurate the time-honoured custom of ‘listing’. This cherished practice had been somewhat delayed, in that it should really have kicked off on their first evening aboard. But that was now about to be put to rights – by a three-day catch-up listing. And what this would entail would be Darwin laboriously going through a preprinted list of Galápagos birds and animals, agreeing with the assembled naturalists what birds and animals had been seen – so they could then tick them off on their own copy of the list. This was common Nature-seeker practice – and just a little bit nerdy. Furthermore, because this was the Galápagos and there were only a limited number of birds and animals, it was nerdier than ever – because the list went on beyond birds and animals to include insects, shrubs, flowers – and fish!
This extension of the list to include what had been seen underwater by the snorkelers – in this case, over the preceding two days – turned a laborious exercise into a ludicrous exercise. Because Darwin was obliged to use his computer to project onto a screen endless pictures of colourful fish in a rather tiresome attempt to establish which of these fish might have been clocked by his team. No wonder that the two Americans would continue to insist on singing in a different key – and, in due course, absent themselves from these peculiar post-dinner listing sessions entirely. No wonder too that, at the end of this particular three-day, drawn-out session, Brian was more than happy to be back in his cabin – and preparing to deliver his next interesting address on a South American nation. And having, the previous evening, dealt with the continent’s smallest and possibly naughtiest nation, tonight it would be the turn of its most dysfunctional nation: Venezuela.
Brian and Sandra had both been there – when it had yet to descend that socialist slope into the mire of complete hopelessness and dislocation. But that wasn’t about to stop Brian lecturing his wife on ‘a few interesting facts’ concerning this moribund nation. And, as would become his standard practice, he started as soon as they were both tucked up in bed.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘tonight I thought I’d enlighten you on Venezuela – and on the whole country, not just its president.’
‘Whoopee!’ rejoined a resigned but stalwart Sandra. ‘I can hardly wait.’
Brian ignored the tenor of this response and launched into his address.
‘Right. Well, as you know, Venezuela is in the shit – big time. In 2015 it succeeded in achieving the world’s highest inflation rate – at over 100%. And it now suffers from really acute shortages of milk, coffee, rice, oil, butter, all sorts of medicines, toilet paper, breast implants – apparently – and probably even white truffles and beluga (no relation) caviar. On top of this it has become one of the most corrupt countries on the planet and it has really excelled itself by coming ninety-ninth out of ninety-nine in the world’s “Rule of Law Index”. In fact, it is now one of the most dangerous places on Earth, with a murder rate that has led to a body count over the past decade that mimics that in the Iraq War – even though it is nominally at peace. Then there’s its significant involvement in the drugs trade, its operation of one of the most violent prison systems imaginable – with hundreds of prisoners killed and maimed each year – and its removal of The Simpsons from children’s TV channels as being ‘entirely inappropriate for children’.
‘What!’
‘I just wanted to check that you were still paying attention.’
Sandra harrumphed and Brian carried on.
‘OK. But why, may one ask, has this country arrived at such a sorry situation, particularly when it is known that it has the largest oil reserves in the Western hemisphere and the eighth largest natural gas reserves in the world…?’
‘I have a horrible feeling you’re going to tell me,’ interjected Sandra.
‘I am,’ responded her husband. ‘And it’s all very simple. Because back in 1988, a certain former career officer by the name of Hugo Chavez launched a revolution and introduced a new constitution, the aim of which was to “boost the economy with increased spending, reduce economic inequality and poverty, ensure an equitable distribution of wealth, and generally engineer a heaven on Earth…”’
‘You mean like Mr Corbyn wants to do?’
‘Yes. But in the case of Mr Chavez, he was able to do it – with all those oil revenues he had – right up until he’d squandered so much money on social engineering – and corruption – but had failed to spend anything like the amount that was required to maintain oil production, that it all started to go wrong. And that was even before the oil prices had fallen off a cliff and before the charismatic Chavez had been succeeded by the current lummox, the all too hopeless I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing-but-I’m-not-going-any-time-soon Mr Madura, a gentleman who, all on his own, has redefined what it really means to bring a nation to its knees.’
‘Well, that was all very interesting, Brian. And apart from anything else, I did need cheering up. I mean, Brian, first that mope about the state of Puerto whatever it’s called, and now this dissertation on the wretchedness of Venezuela. Crikey, haven’t you got anything encouraging to say? Haven’t you found anything about Venezuela that is in any way positive?’
Brian hesitated, and then he responded.
‘Well, now you mention it, Venezuela has amassed more Miss Universes and more Miss Worlds than any other country…’
At which point, Sandra appeared to subside into a weary despair and Brian concluded that his wife had probably had more than enough of Venezuela for today – in just the same way that all sane Venezuelans must have had more than enough of deluded socialist idiots for the whole of their lifetime. Unless maybe they can cross one of these idiots with an irreproachable, intelligent paragon of virtue who has a distaste for populist fantasies and a grasp of basic economics. Or better still, forget the cross-breeding, just junk the current idiot, and bring in the paragon. Or so Brian thought…
5.
Ron looked down and surveyed the scene. To his right was the ‘big island’, and to his left, almost directly beneath him, was the much smaller ‘small island’. And between these two islands were three of those moving things, those things he often took a ride on, either when he was pooped or when he wanted to get somewhere else but just couldn’t be arsed to get there under his own steam. Only these particular things weren’t moving at the moment. All three of them were completely stationary – and therefore any one of them would serve very well as an early-morning perch. In fact, that one there would, that small one he recognised as one he’d used before – and that had all those sticky-out bits at the top. Yes, that one would be ideal. So, having made his choice, he put his flight mode into ‘swoop’ and within seconds he was approaching his chosen s
ticky-out bit, one of those right at the top of the ‘thing’ and with splashes of poop on it. That told him that it had been used before and that it would have no trouble whatsoever in supporting his weight. And he was right. As his feet made contact and he folded his wings, his perch felt secure and he knew he’d made a good choice. Then, as if to confirm this, out of the blue arrived Ken, who immediately plopped himself onto another of those same sticky-out things just feet from his own – and nodded in his direction. Great! A super, safe spot for a bit of a rest and now with some company as well. Heck, what could possibly be better – and what more could he want?
Well, strangely enough, these final two thoughts were exactly Brian’s thoughts at that very same time. He had woken after another night on the move – which he had slept through – to discover that the captain had brought them to another slice of heaven. Outside the back window of his cabin he could see the tip of a headland and out of the side window, a rather low-profile ‘islet’, and both headland and islet were framed by the statutory turquoise-blue sea, with a… sky-blue sky above. Oh, and then, as if to make this further corner of heaven just that little bit more heavenish, swooping down from the sky was one of those magnificent frigatebirds (as opposed to one of those great frigatebirds) and then, almost immediately, another. They must, thought Brian, have chosen the Beluga as a morning roost. Just as they’d chosen it on a couple of occasions over the last three days to use as a taxi. And good for them. He’d have done just the same himself – had he been born into this world as a magnificent frigatebird, an idea which had more than a passing appeal for Brian, as he knew he was never likely to be described as even marginally magnificent in his present nondescript form.
Anyway, he was delighted to be where he was – which was in a boat moored off a place called Gardner Bay. And it was called Gardner Bay because that flatish islet just a few hundred metres away was called Gardner Island, and he couldn’t believe that this was just a coincidence. However, to have any sort of bay, one, of course, needs a preferably reasonably sized island of which the bay is a part, and that island, in this case, was Española. This is the most southerly of the Galápagos islands, and lying, as it does, to the south of San Cristóbal, it is also one of the most easterly in the archipelago and therefore one of its oldest. In fact, it is thought to be an uplifted submarine lava flow, with its surface tilting from high vertical cliffs on its southern coastline to its (close-by) low and sheltered north coast, where there is a fine, two-kilometre-long sandy beach. Indeed, so fine, that it had attracted two further boats this morning. But at least they were small boats and their presence didn’t even make a dent in Brian’s paradisical assessment of the Beluga’s current situation. No more than the assembled company at the breakfast table could put much of a dent into yet another pile of food…
Absolutely Galápagos Page 6