You’re probably supposed to say that your strongest memories of the Galápagos are the vivid turquoise waters, the other-worldly landscapes, or the once-in-a-lifetime sightings of blue-footed boobies and Galápagos giant tortoises. And sure, those all loom large in my mind. But the creatures that truly left an impression? The sea lions.
They greeted us on Baltra Island, draped across the dock like they owned the place. They sprawled around several islands, fighting, yawning, climbing boulders, sliding down dunes. They posed for pictures like models and batted around dead fish like toys. One even lunged in my direction, on the postcard-perfect shores of Española, likely trying to impress his harem.
But I wasn’t phased. This wasn’t some distant, binoculars-only safari where you’re enclosed in a metal jeep. In the Galápagos you’re dropped straight into the nature documentary. Frigatebirds inflated their scarlet chests overhead. Blue-footed boobies performed stompy mating dances at our feet. Marine iguanas whipped their tails beside us underwater as sea turtles glided past in slow grace, guiding us through underwater kaleidoscopes of coral and fish.
And sea lions became familiar friends. Those furry guys lounging on the dock? They were just the beginning.
In Darwin’s Footsteps
It’s easy to romanticise the Galápagos: the volcanic chain of islands is often painted as ‘untouched’ by man, where animals roam free and feel perfectly entitled to, say, lunge at you. Its adapted finches and species found nowhere else inspired Darwin’s theory of natural selection, after all, when he visited in 1835 during his voyage on the Beagle.
But humans have been inhabiting the archipelago, 966 kilometres off the coast of Ecuador, for centuries. The first known resident was Irish sailor Patrick Watkins, a wild card who was marooned on Floreana Island from 1807 to 1809. He survived on rum, trading vegetables with visiting ships, and the occasional kidnapping of sailors to work in his vegetable garden.
The Galápagos National Park was established by the Ecuadorian government in 1959. It protects 97 per cent of the archipelago, which consists of 13 major islands and numerous smaller islands, islets and rocks. Just three per cent is open to human habitation, and today around 32,000 people live on four main islands: Santa Cruz (by far the most populated), San Cristóbal, Isabela, and tiny Floreana, home to roughly 100 residents. Most work in tourism, helping to balance the goal of conservation of this important isolated ecosystem with the demands of thousands of annual visitors.
It’s possible to visit without a cruise by staying on islands like Santa Cruz and booking day trips, but to experience the breadth and diversity of the Galápagos, an expedition cruise is a superior option. I was on a seven-day journey on HX, fittingly titled ‘In Darwin’s Footsteps’, an eastern route stopping on the islands of San Cristóbal, Santa Fe, South Plaza, Santa Cruz, and Española, including two days at the beginning in Quito, which, at an elevation of around 2850m, takes a bit of acclimation.
Note: If you’re sensitive to altitude or seasickness, plan accordingly – meds, hydration and ginger candies go a long way. Otherwise, pack light: sunscreen, a camera, hiking boots, and a sense of wonder.
From Quito, it’s a two-hour flight to the tiny airport on Baltra. From there, we transferred to our ship, the MS Santa Cruz II, and the real adventure began.
Galápagos cruises are all about visceral immersion. Vessels are built with sustainability in mind, leaving the smallest possible environmental footprint. You’ll journey to remote islands steeped in raw natural beauty and view animals that have evolved over hundreds of years of isolation.
A Ship Built for Adventure
HX (formerly Hurtigruten Expeditions), highly regarded for their expedition cruises to Alaska, Norway, and Antarctica, partnered with Ecuadorian company Metropolitan Touring for their small boat cruises in the Galápagos. The MS Santa Cruz II has a capacity of just 90 passengers, it’s not only intimate but also compliant with the Galápagos National Park’s strict limit of 100 passengers per vessel. That smaller size is about reach. Expedition ships like this are designed to navigate remote, ecologically sensitive areas that larger ships simply can’t. It’s the ultimate in slow, immersive travel.
Many amenities onboard are designed to get you off-board: gear like scuba equipment, kayaks and paddleboards. But stick around on the ship and you’ll find some great perks as well: a restaurant serving outstanding locally inflected food (always order the fresh fish), along with a bar and thoughtfully designed cabins that prioritise comfort and practicality. While there is a gym, I rarely saw anyone use it. Guests could more often be found in the outdoor hot tubs or the stargazing deck, unwinding after hiking volcanic landscapes to the soundtrack of the Galápagos mockingbird.
Beyond the main expedition ship, your second vessel is the panga – a small Zodiac that shuttles you from ship to shore. We’re divided into groups, each named after a local animal and with a naturalist guide, a requirement for anyone visiting Galápagos National Park. Our panga might well have been a time machine, taking us back to when Darwin walked these volcanic rocks. In the highlands of Santa Cruz Island, we visited the Charles Darwin Research Station, where giant tortoises – some approaching a century old – worked to perpetuate their species.
On South Plaza Island we saw a landscape so surreal it could double as a sci-fi set; on Española, lava lizards and marine iguanas warmed themselves as they blended into rock, while El Soplador, the island’s famous blowhole, seawater exploded up to 23 metres. Our naturalist guides shared insights into each species’ roles in this delicate ecosystem, the threats posed by human interference, and delightful quirks of our new friends. (Fun fact: blue-footed boobies’ feet get brighter when they’re in love.)
But the learning didn’t stop once we were back onboard. The ship runs a Citizen Science Program, inviting guests to participate in ongoing research, while at night, science briefings deepened our understanding of what we’d seen that day. In the Science Center, we were reminded of our place in the greater web of life: tiny, curious, and more connected than we realised.
