My family has been traveling together since my two daughters, now 11 and 14, were small enough to nap in baby carriers as we navigated through airport terminals. Since then, we’ve ventured to more than 25 countries, exploring everything from Gothic cathedrals to jaw-dropping national parks.
Yet nothing prepared us for what awaited in the Galápagos Islands. Even after all those adventures, our trip to the Galápagos Islands was unlike anything we had experienced before.
It wasn’t the first time we’d seen wildlife on a trip.
Until then, our closest encounters with wildlife had come on a safari during the annual Great Migration in Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Conservation Area, Lake Manyara National Park, and the Serengeti. There, every sighting carried a thrilling undercurrent of tension from the safety of our vehicle.
A pack of lionesses lifted their heads above the grass at the rumble of our engine. Herds of wildebeests and zebras paused and looked at us before trotting farther across the savanna. Birds scattered overhead as our vehicle passed beneath the trees. No matter how spectacular the sighting, there was always an invisible boundary between the animals and us — a boundary I was more than happy to respect with lions nearby.
This time, however, we got much closer.
The Galápagos was completely different. The islands remain one of the last places on Earth where wildlife has evolved with little fear of people, creating encounters that feel almost surreal. It started before we even boarded the ship for our weeklong expedition cruise with National Geographic-Lindblad Expeditions. A sea lion was stretched across the dock, in the middle of the boarding area, oblivious to the passengers walking around it. That set the tone for everything that followed.
During an excursion at Punta Cormorant on Floreana Island, our group rounded a bend in the trail before stopping in unison. A large marine iguana lay directly in our path, so perfectly camouflaged against the volcanic soil that we nearly stepped on it before realizing it was there. The iguana, utterly unfazed, did not move an inch.
The excursions gave my daughters a new appreciation for our planet.
The next morning brought another surprise. As our zodiac skimmed across the water, a pod of about 300 dolphins suddenly appeared, racing alongside us as if escorting the boat. They darted through the waves so close that my daughters could have touched them. Other remarkable sightings included watching blue-footed boobies perform their mating dances just feet away and observing giant tortoises wander through the highlands as if time didn’t matter.
The archipelago’s landscapes are every bit as astonishing, too, with no two islands the same. On Bartolomé Island, we climbed hundreds of wooden steps across an ancient volcanic slope to a viewpoint overlooking lava fields and ochre spatter cones. It’s where Pinnacle Rock, one of the archipelago’s most photographed landmarks, rises from the bay below. At Gardner Bay on Española Island, we were mesmerized by the shockingly stunning crescent of white sand that greets the shimmering turquoise waters. My daughters were so amazed by the scenery that they eventually ran out of words and settled on the only description they could find: “This is awesome.”
The time between the excursions was meaningful, as well.
On many traditional cruises, the hours at sea are designed to keep guests moving from one scheduled activity to the next. In the Galápagos, we had plenty of time between excursions, and those unscripted hours became some of the most meaningful of the trip.
Without the usual distractions of home or busy trip schedules, conversations flowed continually. My daughters and I discussed everything from adaptation to conservation and what it means that humans are the only species capable of fundamentally changing conditions for every other species on Earth. Some of the conversations were derived from my youngest daughter’s participation in the National Geographic Explorers-In-Training program. Others grew out of what we had witnessed only hours earlier.
It was a gift to just be present together.
At the end of every day, we found ourselves gravitating to the observation deck, claiming the same cluster of patio chairs. We replayed the day’s encounters while witnessing some spectacular sunsets. I don’t remember everything we discussed, but I do remember the feeling of joy in my spirit and how connected we felt. Watching the sun sink below the horizon and talking without distractions became one of the greatest gifts of the journey.
One photograph from the trip has become a favorite, not because of the landscape behind it, but because of what it preserves. It was our first morning in the Galápagos. Just after sunrise, we were crossing the water in a zodiac toward our first landing when a fellow passenger, traveling with her two granddaughters, noticed my daughters sitting shoulder to shoulder and offered to take our picture. I happily accepted, never imagining it would become one of the images I treasure most.
At first glance, it’s a simple photograph. But it freezes something far more elusive than a destination. My daughters are grinning, with a sparkle in their eyes. They are present in the moment, fixated on the shoreline in anticipation of the adventure that lay ahead.
The Galápagos reminded us that the most extraordinary journeys aren’t measured by the number of places we visit, but by the rare moments that leave us completely in awe. Long after the wildlife sightings and volcanic landscapes have faded, the memory that will stay with us the longest is the feeling of entering a world together that played by an entirely different set of rules.
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