AN: I returned from a trip to the Galapagos and felt inspired to write a wee drabble about Grissom. Completely un-betad and likely regrettable when the jet lag wears off and I realize what I posted. Hope you enjoy…
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The Galapagos Islands aren't what you think they will be.
The boat is cramped and the stale odor of mildew permeates your cabin.
The guidebook suggests that Fall is not the best time of year for tourists as the nightly passages between islands can approximate a roller coaster. You love roller coasters and find the description exciting. The reality is quite different and you are thankful for the anal retentiveness that caused you to pack the Dramamine patch – just in case.
It seems the certified naturalists on your boat know less about evolution and biology than you do, so you find their lectures tedious. The daily excursions are their own form of torture as you long to forge a solitary path and truly walk in Darwin's footsteps, but tourists aren't allowed on the islands unaccompanied and cannot stray ahead of the guides.
Sea lions smell. Awful.
But there is a moment, at the crest of Bartolome Island, when you hike to the summit and peer across lava deposits and crystal blue seas, when the wind hits you like a wall and steals your hat faster than you can raise your hand to catch it. There is a moment when Sara's eyes meet yours and her laughter echoes across the space between you and you realize that after everything you're really going to be okay.
No, the Galapagos aren't what you thought they would be – they're better.