Impossible to resist

I could have posted a photo of me with a booby and captioned it 'Trio of Boobies' but I think that would be trying too hard. This t-shirt will do nicely.

Blue-footed boobies are just one of a scad of bird species in the Galapagos Islands, but the marine iguanas and tortoises are probably better-known. Whatever - there's heaps of all of them there, and on Espanola Island we literally had to watch where we put our feet in case we stepped on a primly-disapproving-looking iguana or dainty lava lizard.

On Santa Cruz Island we saw Lonesome George's rear end: the last of the Pinta Island tortoises, he's a 90 year-old bachelor who has so far snubbed the female cousins from another island with whom he shares his enclosure. It's not too late: tortoises do nothing in a hurry, whether it's maturing sexually (25 years), digesting their food (2-5 weeks) or, of course, moving, which includes making a move.

Everybody give a cheer for George - with a couple of nudges and winks for good measure. And ignore everything you may hear about his being gay: it's a vicious rumour put about by the boobies.

Where are the troops when you need them?

Sigh.

Main avenue of Santiago in Chile, the curiously named Avenida General Bernardo O'Higgins. Three-thirty in the the afternoon. Four blocks away, there is a small and well-behaved demonstration of people of all ages remembering the Disappeared, watched by umpteen soldiers in boots, helmets, visors, bullet-proof jackets and guns, several armoured cars and a phalanx of mounted troops.

Further down, near the Sta Lucia hill, I'm walking along the footpath amongst all the people with my two friends, talking about the crime rate in South Auckland when at that very instant, I stagger as someone thumps into me from behind. I think, 'Careless youths playing the fool', then 'This is Santiago, they're going to grab my bag'. I feel a hand wrench at my collar and then they are gone, three of them, legging it round the corner and disappearing within seconds.

I stand there in disbelief, hand at my neck, feeling for the antique gold chain that I've worn constantly for the last twenty years since my husband gave it to me for my birthday. It's gone, of course, in some felon's pocket, probably broken, probably to be sold for a couple of dollars.

I thought I would be safe, in a group; I thought bossy Letitia was being alarmist when she told me, back in Guayaquil, that I should cover it; I thought Santiago was sophisticated and civilised. I was wrong.

It's nothing of course, compared with what the people along the avenue lost: but it's a lesson learnt.

One hat, two hat, straw hat, tall hat

How did this happen? I've unpacked my suitcase to find nine, count them, nine hats - only one of which I took with me (and never wore, natch). It must be an Ecuadorean thing.

Spot the deliberate error

Thar she blows

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, it's 7 o'clock on a beautiful day and there are whales off the back of the boat."

That's a pretty good way to start a day, and a fine excuse to jump into shorts and a fleece (no time for underwear) and rush to get into the inflatable. We spent half an hour buzzing around in the bay here at Bartolome in the Galapagos Islands, watching for the oval of smooth water that's the whale's 'footprint' and shows where it's heading and where it's likely to surface. We had the slightly alarming thrill of leaning over the side and seeing the luminous blue of the whale's white underside passing right beneath the boat, just below in the clear water.

It was a humpback whale and her calf, and they hung around for ages, quite unperturbed, and even doing a bit of breaching later when we'd gone back to the ship, La Pinta, for breakfast. They were still in the bay when we returned from climbing Bartolome's stark, barren summit, crunching over volcanic scoria and spotting lava lizards.

Later we stepped over immobile marine iguanas, snorkelled past penguins, watched hawks and frigate birds soaring overhead, and got sniffed by a disconsolate sea lion cub on a red beach, who was crying for his mother, we presumed, before giving it up as a bad job and going to sleep on the sand.

All very wonderful - but now, after dinner, I'm in the library alongside the bar listening to an American family thrashing the karaoke machine: Johnny Cash, Michael Jackson and Queen. Sublime to ridiculous, I reckon.

Traveller beware

Why do I not find this reassuring?

Guayaquil is Ecuador's main port and has something of a reputation. Our guide, Letitia, who's so scary that I keep wanting to call her Lucrezia, sucked her breath in when she saw my modest gold chain and hissed, "Cover it!"

But we're waiting for our flight to the Galapagos Islands, where our greatest danger will be being accosted by a blue-footed booby.

Transparency in advertising?

The Hilton is the last place I would have expected to be quite this honest.