The crew for voyage worked out well. Brad, who I met a week before, the other Internet pick-up crew member, is about my age and originally from Indiana. He spent the last six months or so teaching English literature at a school in Guayaquil. We all get along fine and do an equal share of the cooking and the dishes. Watches are 3 hours on and 6 hours off and since that amount, multiplied by 3, is not divisible by 24, means we each get different hours on different days, which I like because it means I get a change of scenery. Unfortunately, we only had two fish bites (dorados) the whole way. The first one got away while Brad was trying to get at it with the gaff. The second one broke off before we even had a chance to snag it. I’m hoping we’ll have more luck the rest of the way; the rice, pasta and canned tuna is already getting tired.

I saw a canvas of stars that I’ve never seen before, those of the southern hemisphere. Even the ones I was familiar with were hard to recognize farther down on the northern horizon. The Southern Cross I saw for the first time ever.

So far in the Galapagos, I went to the Charles Darwin Research Station and saw the famous giant tortoises and iguanas. Darwin is viewed as a hero here with his Santa Claus-esque image appearing on murals and streets and businesses named after him. I’ve been reading Voyage of the Beagle, his account of a circumnavigation he took where he stopped here on the way, and accidentally famed these curious islands. I’ve seen it written that here is where he had his “eureka” moment about evolution as if he just thought of it on the spot, but that’s an extreme over-exaggeration. He didn’t write On the Origin of Species until decades later. While the Galapagos were important to his theory because they offered such a different natural history than the continents, it was all of his years of experience, studying life everywhere that helped him form his theory.

Today, while Tom was off scuba-diving, Brad and I rented bikes and wound up riding as high as we could. When the trail became too rough and steep, we locked the bikes and walked. We made it to the second highest peak (860 meters, the highest being 864). From the summit we could see Puerto Ayora to the south and Isla Baltra, (the airport) to the north. I took off my shirt half way because it was dripping with sweat. I wrung it out and could have filled a cup with my sweat. Farther up the air became misty and cool. On the way back down we rode through a rain cloud and got soaked for 10 minutes but by the time we reached the coast, there was no more rain. The clouds seemed to rest permanently half way up the island.

We plan on leaving Tuesday, assuming customs and immigration doesn’t hold us up. The next leg of our trip will be the longest without land. Almost 3000 miles to the Marquesas, roughly 3 to 4 weeks depending on the wind. Don’t expect any updates for a while.

The waiter took me to the cash register and showed me what it looked like under a black light. There were several creases that had worn away to white from wear, the white creases shining under the black light. I had noticed the bill was worn before I tried to spend it but I thought it was just because I had put it in my shoe for safe-keeping on one bus ride. I finally agreed the bill was fake and I borrowed money from my captain for the bill, figuring I’d spend the twenty at some less vigilent establishment, even if I have to wait till I get back to the States–they never check there.

The authenticy of the bill was of no concern to me. I only cared that I’d be able to spend it and I vowed that I’d keep trying to spend it until someone accepted it. I did nothing wrong. Why should I have suffered? And really, other people wouldn’t have cared if the bill were fake either, were it not for the fact that everyone in Ecuador scrutinizes them. Every time I see someone pay with a twenty (that is if the vendor even has change to accept the twenty) , he always holds it up the light, squinting at it. He feels it with hands. It’s almost an instinctual talent they have. Really he isn’t deciding if it’s fake or not, he’s really deciding if other people will think it’s fake, and so won’t be able to spend it.

I got to thinking where I chanced upon this twenty. It couldn’t have been a shop because that would have meant that I bought something for more than twenty dollars and paid with a fifty or something. No, the only sources of money I’d had, (I was certain because my wallet was stolen before this) was an ATM machine in Cancun, an ATM machine in Miami and a money-changing booth in Quito, Ecuador. I doubted any ATM machine, foreign or not, would harbor any counterfeit money, figuring that’s where the buck literally stops, and guessed that I must have picked the bill up at the money-changing booth. Whether or not they were planning on screwing me, I didn’t know. Most likely, they were in the same boat as me. Got the bill by accident and tried to pawn it off. Or maybe it was a convincing fake before I wore it in my shoe.

In Montanita, I tried to spend the bill again at a restaurant. The waiter took it and stretched it out. He held it up to the light. Probably to avoid responsibility for accepting a bad bill, he took it to his manager, who did the same thing with it, over and over again. Meanwhile I was trying not to look guilty, trying to look like this bill had never been rejected before. They brang it back, I shrugged and gave them another twenty, which they looked at quickly, then brought back the change.

Later in the evening, I went out for some drinks with Pierre, from my hotel. I told him about the cursed bill and we laughed about it. He bought the first round and jokingly told me not to pay him with my counterfeit twenty. We went to another bar and racked up at twenty dollar tab because we’d bought drinks for some other people. I pulled out my twenty to give it another go. The bartender looked at the bill suspiciously. I could tell that he didn’t want to take it but somehow Pierre had charmed him into accepting it. I felt so relieved finally having unloaded the twenty, that I didn’t even mind that I had picked up the tab because in my mind I already wrote off the twenty dollars as lost.

Pierre and I went back to our rooms to get some more cash. On the way back, one of the bartenders from the last place stopped us in the street and gave us a “what gives?” sort of an expression, holding the bill as if it were a piece of toilet paper. I wanted to say, sorry sucker, it yours now. Thems the breaks. But Pierre was more sympathetic. He said he’d take the bill. Later he told me that he had told the bartender, that if there was any problem, he could just give it back; that’s how he convinced the bartender to accept it in the first place. At least the bill wasn’t my worry anymore. I knew that eventually, I, he or anybody else would be able to spend the bill sometime, so I didn’t feel to bad about letting him take it.

At the next bar we went to, Pierre came back with drinks in his hand saying, “It’s so sad, man. I don’t have your twenty anymore.”

“Really?” I asked. He just grinned and nodded.

Since this incident, I’ve made it a habit to check all my large bills for any signs of falsehood.

Marlin was drydocked and had been for the last 6 months at Puerto Lucia while Tom had to go back to working as a chef in the Caymen Islands. I liked Tom immediately. He’s responsible, hard working, fun and easy-going. When I arrived, He had been working on installing a new auto-pilot and an electric windlass (that’s the thing that hauls the anchor up, thank God). After some small talk, he continued working on the boat and I slept, having gotten poor sleep on the bus ride.

Marlin is not as cramped as I thought it was going to be. She’s a Legend 37, 37 feet long. She’s definitely comfortable enough for 3 people; I thought that after living on a catamaran it would be a difficult transition to living on a monohull, but so far it’s been OK. Tom sleeps in the stern, I get the berth in the bow and the other crew member is going to sleep in the middle.

The past couple of days I’ve been helping Tom with the boat. I polished some steel, stitched up a torn pillow and cleaned bird barf off of the dinghy. I’ve also accompanied him to town looking for a few parts and helping with Spanish where his fails, although he’s pretty good. It gets incredibly hot during the day and I soil all my t-shirts with sweat. In the evenings we drink a few beers and eat dinner with a couple of the other skippers here.

The other crew member arrives on the 19th and we still have a tentative departure date of the 20th. Our first stop is the Galapagos, which should only be a 5 day sail.

My bank cards finally arrived at my mom’s house and she sent them out yesterday. She also wired me some money via Western Union in the meantime (Thanks Mom!).

I left Cali at 9pm to go to Ipiales, the border town before Ecuador. I managed to sleep most of the ride except when I was woken by a police officer in Popayan who wanted to search my bag and check my passport. He did and I went back to sleep. We arrived at Ipiales early morning where Felipe, an Argentine I met on the bus, and I took a cab to the border. We checked out of Colombia and into Ecuador. Then took another cab to Tulcan, where we hopped on another bus to Quito. This leg took 5 hours and we passed the equator without much notice. My first time in the Southern Hemisphere.

In Quito, I’m staying at the Lonely Planet’s author’s choice, the Secret Garden. It’s pretty cool. Comfortable beds, a nice view of the city, Internet. They serve dinner and on Fridays and Saturdays there’s an all-you-can-drink happy hour from 6 to 8. In fact, that’s about to start any moment now :).

Last night I went out with Felipe in Mariscal Sucre, the bar district. Today I walked around the same place and the old town. I climbed up the Cathedral tower where I managed to locate the terrace from our hostel and take a photo of it. Tonight I’m going to go out again to Mariscal with more people from the hostel.

Ecuador uses US money so it I don’t have to worry about changing my money or doing conversions in my head. Changing money in Colombia was a big ordeal. Even when I changed just $60 they copied my passport, made me fill out a form with my address, and took my right index finger print. I guess it’s a method to track all those cash businesses that Colombia is so famous for.