I used to be a big fan of beaches, but over time, I completely lost the desire to spend whole days just sitting around on the sand. I get restless and honestly don’t know what to do with myself. So, I decided to go for a long walk—this time choosing a different direction from my usual spot.
A winding road squeezed between town buildings led me toward the outskirts. The residential area gradually faded away, giving way to something entirely unexpected for the Galapagos: a sleek, modern facility dedicated to environmental education and ecosystem protection. If every building on the Galapagos looked like this, you’d think you’d slipped into another dimension or stepped straight into the future.
Shortly after, I arrived at the sign for Tortuga Bay, a strictly protected nature reserve. Here, the rough asphalt ended, replaced once again by neat, black volcanic cobblestones. At the entrance sat a uniformed official inside a tiny wooden booth equipped with a classic A4 grid notebook. He asked for my ID. Having left my passport back on the boat, I rattled off the passport number from memory. He wrote it down, checked his watch, and logged my entrance time. I somehow gathered that if I didn’t check back out before 5:00 PM, the local police would probably come hunting for me. Fair enough—I made a mental note to be back well before dark.
The red-brick trail meandered through low bushes, dry scrubland, and tall cacti. According to the entry sign, it was a 2.5-kilometer trek down to the ocean. The scenery was stunning. Along the path, wooden resting spots were set up for older visitors or anyone struggling with the heat. And the equatorial sun was brutally hot. Locals who run water taxis or work outdoors were fully covered—wearing UV50 protective long-sleeve shirts, sunglasses, and hats wrapped tight. Meanwhile, tourists were stripping down. Still, I stuck to my long sleeves and broad-brimmed hat. Passing locals greeted me with a friendly “Bueno!” while tourists opted for the full “Buenos días!”
Tortuga Bay translates to “Turtle Bay,” named specifically after the green sea turtles (Chelonia mydas) that come to these white sands to lay their eggs. Aside from impressive cacti and a variety of birds along the trail, you occasionally bump into a marine iguana or a curious little lava lizard.
Eventually, the thick foliage thinned out, revealing a breathtaking view: a sweeping, crescent-shaped beach stretching over two kilometers, covered in fine, brilliant white volcanic sand. The ocean rolled in with solid waves. Given the strong wind, the red flag fluttering on the shore, and the fact that Galapagos sharks also call these waters home, I wasn’t particularly eager to go for a swim.
I started strolling along the shore, passing dozens of marine iguanas lounging on the warm sand and black volcanic rocks, soaking up the heat. These creatures are remarkable—they are the only lizards in the world adapted to dive into the ocean for food. Because they absorb so much salt while feeding underwater, they constantly sneeze it out through specialized nasal glands while sunbathing, spraying tiny clouds of salty water into the air.
While marine iguanas are docile and completely unbothered by humans (you could practically touch them, though you definitely shouldn’t), the rest of the local wildlife crew was out in full force too: bright red Sally Lightfoot crabs, pelicans, and various seabirds I couldn’t even identify. About two kilometers down, a small rocky headland of black lava stone divides the main beach from a smaller, protected cove. There, the water was calm, the waves were gentle, and plenty of people were swimming.
The midday heat was intense. Without the sea breeze providing a deceptive illusion of coolness, you’d bake in minutes under the overhead sun. Shade was scarce, offered only by sparse, low trees. After walking the entire length of the beach and draining my water bottle, I decided to turn back toward town—mentally preparing for the 4-kilometer walk back under the blistering sun.
Interestingly, there were no vendors, stalls, or souvenir sellers anywhere in Tortuga Bay—likely a strict rule to keep the reserve free of trash. It was March, technically off-peak season, but there were still plenty of visitors enjoying the trail.
I made my way back to town significantly slower than on the way out, thoroughly worn out by the heat. Even the guard at the entrance booth had abandoned his post for cooler shelter. After quenching my thirst at a local shop, I headed to my favorite cafe to rest in the shade.
On the way, I noticed a sign for a virtual museum displaying the famous shrunken heads created by indigenous Amazonian tribes. Intrigued, I stepped inside. The museum used Augmented Reality (AR) technology to showcase pre-Columbian art, mostly focused on ancient Ecuador. Fantastic, I thought, finally something connecting to the deep history of this country. The girl working at the desk noticed I wasn’t overly thrilled about the idea of walking around with a tablet scanning markers just to see 3D models of artifacts. Reading my expression, she pulled out her trump card: “We actually have a real shrunken head here—a ‘tzantza’ from the Shuar tribe of the Amazon. Would you like to see it?”I smiled. “Sure, why not!”
Despite being fascinating, the tiny museum was completely empty, save for one woman who popped in briefly and left. Travelers here didn’t seem particularly interested in history. I reached for my wallet to pay the entry fee when the girl asked where I was from and if I had a passport. I explained my passport was on the boat and that I was from Serbia. She looked completely blank—she had never heard of the country, which by now was a familiar reaction. I dropped my usual line: “Small and poor country in Europe,” but alas, no discount was granted!
The museum tour turned out to be really cool. As I reached the display containing the shrunken head, the staff member kindly explained the gruesome history behind the artifact. And yes, these heads are 100% real—human skin, hair, and all.
As she explained, warriors would sever an enemy’s head after battle, make an incision down the back of the neck and behind the ears, and carefully peel the skin away from the skull. The skin was then sewn together and boiled for hours in a special mixture of herbs. During boiling, the skin shrank down to a fraction of its original size while preserving the facial features. Afterward, hot sand was poured inside to dry and shape it, while the lips and eyelids were sewn shut with fiber—trapping the defeated enemy’s spirit inside forever so it couldn’t seek revenge. Later, the heads were rubbed with oils, decorated with feathers, and worn as sacred amulets symbolizing power.
It’s incredible what you can learn in these unexpected little places, even if most tourists pass right by them. To me, it was time very well spent. I thanked her for the fascinating tour and headed back toward the boat to recharge, check camera batteries, and get everything prepped for tomorrow’s big shark dive.