The departure routine is familiar: put all your belongings away to prevent them from flying across the boat, shop for essentials, surprises and treats, wander through a vegetable market purchasing more than you can carry, clear customs and hoist the anchor. Both Karl and I have been sleeping a little less as our departure day approached. Dreams of incomplete tasks due to bad internet, of buying 400 eggs instead of 4 dozen and being in trouble for not keeping the water taxi from sinking haunt me. Departing is still a little stressful.

The Galapagos are now disappearing in the garua, the light misty rain that falls so often, tourists buy hats with garua scrawled along the side. Now I look over my shoulder I see faces of farewell disappearing into the garua.

The Guide: Shopping for 3-4 weeks of fresh vegetables is a joy. Instead of being a tourist staring longing at the farmers goods in a foreign country, you are trying fill a large bag. The farmers are excited to help. We had planned our departure around the Farmers Market in Santa Cruz. Tuesday, we had made an exploratory trip to the Market to scope it out. It was disappointingly small and subdued but we figured we were late and vowed to get there early today. This morning it was even more subdued. Perhaps 8 AM was to late. Just as we took one more look around in case, we had missed something our guide appeared. Wearing traditional clothing with a white peasant top and a brilliant red skirt a woman excitedly explained we were in the wrong place. Her long straight black hair swung back and forth as she gestured up the hill, held her hands high in the air for something tall and left us with the number four. We headed up the hill counting blocks.

The Chanter: The early morning streets had been pretty quiet. The mini-marts were just open with their metal doors rolled halfway up. Suddenly we hear noises and a chant. A tall arched tin roof covered a large open space at the top of the hill. We are drawn by the undertones of mopeds, pots clattering and a chant. The chanter was at the far end of the market where the fish was sold. A young woman wearing a blue and white soccer jersey with her hair pulled back in a braid was chanting at the top of her lungs the wonders of her octopus. Behind her, a man lazily fanned the sliced pieces of octopus with a fly swatter. We had found the market.

The Smiler: Atop Volcano Chico I ate a vibrant yellow plantain roll for lunch, a perfect new food for breakfast on a long passage. I stroll around the large market. At last I find a stand that is just plantains. The toothless elderly woman with a hat pulled down over her head seated on a short stool behind the green fruit. I take a single plantain but realize I am exposing the flesh, making it susceptible to rot. I grab three more clumped together and ask how much. $1. A small plastic bag is a dollar bag. She grabs a bag and puts my 4 plantain in it then with her husband, similarly toothless, smiling and sitting on a low stool begin to shove more plantains than I need into a dollar bag. She smiles I hand over the dollar and walk away with the core of a breakfast.

The Official: Back at the boat we wait for officials to arrive. A zodiac with three officers hovered but they do not come aboard. Finally, a water taxi with Javier our agent and 4 more officials â€�" police, coast guard, bio-security and a young woman official wearing office id and stylish clothes arrives. The roll of the waves can make getting off the water taxi difficult. A sturdy railing similar to the one on the edge of a diving board and astro turf in the bow of the water taxi help if you commit to changing boats when the taxi nudges its macramé covered bow (front) into the side of the Mabel Rose. Our agent, the policeman and the biosecurity officer all boarded successfully but the young woman hesitates. Suddenly Karl is holding a terrified young woman in midair until her companions came to help. Once in the cockpit she filled out the forms, signed all the official documents and took a selfie.

The Friends: As the anchor let go of the white sand at the bottom of Academy Bay we began to swing, Mabel was a bit unsure of where to go. Karl nudged her forward and back, considering doing a full 360 but the boat got the idea and we head out. On the foredeck of Independence. the Connecticut sailboat, Candy and Rick pause their work and wave. They will leave on Monday for the Marquesas. Their faces are the last to fade in to garua as we depart.

Bird Note: On my first watch out of Santa Cruz I saw 14 albatrosses. Sitting in the water like an impossibly big inflatable toys suddenly these giant birds run across the water and soar around the boat just clearing the tops of the waves.