“Welcome! Welcome to San Cristobal!” Professor Bohm boomed with the enthusiasm of a tour guide.
I blinked in the balmy saline breeze.
“Fantastic isn’t it. This place is magic! No wonder that the seed of genius that had germinated in England blossomed here!”
“He’s talking about Darwin.” Chuck filled in the gap.
“Si. I love it. This is my absolute favorite place. It is…electric…do you not feel it! This is the birthplace of the whole Earth.”
“I thought that was Africa,” Schmidt said.
I grinned at his Teutonic literalism. Though it was interesting. Where did life begin? I doubted that it radiated from some central location. At least not wholly. No, it made much more sense that places like this, like the Galapagos, had spawned the great biochemical adventure that we call life.
These were volcanic islands. And there was the primordial basalt mystery whose embrace was so fertile, so fecund, in its implications. At the crossroads of sea, fire, and air there had sprung one of the most diverse litanies of flora and fauna on the face of the earth.
The stark sparseness of the landscape, the stones that jutted from the lapping ocean, and the rose-colored sky of an onsetting evening were indeed stirring.
“It is nice,” I said.
“More than nice now, I’m sure!” Leo teased. “You Americans, sometimes you are so loud, and sometimes you are so English.”
The weight of my bags was making itself more and more apparent. We had taxied to a pier from the airport. “I’m beat. When are we gonna get some grub and bunk down?”
“O! Very soon. But not so soon that you shouldn’t put down those bags.”
“What right here?”
“No. Come with me.”
We followed him past coils of rope and other nautical paraphernalia up the length of the pier.
“Ok, you can drop it.”
Leo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he bent down to open a cooler.
I dropped my bags and eagerly reached for the crisp freshness nestled among melting cubes of ice. The label read Eisenbahn. I looked at Leo.
He extended a bottle opener.
“So is the hotel near here?” I asked, popping off the cap.
Leo laughed in his quiet way, “It’s coming.”
1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe
1.2 The Cajun Prayer
Help a Hipster