After two months of being inland in the mountains, forest, cities and the jungle, I´m finally at the coast, and absolutely loving it. Despite being from the land-locked midlands, it feels like home to hear the waves crashing on the beach and breathe in the salty sea air. DUe to slow internet connections, power cuts and generally having too much fun to be sat at a computer for long, I'm writing this retrospectively and have my trusty journal to hand to remind me of all the antics of the past month.

So, where have I been... Following another eventful Ecuadorian overnight bus experience back at the end of May (crazy drivers, crazy roads, breaking down, swapping buses, nearly crashing, the usual malarkey...), I arrived in Puerto Lopez. Drawing back the curtains in my room after a couple of hours sleep I was greeted with a view of the pacific waves rolling up on the beach only metres from my window. Breakfast was at the little beach front open air bar, with entertainment provided by the local wildlife. A dog wandered by and was shortly joined by a vulture, who swooped down and proceeded to hop after him down the beach. Three more of the huge hungry looking birds followed, and there was soon a procession making their way along the sand, with the dog leading, blissfully unaware that he was being followed by four carnivorous birds who looked ready for breakfast.

In the afternoon, I jumped into a motorbike driven rickshaw, and headed down the bumpy coast road to Los Frailes National Park, where stony paths inhabited by lazy lizards led their way through the desert like, arid, apocalyptical landscape. Passing stunning miradors, with views of the surrounding fishing villages, the path led to deserted beaches where crabs scuttled across the sand, darting down one hole only to reappear a few feet away. Pterodactyl like frigate birds swooped overhead, catching the wind and drifting effortlessly on the breeze.

Unfortunately, the rest of the week was a bit of a write-off due to a very poorly stomach. Waking up feeling rough on Tuesday, I decided to brave the boat trip to Isla la Plato, which ended up with me sleeping the afternoon away in the captains house, attempting (unsuccessfully) not to be sick everywhere, and having to be carried off the boat on the way back. Very dignified... Really should have stayed in bed... I ended up at the doctors (spanish classes hadn´t quite prepared me for that one, very much ´carry on doctor ´with my very imperfect spanish) and was sent away with a bag of five different types of drugs, and instructions to eat nothing but chicken soup. Despite me protesting that I "no como carne" and have been a veggie for nigh on twenty years, the doctor, from what I could make out in my near delirious state, proceeded to tell me that the Pollo Soup hasn´t got chicken in it. Hmmmm...

After a couple of days recovering, weighing a good half a stone less (reminding me to be very careful what I wish for, as I had spent the last week bemoaning the fact I was eating too much ice-cream), I caught the bus down to Montanita, Ecuadors surf and party capital. Not the best of times to be there while still taking antibiotics and unable to eat or drink, especially when the hostel has one night club opposite my room, and another one behind, booming music until the very early hours. Thank god for the small mercies of earplugs... Despite all that, I had a good few lazy days enjoying the beach, watching the surfers ride the waves and slowly regaining my appetite at the delicious little veggie cafe El Mar. On my final night I decided to partake in a cocktail or two, made by "The Poet" in his street side stall, where he concocted delicious but lethal combinations, topped of by huge chunks of colourful fruit. Sitting in the street, watching bizarre and wonderful performances by street artists, such as the man dressed as a clown who salsa'd away with his fully clothed life sized mannequin, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and pausing to listen while she whispered back. Local bands wandered through the streets, pausing to play impromptu tunes on african drums, while fire dancers braved the elements and swung chains through the air, lighting the night sky.

After pancakes stuffed with fresh fruit, dripping in honey, I treated myself to a gooey chocolate brownie (I'm starting to miss my kitchen!!), and set off to take the bus to Guyaquil, supposedly the most dangerous city in Ecuador. The journey followed the pacific coast line for miles, through little villages and past deserted white sand beaches. Sadly, we passed a horrific accident where the unfortunate people who hadn't survived were laid out on the road, reminding me of the fragility and transient nature of life.

I spent the night in the sprawling urban mass that is Guayquil, in a great little hostel with hot showers (yippee - I am just so easily pleased these days!) where I met a lovely English couple who were travelling the world together. We went out for a delicious chinese meal and swapped travel stories, leaving me with another few countries to add to the list of places I want to travel. Rather than it getting shorter with every country I visit, the opposite affect seems to be occurring.

After negotiating the interesting system at Guayaquil airport, I flew the thousand kilometres to the Galapagos Islands, happily meeting up with the two Sarah's who I had met in Quito on the plane. The time soon disappeared with talk of who'd done what, who'd been where, and who'd met who, distracting me from the fact that I was flying again, and we were soon landing at Baltra airport, with smiles all around, as we couldn't really believe we were actually there in the mythical islands dreamed about for so long. Walking down the steps from the plane into the hot humid air, I was struck by how barren the island was, with hardly any vegetation apart from the odd cactus to be seen. A military base in the forties and fifties, the service men called Baltra The Rock, as it literally is a huge hunk of volcanic rock which now is home to the airport and little else. Following a short bus ride to the Iticaba Canal, we jumped onto a ferry which took us the short journey to Santa Cruz. Bags were unceremoniously thrown onto the ferry roof and we bobbed over to Santa Cruz, which is home to the majority of the inhabitants of the Galapagos Isles.

Driving through Santa Cruz, I marvelled at how the landscape changed so quickly, from the barren rocky landscape, through cactus filled arid fields, to lush tropical vegetation. The perfect blue sky suddenly clouded over, and soon the rain was pouring down, which felt quite wrong for my first half hour of Galapagos life! We stopped of at Los Gemelos, two sunken volcano craters which dipped down hundreds of feet into the earth, before heading up into the highlands to a tortoise conservation centre where I spotted my first giant tortoise, feasting on a pink passion fruit. Another tortoise lazed in the lake, while another slowly and laboriously made his way through the field in search of something to munch on. I was amazed at the noises the creatures made, long low hisses as they retracted their heads into their giant shells if I moved to close or too quickly, with beady reptilian eyes watching me suspiciously. Driving back out of the reserve we had to stop for another tortoise who was slowly plodding his way across the road, completely unfazed by the jeep.

After lunch at the Darwin Hostel, I set out to explore the little town Puerto Ayora. With one main road leading along the port to the Darwin Centre, and another leading back north to the Iticaba canel, the town was easily and quickly navigated. After delicious real coffee and cake, and mooch along the port where I watched the greedy pelicans and sea lions pestering the fishermen for a tasty treat, I sat and watched the Iguanas basking on the rocks alongside the brightly coloured crabs which stood out vividly against the black volcanic rocks. After some drinks in a local bar with new found friends, we spent the night dancing away to local rock music in the main square, where a live band were playing to raise awareness of road safety, and promote a 'cambio por la vida'. Following the death of a local child, many of the islanders want cars to be banned from the island. The atmosphere was brilliant, dancing away in the warm night air with loud reggae rock blasting from the speakers.

The following day I walked to Tortuga bay, down a long rocky path which wound it's way through the cactus filled countryside, stepping over lizards and iguana's along the way. After nearly an hour of baking sun and brilliant blue skies we were rewarded with a view of one of the most stunning beaches I have seen. Simple, beautiful and clean, with perfect white sand and black rocks set against a backdrop of rolling turquoise, white tipped waves, with a bright blue cloudless sky completing the picture. One to paint when I get home I think.

Waiting for the boat to Isabella, a large Iguana made his way slowly across the pier to the front of the queue. The guide book describes the trip to Isabella as having a 'lively motion', which turned out to be rather an understatement... The boat flew over the huge rollers, lurching from side to side, bouncing us of our seats and threatening to spit us out into the huge monsters of the waves. After two hours of attempting to remain both in the boat and on a seat, we arrived at Isabella, spray soaked and aching from the bumps. The ride was soon forgotten when were treated to the amazing sight of sea lions basking on the rocks, slipping into the water and playing in the waves. My first glimpse of Isabella was everything I imagined and more. Stunningly vivid bright aquamarine coloured sea set against black volcanic rocks with a little pier jutting out into the harbour where fishing boats bobbed on the waves under the flying flags of world countries. Disembarking, I couldn't stop smiling, as I had a feeling I was going to like my home for the next two weeks. More to follow...