The Galápagos Drug Route

By Carol Khorramchahi

A UNESCO wildlife sanctuary is being pulled into the Pacific cocaine trade, putting conservation and community life on the same collision course.

Boats docked in Santa Cruz, Ecuador. Andres Medina. Unsplash.

The Galapagos are marketed as a place outside the modern world, featuring blue water, strict park rules and animals that seem to have missed the memo about humans. UNESCO calls the islands a “living museum and showcase of evolution.”

That is the Galapagos most travelers recognize. But there is another Galapagos, quieter and more recent, shaped by the same geography that makes the islands famous. The archipelago sits deep in the eastern Pacific, far enough from the mainland to feel remote and close enough to ride along lengthy maritime routes that move north toward Central America and beyond. Trafficking networks do not need the Galapagos to be a city; they need it to be a waypoint.

In early 2026, Al Jazeera reported that the islands are increasingly being used as a refueling and staging zone for cocaine shipments moving through the Pacific, with authorities intercepting boats and searching for hidden storage points. The story lands hard because the Galapagos economy depends on tourism and regulated fishing, not on the shadow economy of organized crime. When trafficking pressure rises, the damage is not only criminal: It is social.

Part of the pull is simple distance. Long routes require fuel and logistics, and isolated stretches of ocean provide cover. A Pacific trafficking analysis by the U.N. Office on Drugs and Crime describes expanding transnational organized crime in the region and the importance of maritime routes for moving illicit drugs.

Another part is Ecuador’s wider security crisis, which is pushing criminal networks to innovate and spread. The International Crisis Group warns that Ecuador’s organized crime surge is tied to the country’s role in global cocaine flows and violent competition among criminal groups. That shift does not stay on the mainland: It radiates outward, including into strategic maritime zones.

The consequences in the Galapagos do not always look like those in Hollywood. They can look like corruption pressure on small businesses; fishermen being approached to sell information, fuel or services; authorities trying to police an enormous marine area with limited assets while also protecting one of the most sensitive ecosystems on Earth.

Officials are taking the threat seriously. In March 2025, the U.S. Embassy in Ecuador said Ambassador Art Brown visited the Galapagos and discussed security challenges, including illicit trafficking and illegal fishing, as part of coordination with local and national authorities. The U.S. Embassy has also emphasized the scale of maritime interdictions more broadly. The country’s Ministry of Defense said Ecuador seized 135 tons of drugs at sea in 2025, a record it framed as a major blow to trafficking networks.

The larger lesson is uncomfortable: Trafficking routes shift like water. When enforcement tightens in one corridor, networks test another. The Galapagos are now part of that map, and the challenge is no longer only protecting wildlife; it is protecting a community and a global treasure from being turned into infrastructure for a drug economy.

GET INVOLVED:
Support conservation and community protection efforts through the Galapagos Conservancy and the Charles Darwin Foundation. Follow organized crime and security analysis through the International Crisis Group Ecuador page and regional trafficking research through the UNODC

Carol Khorramchahi

Carol Khorramchahi is a student at Boston University, where she studies English and Psychology and minors in Journalism. She enjoys writing and reporting on stories that bring together culture, identity, and community, and has experience in both newsroom reporting and digital media. She is especially interested in thoughtful storytelling with a global lens.

A Day on the Amazon River

Kaitlin Murray

Explore the Indigenous villages, wildlife, and waterways along the Amazon River in Brazil as they adapt to tourism. 

The Indigenous Desana people welcome visitors with a traditional dance. Kaitlin Murray. 

Bouncing in a speed boat along the Rio Negro, the largest tributary of the Amazon River, I see the opaque dark waters extend in every direction. Leaving the busy port of Manaus, the capital city of the northwestern state of Amazonas, I look back at the skyline rising above the forest. Skyscrapers, freeways and shopping malls are the last things I expect to see in the middle of the Amazon rainforest. Before arriving in Brazil, most of what I had heard about the Amazon came from media coverage of illegal logging, deforestation or wildlife protection, not from stories about a bustling metropolis of more than two million people. Yet Manaus has existed for centuries, having been founded in the 17th century as a Portuguese fort and expanding rapidly during the rubber boom of the 19th century. 

Despite its size, Manaus remains accessible only by air or river, with few roads connecting it, as the rainforest extends for long distances in every direction. Urban expansion in one of the most biodiverse regions on Earth carries far higher stakes, raising urgent concerns about deforestation, farmland expansion and river pollution from informal housing. While it may seem as though the city coexists with nature because of its location in the forest, the reality is quite the opposite. As our boat continues deeper into the trees along the river, I find myself contemplating this paradox: How can the traditional ways of life in the Amazon and urban expansion coexist, and what role is tourism playing in all of it? 

As part of a river day tour, we participate in numerous activities that offer tourists a glimpse of the rainforest without trekking deep into the wilderness or traveling long distances. Our first stop is a visit with one of the river's most famous inhabitants, the pink river dolphin, commonly known as the boto. Listed as endangered, these dolphins are currently facing threats from river pollution and habitat destruction. I notice this reality as soon as we leave the main port, witnessing the extent of container ships, factories and speedboats on the water.

Stilt houses along the Rio Negro. Kaitlin Murray. 

In the dark waters of the Rio Negro, their pink bodies appear almost orange-tinted as they rise to the surface to take fish offered by local fishermen. While these dolphins are considered wild and free to come and go from the shore, they have grown accustomed to being fed by the fishermen, who encourage visitors to jump into the water and swim alongside them. Floating in the dark waters, I feel a sense of awe, finding myself in the same river as numerous animals, including snakes, piranhas, pirarucus, manatees and otters. Looking into their eyes, I remember the Indigenous stories that our guide had recounted earlier: The dolphin is believed to transform into a man at night, walking into villages and seducing young women before returning to the river by dawn. It is also said that looking into their eyes will bring you nightmares for the rest of your life. These stories remain prevalent even amid growth and urbanization, as Indigenous communities continue to share them with younger generations and foreigners. 

Pink dolphins in the Rio Negro. Kaitlin Murray. 

Further along the river, the boat docks at an Indigenous village that now incorporates tourism into its economic model. Visitors are welcomed with performances and cultural demonstrations, and, in return, they are asked to purchase a handicraft or make a donation. As soon as we enter, the welcome performance takes place, held in a large wooden structure marking the communal space and the village boundary. Beneath it, men and women perform ritual dances in circles, accompanied by handmade musical instruments. Following the performance, the chief, in an elaborate feather headdress customary of the Desana people, shares stories about their cosmology and social structure. Afterward, we are taken to the kitchen, where we learn about local fruits and forest foods, such as Brazil nuts, tapioca, cassava, avocados and maniuara ants. 

Speaking with the tribe's chief through our guide's translation, I learn that the community came from northern Brazil, nearly 600 miles away, and settled here for the city's economic prospects. Today, they benefit from tourism-related opportunities while maintaining their way of life, living in a traditional village hidden by trees to keep visitors out, yet still enjoying modern amenities, such as Wi-Fi, mobile phones and payment terminals. However, some families in the tribe have already moved elsewhere, unhappy with how tourism is exploiting their culture for profit.

The Desana tribe welcomes visitors with a traditional dance. Kaitlin Murray. 

Witnessing the adaptation of Indigenous communities to the world of cultural tourism is a double-edged sword. As an anthropology student, I have learned about the current dilemmas facing Indigenous communities around the globe, who struggle against being exoticized or profited from by international tourism companies. On the other hand, economic opportunities such as this can benefit communities in the long run, provided they generate sufficient revenue relative to the profits of tourism companies. 

A short distance away, another floating barge on the water is the breeding ground of the pirarucu fish, which fishermen are raising to make money through river aquaculture. These are among the world’s largest freshwater fish, weighing up to 440 pounds and growing up to 10 feet.  From the edge of the platform, their massive bodies glisten in the sun, the light reflecting off their red and green scales. The fish surface when fishing poles are dropped, as the local fishermen make a living off tourists playing a game of tug-of-war with them. It is fascinating to see how the fishermen's ingenuity has enabled them to earn extra income, living and working along the river in small villages with limited access to other opportunities.

Fishing for pirarucu fish on the Rio Negro. Kaitlin Murray. 

The final stop is one of the region’s most striking natural phenomena: the Meeting of the Waters. This is where the Rio Negro and the Solimoes River converge to begin the Amazon River. As the boat approaches, the contrast of the two rivers becomes immediately clear. The Rio Negro’s dark, tea-colored water hits the Solimoes’ light brown, milky water, creating what looks like milk pouring over black coffee. From above, the boundary of the two rivers is almost clear, as they don’t immediately mix due to differences in temperature, density and current. 

Throughout my time in Manaus, I witness the ingenuity and changes that local people are creating in response to tourism and expansion, as they seek to balance the city with the natural world. Fishermen are supplementing their income by capitalizing on visitors’ encounters with the fish they raise. Indigenous communities are incorporating tourism without fully abandoning their way of life. Visitors can see pink dolphins while still allowing them to be wild. 

Whether these shifts will ultimately protect the natural world and improve people’s livelihoods at no expense to another remains uncertain. As of now, it all appears to be balancing on a very fine line, with the potential to go either way. How will development and tourism threaten the rainforest and river ecosystems? Can the two co-exist together? At a time when an expanding metropolis sits in the heart of the most biodiverse place on Earth, the future of the city, the surrounding forest and the traditional ways of life may depend on whether urban development, tourism and Indigenous cultures can work together for the common good. 

GETTING THERE: 

Located deep within the Amazon rainforest in the northwest of Brazil, Manaus feels entirely cut off from the rest of the country. There are few roads leading out of the city, and distances between towns are vast. There are no trains or overland transport for visitors, as most local people use the river to get around. For travelers, the easiest way to reach Manaus is by flying into Eduardo Gomes International Airport, which connects the city to major hubs, such as Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paolo, as well as destinations across South and North America. 

For those seeking a more local, budget-friendly adventure, river travel is an alternative. Ferry boats connect Manaus to other villages along the Amazon River, but the journey can take days. While it is an incredible way to experience the river, it is not recommended for first-time visitors or travelers seeking a comfort-oriented experience. 

I journeyed with I’m Here Travels, a group tour company based in the Philippines that creates immersive, community-driven global experiences. They focus on crafting curated itineraries and authentic local experiences in more than 10 countries. In partnership with Compass Brazil, they designed a unique itinerary for us in Manaus to experience the best of the Amazon River and rainforest. Compass Brazil is a leading tour operator active across Brazil, helping travelers explore the country and make a positive impact on their destinations. They prioritize sustainable travel, ensuring that every experience is rooted in ethical principles and adheres to responsible travel guidelines.

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Kaitlin Murray

Kaitlin Siena Murray is a travel journalist and global storyteller documenting cultures, historical places, and the people and social impact movements helping the world. Raised worldschooling across more than 129 countries with degrees in anthropology and history, her writing is driven by a commitment to global citizenship, capturing the diversity and beauty of the world through the lens of culture, history, and social change. 

Raised by the Rainforest: The Story of KSTR

Carson Jelinek

Kids Saving the Rainforest is a Costa Rica-based nonprofit founded by two nine-year-old girls who wanted to protect their local rainforest.

Janine Licare and Aislin Livingstone, founders of KSTR, at 9 years old, with their first volunteer. Courtesy of Kids Saving the Rainforest.

Kids Saving the Rainforest (KSTR) was founded in 1999 by two nine-year-old girls, Janine Licare and Aislin Livingstone. Growing up near the jungle of Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica, they saw firsthand the effects of deforestation and wanted to protect the rainforest and its wildlife. Their journey started small, by raising money on the side of the road for saplings to be planted in the nearby forest. Today, their focus is on reforestation and protecting sick, injured and orphaned wild animals, many of which return to the wild through a process of rescue, rehabilitation and release.

Rainforest foliage in Costa Rica. Chris Clementi. Pixabay.

For Licare and Livingstone, the rainforest surrounding their childhood homes served as a playground, classroom, and backyard. As they grew up among towering trees and diverse wildlife, they observed the increasing impact of development and environmental pressures on the forest. Rather than disregarding these challenges, they chose to take action. Hand-painting rocks to sell at their roadside stand, they initiated fundraising efforts through small but mighty creative means.

Chameleon on a branch. Marcel Langthim. Pixabay.

Very quickly, the scale of donations grew beyond what a casual family project could manage, and that is when local adults, including the kids' parents and community members, stepped in to help formalize the operation so that the money could be properly tracked and used for conservation. Over the next few years, KSTR transitioned from a hand-painted roadside stand into a formally registered nonprofit with a board of directors, a bank account and permission to work on conservation projects around Manuel Antonio.

Hand-painted rocks. Petra Nesti. Pexels.

KSTR has since expanded their wildlife initiatives. Though they aim to eventually release rescued animals back into the wild, those that can’t return are given sanctuary for life on the property. Another project KSTR has prioritized is building wildlife bridges, which are designed to protect arboreal animals, such as squirrel monkeys, from environmental dangers, like power lines, car collisions and attacks by other species. Over 130 bridges have been built, and since their efforts began, the squirrel monkey population has more than doubled. This has now become a prime model for similar conservation efforts in other regions.

Squirrel monkey on a wildlife bridge. Flobrc.  Pixabay.

Volunteers are what KSTR relies on to run its facilities and care for the wildlife in the area; in fact, the organization is completely funded by donations. People from around the world come to volunteer and help with all aspects of their work. A volunteer can expect to help with cleaning, building cages, working on trails, preparing food for the animals and observing behavior. As well, a key element of KSTR is education on biodiversity conservation, so all visitors and volunteers can learn more about the rainforest and how they can help.  

Iguana in Costa Rica. Steve Jurvetson. CC BY 2.0.

For many volunteers, the experience is more than just helping the animals. Time spent in the rainforest helps them see how wildlife, ecosystems and human development are all connected. Many people finish the program with a stronger appreciation for conservation and feel inspired to support environmental protection in their own communities.

GET INVOLVED:

You can get involved with KSTR by looking into their volunteer opportunities. Visitors can sign up to be full-day volunteers, where they will tour the facility and work directly with an animal caretaker. Another way to get involved is by being a long-term volunteer, and that ranges from a few days to a few months, depending on what you want to do. Typical daily duties include preparing food and distributing it to the animals, cleaning enclosures, offering enrichment, foraging for wild food and ultimately improving the animals’ quality of life. Along with this, the nonprofit offers internship positions as a zookeeper, in veterinary clinics and in media and marketing.

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Carson Jelinek

Carson is a 22-year-old writer and filmmaker studying film and media productions at Arizona State University. His work explores travel, culture, and the people behind the places, with a focus on stories that encourage curiosity and global understanding.