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The entire flight's luggage sat behind caution tape. My wife and I watched alongside the other passengers as a police dog sniffed each bag. An unsmiling police officer stood nearby. We had been waiting almost an hour for the K-9 to finish his inspection. He was nearly done—and hadn't found anything—when he came to a yellow bag. The officer seized it. “The owner of this yellow bag, please come with me. The rest of you can take your luggage.” As his face morphed into a welcoming smile, he added: “Welcome to the Galapagos Islands, a UNESCO World Heritage Site for Humanity. Enjoy!” Everybody hurried to grab their luggage and depart. But even as we finally left the airport, everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the owner of the yellow bag. We were the only Ecuadorean tourists on the bus; all the rest were Europeans and Americans with a local tour guide by their side. I even wondered if we had joined the wrong group. We practiced our English with a Dutch couple. Their tour guide, Juan, spoke passionately about what the Galapagos Islands are known for: Darwin, unique scuba diving, and endangered flora and fauna. But the Dutch couple bombarded Juan with questions about how the local government is conserving these Islands. Like a politician, Juan proudly explained the Archipelago’s zero-plastic policy, its newly amended immigration law, and how business investments must adhere to conservation rules and benefit the 30,000 inhabitants of the Islands. While in the Galapagos, you are confronted—literally—with the urgency of conservation, by locals and tourists alike. You can be reprimanded for carrying a plastic bag, for being too close to the animals, or, worst of all, for feeding them. These admonishments, however, are nothing compared to the eventual excitement of giant tortoises crossing your path in the street or witnessing sea lions and iguanas wandering their land, reminding us that we are all foreigners in their home and that our stay must be short. My wife and I spent half a day at The Charles Darwin Research Station, where we learned about Darwin’s expeditions and were captivated by the taxidermied body of Lonesome George, the last tortoise of his species. We biked to the Wall of Tears and experienced the heavy energy of the prisoners who were forced to construct it eighty years ago. We strolled through the stillness of nature around the turquoise-green Lagoon of the Nymphs and shed a tear watching baby turtles at the tortoise reserve La Galapaguera. We snorkeled inches away from sharks in the offshore Sea Tunnels of Cabo Rosa and saw blue-footed boobies feeding their offspring as we sailed amongst the Islands. The seven-hour hike to the caldera of the active Volcán Sierra Negra rewarded us with the opportunity to touch lava flows from its 2005 eruption Conservation feels vital in the Galapagos not only because of the addictive thrill of its countless touring opportunities but also because of what you witness at every customs checkpoint along the way: a German couple trying to take home a volcanic rock, a Chilean professor trying to conceal a strange piece of plant life, an American father stashing tiny crabs in his bag as souvenirs. On the last night of our trip, we bumped into a college friend who had been living on the Islands for a while. She was happy to see us but sad to say she, too, would be leaving soon under the Islands’ tightening immigration laws. She had even considered paying to marry a local for a chance to stay forever in this paradise. The next day—after an extensive inspection of our luggage at the airport—we returned to the mainland, leaving these Islands behind; or, perhaps, being pushed out by them, so that this paradise can keep living, can keep surviving, can keep breathing.