This is a guest blog written by my father who visited a few weeks ago.
Hi, my name is Paul, I'm Tim's dad. I have four sons. Tim is the eldest; the second eldest is
Nick. Nick and I visited Tim for a week
just before Christmas. We live in
Oregon; the journey from Portland was meant to take about sixteen hours but a
missed connection in Panama added nine hours to our trip. Exhausted, we arrived at the Cheddi Jagan
airport around 10 pm and Tim was there to meet us. We had not seen him for twenty months and
were interested to find out how the experience had changed him. From photos and Facetime we already knew Tim
had been conscientiously avoiding the barber and would look like a
werewolf. In reality I found the long
hair and beard suited him well and was quite appealing in a scruffy, Che
Guevara sort of way. Tim in general was
belligerently cheerful and impressively confident as he navigated us on our
travels through Guyana over the following week.
After the greetings and hugs we stepped outside the airport
and met Andrew, a Peace Corps driver.
Andrew gave us a welcoming hug that was much appreciated in our
travel-weary, sleep-deprived state.
However, my feeling of well being towards Andrew soon evaporated as he
thoroughly scared me on the forty-five minute car ride into Georgetown. It was as though we were in a video game;
tailgating, speeding, honking and overtaking.
After Andrew dropped us off I questioned Tim about Andrew's manic
driving. Tim laughed and said the ride
was likely to be the least frightening we would experience in Guyana. Unfortunately he was right.
The three of us had a late night beer on the balcony at the
Status Hotel before bed. Sitting outside
in the warm night air, listening to the sounds of a strange city and enjoying
the company of the boys was worth all the trials and tribulations of getting
there.
The next morning we met Tim's girlfriend, Kaylee for the
first time. From previously reading
Kaylee's blog I thought I would like her, and in person I found her to be even
more charming than I had anticipated.
After breakfast we said goodbye to Kaylee for the time-being. Tim, Nick
and I headed out to Wakapau. We were
being guided by Tim and really had no idea of where we were going or what to
expect. The journey involved a series of
uncomfortable trips by boat and car or bus; the long speedboat ride across the
Essequibo River was a most astonishingly spine-jarring experience. The final boat trip on the Pomeroon River was
the most enjoyable; starting in the town of Charity we cruised several miles down
a wide section of the main river and then veered into a narrow side
channel. The boat tilted from side to
side, almost touching the tangle of mangroves as we sped through the winding
waterway before opening out to reveal broad views across the savannah. Our trip was made more interesting by our
fellow passengers; teenage Amerindians returning to Wakapau after working in
the interior. They appeared to have
spent a considerable percentage of their earnings on beer, rum and pot. Sitting behind them in the boat we were at
times exposed to puffs of marijuana smoke and even liberally sprayed with
rum. However, they were cheerful, polite
and insisted we each had a bottle of their Guinness. The wild ride ended when we pulled up to the
riverbank; there was no jetty or buildings, but everyone got off the boat.
Apparently we had arrived.
We were here to meet Beth, the local Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV), and
she soon emerged from the trees to greet us.
After introductions we followed her up a grassy path to a small group of
wood buildings that were the home of her host family.
Life here is simple; we saw no cars or roads. There are mainly only small, simple houses
connected by narrow paths.
The only electricity is provided by generators or solar, and
plumbing is minimal. We bathed at a
bridge across a small pond, shaded by a roof of palm fronds and scooped up
water with a calabash (a bowl made from half a gourd). There was no bathroom at Beth's, only a
communal latrine. Being part of this
community and lifestyle for a couple of days was a privilege, but to commit to
it for two years as Beth has, would require an immense amount of fortitude and
resiliency. Kudos to Beth.
During our two-night stay we explored nearby communities on
adjoining islands. There is marshy
savannah between the islands and 'paths' had been created to prevent sinking
knee-deep into the ooze. The paths
consisted of branches, logs and even a couple of dilapidated dug-out
canoes. In places the branches sank
below the surface and we had to guess where to place our feet. The villagers we encountered were very
welcoming, many generously sharing water coconuts and fruit with us as we
passed through. From Beth's host family
we learned to open water coconuts with a 'cutlass' (machete) and how to slice
off a scraper to scoop out the jelly after drinking the sweet coconut
water.
We also tried to paddle in dugout canoes; the canoes were
extremely tippy and my weight brought the edge of the canoe within an inch of
the water line. At one point I had to be
ferried to be ferried across a river by Janelle, a cheerful, competent
Amerindian teenage girl. She was highly
amused by me crawling along in the bottom of the canoe as I boarded, and my
terrified look as I clutched the sides of the canoe during the crossing.
On the second night of our stay Beth's host mother prepared
pepperpot for dinner. Pepperpot is a
national specialty and is a spicy meat stew, partially flavored with cassareep
(a strong, dark sauce made from the cassava plant). We ate it sitting in the dark on Beth's
verandah and soaked up the sauce with locally made cassava bread. With bats zooming by our heads, dogs running
around and a host of night time noises, it was a memorable dining experience.
Our boat out of Wakapua left at 6.30 in the next
morning. It was a great trip through the
clear morning air; there was no partying on the return trip. Our fellow passengers were mainly nicely
dressed women that appeared to be going on a shopping trip. The only supplemental entertainment was when
Tim slipped on the muddy bank getting into the boat and ended up sitting in the
mud with one foot in the river. He
jumped up, made a funny comment to the audience in the boat, and was successful
on a second attempt to board. When asked
if he was hurt his pithy reply was 'only my pride'. (Later in the trip we bumped into another
PCV, Naomi and her mother Bonnie. They
had visited Beth shortly after us and apparently both of them had also slipped on
the mud in the same spot; it must be very entertaining for the locals). We worked our way back across the west coast,
stopping at 'Bachus' for a delicious coffee milkshake. We took a short walk away from the main road
to the seawall and got an expansive view of the Atlantic Ocean. The boys and I have a tradition of playing
hacky-sack, especially when abroad, we played here, cooled by the ocean
breeze. We took the ferry back across the Essequibo instead of the
jack-hammer speedboat. The high deck of
the ferry allowed a full view of the mouth of the Essequibo. It is an impressively wide estuary almost
twenty miles across and dotted with large islands requiring boats to thread
their way through from one side to another.
Eventually we made it back to Georgetown and after the relative quiet of
Wakapoa, Georgetown seemed loud and frenetic.
We elbowed our way through the hot, crowded markets with stalls and
shops selling almost everything, and then through quieter streets to the Peace
Corps office. The office was calm and
comfortable. After Tim conducted a
little business we left and got another car to take us to Kaylee's house in
Mahaicony; the journey took about an hour and of the many hair-raising vehicles
rides in Guyana this was the worst. By
comparison Andrew now seemed a paragon of safe driving. The roads in Guyana are in generally poor
condition with large pot holes and bumps that require drivers to swerve or
brake drastically. Cows and horses
wander freely, and randomly stroll across the road, sometimes in small herds. Goats appear mainly to be tethered, but on
ropes long enough to allow them to stand on the edge of the road. Out of town there are no sidewalks or
bikepaths and many people are walking or cycling on the roadway also. Occasionally we would see carts being pulled
by horses or donkeys. With all these obstacles
even driving carefully would be hazardous, but most drivers seemed oblivious to
the risk and drove with extreme recklessness.
Statistics from the World Health Organization revealed that road
fatalities in Guyana per capita are approximately six time higher than in
Europe, and three time higher than in the US.
Another mind-boggling statistic concerns fatalities per 100,000
vehicles. In the US it is 13.7; in
Guyana it is one-hundred-and-twenty-five times higher at 1707.3. When traveling in Guyana I recommend choosing
the driver with the newest car to increase the chances that the brakes,
steering and air bags are working correctly.
Halfway through the hair-raising ride to Kaylee's I noticed the place
where the air bag should have been in front of me was covered with two pieces
of duct tape.
We arrived, surprisingly unscathed at Kaylee's house in the
late afternoon. Kaylee has the upper
floor of a nice, two-story house. It is
not all that different from a house you might find in warmer parts of the US,
with tiled floor and arched, double-doors opening onto a balcony. However, it seems the plumbing in Guyana
generally is not up to US standards. A
Kaylee's house we had to plug in an extension cord every time we wanted to use
any water, and there is no hot water system.
Apparently the best you can hope for is to wait until late in the day to
shower; by then the sun has warmed the water in the holding tank. Kaylee was most welcoming, and had even given
up her large, comfortable bed for Nick and I to sleep in. At the time of our visit another PCV, Ally,
was living with Kaylee while her house in a nearby town was being fixed
up. Our visit therefore impacted Ally
and she was also very gracious during out visit. To welcome us Kaylee had arranged for a
nearby neighbor to cook us a special meal of Guyana takeaway fish and
chips. We all walked a little way down
the road to the woman's house to pick up the food. It wasn't ready, so we sat outside chatting
and drinking a beer while we waited. The
meal was delicious, the fish had a spicy coating the chips looked like regular
French fries but were made from plantains.
(Plantains are similar to a banana but not sweet, apparently they grow
well in tropical climates and are sometimes known as the 'pasta and potato of
the Caribbean'). Other memorable meals
during our stay at Kaylee's included homemade fried-egg pizza, and some other
bread-like food that required vigorous shaking after cooking. I cannot remember much about it except that
Nick really seemed to enjoy violently bashing it about in a Tupperware
container.
The next day Tim sent Nick and I off by ourselves to visit
Kaieteur Falls; arguably the most famous
and exceptional feature in Guyana.
Although there are some exciting-sounding expeditions available to get
there by boat and foot, the most time-efficient way is by small plane. Nick and I got a taxi to Ogle Airport and
after an unnecessarily long wait we boarded the small plane with about ten
other passengers for the scenic, one-hour flight to the tiny airstrip at
Kaieteur. The flight included a
breathtaking fly-by of the impressive falls.
Kaieteur is said to be the world's widest, single-drop waterfalls. It is four times higher than Niagara Falls
and twice the height of the Victoria Falls.
Wikipedia says 'While many
falls have greater height, few have the combination of height and water volume,
and Kaieteur is among the most powerful waterfalls in the world'. If not so remote it would undoubtedly
be famous worldwide.
Kaieteur is in a national park and appears to be generally
well managed. We were met by a competent
guide and were taken on a walking tour to three viewing areas connected by a
rugged path. The guide told us the falls
were named after an old man named Kaie, who sacrificed himself to the gods by
canoeing over the falls. The Amerindian
word for waterfall was 'teur'; hence Kaie-teur. However, a British geologist, Charles
Barrington Brown, the first European to see the falls in 1870 was told by the
locals then that an unpleasant old man was put in a canoe and shoved over the
falls by his family and Kaieteur means 'old-man-fall'.
Our walking tour took about ninety minutes and at the end we
looked around the visitor area in a tropical-style lodge waiting for the flight
back. Although the falls are undeniably
impressive, we were viewing from a distance and Nick and I felt it was
difficult to fully appreciate the scale and power of what we were seeing. I would like to return one day to hike to the
falls and explore the interior of Guyana which is generally considered to be
some of the most unspoiled rainforest remaining in the world.
The next day Tim, Kaylee, Nick, Ally and I walked to
Kaylee's school. Kaylee has transformed
the school library and although there is still some work to be done it was
impressive; the children will benefit from all her hard work for years after
she has left. Later we got a car up the
coast to the 'Giftland Mall', primarily to see the Star Wars movie that had
recently been released. Giftland is an
incongruously glittery, American-style mall.
It seemed luxurious and modern compared to almost everything else we had
seen in Guyana and I can see how PCVs would occasionally want to visit for a
reminder of home. Not a fan of Star Wars
I dozed contentedly during the movie.
Afterward we had a beer at a stylish outside bar while we waited for a
car to take us back to Kaylee's house.
The car never actually turned up which did not surprise anyone. In the end we found a driver to take us, but
by this time it was night. The darkness
added another layer of danger to the roads, the only benefit was that most of
the cows and horses had retired for the night.
For the last two nights of our trip Tim had booked us into
The Rainforest B and B in Georgetown.
Although we had heard there were monkeys in the garden we had no idea
what to expect. Behind a wall in a
rather nondescript neighborhood, and within walking distance of downtown, the
Rainforest B and B was a tropical gem.
Syeada, the beautiful and exotic lady of the house, was at the gate to
greet us. She showed us around the
stylish and immaculately maintained house and grounds. We soon met her partner Jerry, an American that
looked as though he may have been cast as the safari boss in an old Hollywood
movie. The were both very welcoming and
it really seemed as though we were friends they had invited to stay for the
weekend. Syeada soon introduced us to
the two monkeys; these were not cute pets.
They were wild animals living in trees at the back of the house and took
considerable coaxing to bring close enough to see. One of them was relatively large and would
have been quite an adversary in a banana dispute.
After settling into our room we headed to the Bourda Cricket
club. A historic cricket ground close to
the B and B that had been recommended to us at the Peace Corps office. Ignoring the 'Members Only' sign as
instructed, we went into the bar and ordered a beer. The clubhouse was festooned with old
photographs and trophies going back to the 1930's; it had a vintage, colonial,
feel to it and although there was no cricket being played, the bar was quite
busy. We sat outside on the deck
overlooking the large, green cricket pitch and watched stray dogs running
around and doing inappropriate things to each other. Later we made our way into town for an
authentic Indian meal at the 'Maharaja' before returning to the calm refuge at
the Rainforest B and B.
After a nice breakfast of omelet, fruit and toast we set off
the next morning to explore Georgetown. The first stop was at a soccer field we
had noticed that adjoined the Bourda Cricket club. Nick is a soccer fan and player, and we were
hoping to buy some 'Golden Jaguar' national football team shirts as souvenirs. Little kids were practicing on the field as
we walked through the gates, and immediately a young man greeted us with a firm
handshake and British accent, introducing himself a Faizal Kahn, a manager with
the national team. After a few minutes
of pleasant chit-chat we asked about buying some team shirts and although there
were none at the soccer field, he offered to drive us to the team office to buy
some. On the way he told us that not
only was he manager with the Guyana National Football Team but part owner of
the Peel motor car company in England.
Peel makes the smallest car in the world and is probably most famous for
being filmed driving through the BBC offices by Jeremy Clarkson in an episode
of Top Gear. After securing some shirts
and talking a little more with Faizal we continued on our way into the center
of town. Adding to the interest of
walking in Georgetown are numerous, randomly placed, large holes in the
sidewalk that would seem to present a significant safety hazard.
We visited the old British lighthouse, but it was
closed. We also went to St George's
Cathedral; quite impressive but also closed.
Photographs and descriptions of the Cathedral’s interior looked
interesting and I was disappointed not to go inside. We passed a museum and went in, mainly
because it was actually open. I do not
remember much about the museum, except the bathroom. There were four stalls with doors on one side
and the only toilet roll in the building was on a holder on the opposite wall,
twelve feet away; very amusing. We
visited the some other watering holes before heading back to the bed and
breakfast for our last night in Guyana.
The next day we spent the morning buying gifts and souvenirs
before Andrew drove us back to the main airport for the long journey home. I enjoyed every minute of our time in Guyana
and would love to go back and explore some more. I was consistently impressed by all the PCVs
we met and I would like to thank everyone for being so pleasant and helpful,
especially Beth, Ally, Kaylee and of course, Tim.
