Across the Essequibo and into Surama Village

Early morning, November 22, 2008

I have survived the worst of the ride into the interior. From time to time, I woke up to stare in amazement out the front window...it was like riding in one of those animated movie rides...unbelievable!!! Sometime during the early hours just before dawn, we had stopped at Mabura Hill to have our passports checked. I stood in a line of Amerindians and Brazilians...towering over them, my white skin nearly illuminating the dark police office. The officer went down the list, Guyanese, Guyanese, Guyanese, Brazilian, Brazilian, American, Guyanese, Brazilian...."Are you an American?" as I handed him my passport. I wanted to reply, "No, I'm a light-skinned Guyanese with a real bad accent." But the surly look on his face made me think humor was not his long suite.

As dawn broke, we stopped at a roadside 'snackette' known locally as Krupukari Restaurant. Fellow passengers stumbled out of the bus, legs and backs still stiff from the hours of riding, toothbrushes, wash clothes and toilet paper at the ready. Most of us ate some kind of bread something or other, washed down with tea, Coke or the local incredibly sweet soft drink, "Busta."

A loud blast from the horn called us back to our seats, the old diesel roared to life and we were on our way to Krupukari Crossing on the Essequibo River.

I've driven motor coach, crossed some bridges...but I ain't never done nothing like this. Check out the pictures of the ancient bus backing down a very steep hill onto an antiquated ferry. You won't see this in the States.

For those of you with very sharp eyes, you are right, these pictures were actually taken on a different trip...but it was the same bus, the same ferry and the same river crossing.

Now we are across the Essequibo and have just passed into the Iwokrama forest http://www.iwokrama.org/. For the next two hours, the old bus rumbles south over the Lethem Road, stopping only twice at the Iwokrama check gates.

The bus stops, the driver turns to me and mutters something I do not understand, but assume this is where I get out. I recall Mike Patterson's statement, "no problem, I've made all the arrangements...someone will be at the junction to meet you." Off the bus onto the gravel road, not a soul to be seen. The bus departs and I think, "well, this must be the place." My hopes grow as I spot a sign that reads, "To Surama". An arrow points west along a single track dirt road. I looked around, nope, nobody here. I noticed a house standing back from the road, but there appeared to be nobody there. I walked over, "Hello...anybody here?" From inside, a woman's voice, "Come around the side that door is locked." My first meeting with Madonna...no not THE Madonna, Madonna Allicock. She looked me over noting, "You must be the white man coming to stay at the eco-lodge. Nobody here to carry you in...but someone should come along soon."

Madonna offered me water, some bread and a banana. "How far is it to the village?" "It will take you about an hour to walk in." I shouldered my pack and started the walk into Surama Village. I walked for nearly an hour through lush tropical forests...hundreds of birds flashed across the forest openings, their songs rising in a cacophony of noise. I munched my bread and banana, drank water and ambled into a whole new world. Just before I got to the village, Frank aka Rockman, came riding down the road on his bicycle. "Are you Captain Mike? I'm just coming out to organize transport for you." I suggested we just continue walking into the village.

Frank, in his early twenties, is studying to be a forester and is president of the village Junior Wildlife Club. When we reached the village, our first stop was the carpenter shop where Glen Allicock works with some of the village youths learning a trade as woodworkers. Ron Allicock, nephew to both Madonna and Glen, rode up on his motorcycle. "I'll give you drop to the eco-lodge."

Bus Journey Into the Interior

November 21, 2008 9:00pm

I'm on Waterloo St. at the depot for Intraserv Bus Lines. It is also the home of Gerry's "the only all-night karaoke bar in Georgetown." Listening to the singers, I not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. It is hot...not a breath of air anywhere. Brazilians, Guyanese and one white man wander about, drink cold beer, munch on roasts on a stick (a Brazilian dish) and wait for the bus. We have all shown our ticket and been weighed with our baggage (I kid you not, we have to be weighed to be sure we are not over our baggage weight limit...at first I thought I'd made a mistake and was going to fly out on a plane.

But no, around 8 pm an ancient...20+ year old Marco Polo pulls up. Over the next hour, luggage gets stowed, passengers take their assigned seats, the drivers confer and finally the old bus lumbers through the dark streets of Georgetown. For the next hour and a half, the ride is relatively uneventful as we travel the paved highway from Georgetown to Linden. Sometime around 11pm we arrive in Linden. After maneuvering through the streets, the bus stops outside an enclosure...the driver announces, "Have your passports available and check with the police." We go inside a small office building where a police officer checks our passports against his list.

We re-board the bus, wind through more back streets, through the bauxite facility and on towards the Demerara River Bridge. The road south of the river is a moonscape of potholes...the driver steers the bus into the ditch, across both lanes of traffic, down the edge of the road...all in an attempt to dodge the potholes...he is marginally successful.

Into the pitch black night, headlights boring two holes in the darkness, the bus careens down the single lane gravel road. For the next nine hours the bus lumbers southward. At times it approaches 45 mph, but most of the time the driver shifts down from 5th to 4th to 3rd...and on many occasions he stops, revs the engine, shifts into 1st gear gets up some speed, upshifts to 2nd holding his breath that we will get through the sand pit, the mud hole or the mini-lake-sized puddle that covers the road.

Just after daylight the bus stops at the bottom of a hill...the passengers disembark...up ahead a tractor trailer truck is stuck...its drive wheels spinning uselessly in the mud described by one onlooker as "slicker than greased monkey shit"...

Note the fallen tree stump on the left side of the road. Not only was the driver trying to back down the hill, he had to (try to) maneuver around that stump. I thought we were here for the long haul...but here in Guyana, especially this part of Guyana, we do things 'the Rupununi Way".

When you have an obstruction...move it. From out of truck from somewhere, came a chainsaw and that was the end of that little problem. If you look closely, you can see our bus at the bottom of the hill.

Our bus driver was not about to let that truck have another chance at the hill and get stuck again...nope, he PASSED the truck while it was backing down the hill...on a road that is barely one full lane wide...and roared up the hill.

In our next adventure on the Road to Surama we will cross the Essequibo River.

Off to Surama

November 21, 2008

"Mike (Mike Patterson from Arrow Point), I think I'd like to go down into the interior...I'd like to see some of the rain forest and some savanna. I tried Rock view, but they are filled to capacity...do you know any other place I could stay?"
"How about going into Surama...they have an eco-lodge there."
"Do they have some savanna?"
"Yes, sure, they have a small section of savanna, they are on the edge of the rain forest, and just a few miles south of Surama the rain forest opens into the North Rupununi savanna."
"Sounds good to me, what do I have to do?"
"Go buy a bus ticket and I'll make all the arrangements."

So, across town to the Intraserve Bus office on Charlotte St. to buy my bus ticket. I show the lady my passport...everybody wants to see a passport in this country, pay her 14000 G$ (the equivalent of US $70 for the round-trip fare..."that includes the 10% discount for passengers over 50", she tells me too cheerily.

Back to the hotel.."OK, Mike, I have my bus ticket...now what do I do?"
"I've made all the arrangements. Get on the bus tonight, tomorrow the driver will drop you off at the junction and someone will be there to pick you up." It sounded simple at the time, but the reality was a whole lot different (like I said, you can't write fiction this good).

My new suit

November 20, 2008

Staebrock Market is a fascinating place. Right smack dab in the center of Georgetown, hard up against the docks on the Demerara River, Staebrock market is one of the most eclectic places I've ever visited. Every smell, every color, every sound you can imagine is here. Outside, fruit vendors, bread vendors, hucksters, money hustlers shout at every passer-by trying to sell their wares. Stalls filled with baseball caps (mostly NY Yankees...not many Red Sox fans in Georgetown), leather goods, belts, sandals, hats...you can buy anything here. The cries of the vendors are mixed with the cacophony of horns from the cars, taxis and mini-busses that edge pedestrians out of the way as they make their way through the crowds.

Inside, butchers reduce cow, sheep and goat carcasses to select cuts for the buying public. In the next stall fish mongers prepare any of a hundred different fish caught that morning for the buyers. Mixed in with the smells of fresh meat, fish and vegetables, both fresh and rotting are the pungent smells of spices...every imaginable spice in huge wooden bowls.

Towards the back of the market are the fabric vendors and in one dark corner is the stall of Basdeo Persaud. On a previous trip I had talked with him about making a suit fro me that I could leave in Georgetown to have available when I attended Toastmasters meetings or other functions requiring a suit and tie. Basdeo, said, "sure, I can make that suit for you. Jacket, fully lined, two pair of pants...I can have it ready in three days..that will be $135 US".

Today I'm going back to pick up my suit. At Basdeo's stall, he lays down a piece of cardboard for me to stand on, I strip down to my shirt and underwear...the ONLY reason people even look my way is that they don't see many white men standing in their underwear at the back of Staebrock Market. The suit fits perfectly, I pay Basdeo and it is off into the searing sun of the Georgetown morning. I will wear my new suit to the Toastmaster's training program for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Well, now I'm in Georgetown, time to R&R

November 15, 2008 My 64th Birthday

I've arrived in Georgetown...time to do some exploring, sightseeing and visiting. I checked into the Residence Inn where I frequently stay. It is always nice to come her. The staff is friendly, always remembers me and makes me feel right at home. I called Maggie and asked her to join me for dinner, called friends and began my holiday in Guyana.

One of my goals was to return to Guyana twice a year to visit different parts of the country, so this time I've decided to explore some of the Demerara River. Captain Gerry Gouveia who owns the hotel also owns Arrow Point Eco-lodge on the Pokerero River, one of the tributaries of the Demerara. I made arrangements to go to Arrow Point for 3 days.

While at the lodge, I had the opportunity to explore the surrounding rivers by myself, went mountain bike riding with Ricardo Allicock, visited the Amerindian Village of Santa Mission and watched a British Army Lynx helicopter land in a damn small opening in the forest...that boy could drive a chopper.

Arrow Point is a nice lodge...but its close proximity to Georgetown makes it a nice weekend getaway for locals. So, it becomes a bit (or a lot) more crowded and noisy than I like. I did make one great find at Arrow Point...I met Mike Patterson whose advice for my next journey would be invaluable.

Now it is back to Georgetown to visit friends, pick up my suit (the subject of my next blog) and plan the next leg of my stay in Guyana.

Back in Guyana

November 14, 2008...The day before my 64th birthday, I landed at Cheddi Jagan airport. The trip was uneventful after I finally got my ticket. I had made arrangements to fly to Guyana via American Airlines. When I stepped to the counter, the very nice lady told me that AA could not honor the price of my ticket (nearly $1200)...but I COULD purchase another ticket for $1900!!! ( ) that was my heart stopping. "No thank you, I'll make other arrangements."

Trot, trot, trot over to Liat..."hi, can you get me to Guyana today?"..."no, but we can get you there tomorrow, your flight leaves at 1:30 this afternoon, overnights on Barbados and you will arrive in Guyana tomorrow at 9am...that will be $480." I've taken this flight before, so I called Mavis, asked her if she would like an overnight guest....and she said, "yes."

So, off to Guyana via Barbados. Mavis and her sister picked me up at the airport, we stopped for burgers and fries, then on to Mavis's house for lots of catching up. The next morning Mavis's sister dropped me off at the airport and by 9am I was on the ground in Guyana, ready to start my week's R&R...Little did I know what was awaiting me.

Leaving St. Thomas and Winifred

November 10, 2008...after 6 months of very hard work and plowing more than $50,000 into the business, it became apparent that I had failed to take my own advice. Over the years, I told countless clients, "be sure you have adequate capital to start running your business"...and I fell into the same trap. So, today, I cut my loses and sold Winifred and the business back to Sharon Allen. Looking to the future, with the dire predictions of a world recession, I knew that I would not weather the storm. As I sit here now, some four months later, I know that it was the right thing to do. I've heard from friends that business is down 30-40% in the charter business. With revenues down that much there was no way I could have survived. it would only have been a matter of time.

Leaving Winifred and my dream was very difficult. But, when the papers were signed, it was time to move on...next stop, Guyana, South America