Georgetown, Backpacking South America By Bus
Eight Months On the Road
By David Rice
Eight Months On the Road
By David Rice
Georgetown Page Eleven
Georgetown,Backpacking by Bus In South America
Eight Months On the Road
By David Rice
Eight Months On the Road
By David Rice
Georgetown, Guyana
I left Bucco not because I didn't love the island and its people
but because I had Brazil on my mind.
From Bucco I caught a plane to Georgetown, Guyana, landing
at Cheddi Jagan International Airport.
As we approached Georgetown from the air, I could see
brown water flowing out of the rivers, silt brought down from
the many rivers draining the plush interior, the place where
tourist go trekking into the Amazon basin on eco tours, a
place I would find out later that is being stripped of its trees..
The airport is thirty miles out side of town so I piled into a
collective van jammed with people, some hanging out the
windows. The cab dumped us out at the Stabroek Market a
huge building open to the sun that was teeming with people.
Walking through Georgetown with people everywhere I felt
safe enough but when I went to go out from my hotel in the
evening the owner said, “You would be a fool to go out at night
in Georgetown.” Thanking him for the warning, I did go out to
dinner but stayed in the lighted areas. Georgetown is mostly
black and mostly poor and at this point, I just wanted to get to
Brazil.
Another Day In Georgetown
Next day I headed for the collectivo stand to find a ride to
Surinam.
Poor and black is an understatement for Georgetown; on the
way I had panhandlers aggressively pushing me and
demanding money.
When I reached the cabstand, again things seemed
desperate because collective cab drivers were pulling me to
their cabs and two guys started a fistfight over who would take
me.
I jumped into one cab and closed the door while chaos
ensued at the cabstand.
At one point I got out and tried to break up the fight but nearly
took a punch myself so I jumped back in the cab and closed
the door again.
The cab, half-full of passive faces who had seen this all too
often, waited. After a half hour, the dust settled and finally one
more person came to fill the cab. From there we roared out of
the cabstand bound for Surinam with everybody acting as if it
were just another normal day in Georgetown.
These countries are called the Guianas, and include Guyana,
Surinam, and Guyane, or French Guiana. They are a mix of
French, Dutch, and British colonial and have all the plagues
and troubles that a former colony that once used slave labor
will have.
I sped through as fast as I could, never dreaming that the call
of a bird would get my attention enough to slow me down.
but because I had Brazil on my mind.
From Bucco I caught a plane to Georgetown, Guyana, landing
at Cheddi Jagan International Airport.
As we approached Georgetown from the air, I could see
brown water flowing out of the rivers, silt brought down from
the many rivers draining the plush interior, the place where
tourist go trekking into the Amazon basin on eco tours, a
place I would find out later that is being stripped of its trees..
The airport is thirty miles out side of town so I piled into a
collective van jammed with people, some hanging out the
windows. The cab dumped us out at the Stabroek Market a
huge building open to the sun that was teeming with people.
Walking through Georgetown with people everywhere I felt
safe enough but when I went to go out from my hotel in the
evening the owner said, “You would be a fool to go out at night
in Georgetown.” Thanking him for the warning, I did go out to
dinner but stayed in the lighted areas. Georgetown is mostly
black and mostly poor and at this point, I just wanted to get to
Brazil.
Another Day In Georgetown
Next day I headed for the collectivo stand to find a ride to
Surinam.
Poor and black is an understatement for Georgetown; on the
way I had panhandlers aggressively pushing me and
demanding money.
When I reached the cabstand, again things seemed
desperate because collective cab drivers were pulling me to
their cabs and two guys started a fistfight over who would take
me.
I jumped into one cab and closed the door while chaos
ensued at the cabstand.
At one point I got out and tried to break up the fight but nearly
took a punch myself so I jumped back in the cab and closed
the door again.
The cab, half-full of passive faces who had seen this all too
often, waited. After a half hour, the dust settled and finally one
more person came to fill the cab. From there we roared out of
the cabstand bound for Surinam with everybody acting as if it
were just another normal day in Georgetown.
These countries are called the Guianas, and include Guyana,
Surinam, and Guyane, or French Guiana. They are a mix of
French, Dutch, and British colonial and have all the plagues
and troubles that a former colony that once used slave labor
will have.
I sped through as fast as I could, never dreaming that the call
of a bird would get my attention enough to slow me down.
David Rice Photo
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