Mission to Guyana

Georgetown (the capital of Guyana), like Caracas comes with grave warnings from the Foreign Office. They say do not resist being robbed for those who do are shot dead. I'm to make my way from one to the other via 3 flights and neither airport is close to their corresponding city centre. Lets go...

After a disturbed nights sleep we arrive at Caracas Bus Station. Well I assumed it was as there weren't any signs anywhere, everyone got off and my bag was ejected from the hold. And yippee, it's daylight! The chances of being mugged or shot (or both) had just been halved! I grab an official looking cab to the airport for 100,000 Bs. It has blacked out windows! It takes some 45 mins and the road takes us through some pitiful slums. Although largely made from brick, the houses look like port-a-cabins that were dropped haphazardly on top of one another. They often have crumbling missing walls and they sprawl out all over the hill side.

Breakfast was the same as last night's dinner - a bread roll with a sweet fig like jam filling. After complementing myself on how less bulky my day-pack had become I realised I'd left my travel pillow on the bus. I'm really gutted as last night it added an immeasurable amount of comfort. I don't know how I'm going to sleep without it!?

The first flight is without incident. At Polamar I walk from the domestic terminal to the international terminal where I'm told my next flight is delayed by 2 hours. It's not unexpected given the nature of this country but it's only a 45 min flight! It also means I miss my connecting flight to Georgetown. In broken English the Comviassa flight rep assures me that her boss will sort me out in the Port of Spain with another flight and / or a hotel for the night. Why am I not convinced!?

Note: My chin stubble feels weird.

Okay, so the flight is actually delayed by 4 hours but it's not so bad - plenty of time to listen to my Spanish tapes. And I get chatting to John and Christie, Western looking folk from Trinidad who talk like they walked straight out of a Malibu advert, "for real, man"! The airline offers us free Coke with ice, which I mix with cheap Duty Free Rum - instant Cubra Libra! We try to get the rep to explain why the long wait. All we can make out from her little English is that our plane crashed yesterday and we have to fly out in a different one. Christie isn't happy! They've been away for a week on a beach holiday (away from their 2 daughters) and they miss the Trinidad food very much. Apparently I must try a "bad habit" from the road side grills. It consists of lumps of chicken fried up with cheese and spices and is the BEST burger in town! Once arrived, our turbo-prop plane is to take us to the Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad! Cool, a new country I wasn't expecting to visit! More Cubra Libras on the plane and John gives me his email address and asks me to tell him how Guyana goes. Weird, because I barely mentioned it!?

After I confuse immigration with blank bits in the "where are you staying" section of my immigration card I go on a wild goose chase to find a Comviassa Airline rep. None is found but I am put on the LAST flight to Georgetown. It's great that people speak English again. As I walk away I am interrupted by Lisa, a female member of airport staff, who after a short chat gives me her telephone no (as I had none to give her)!!! She's no supermodel but I wouldn't kick her out of bed, so to speak. She's expecting a call from me on my return within the month. Hmmm...! As I badly need a shower and change of clothes I can't help wonder if it was a dare from her friends? Or it could be I look like a true British explorer; boots, trek trousers, shirt with rolled up sleeves, an unclean rugged look and carrying my 19 Kg pack on a shoulder up and down the aisles. (Mr Summers would have been proud!) Or maybe she was touting for extra, after hours, work? Who knows, as I'm flying straight out never to return, I'll never know.

At security I'm not allowed to take the remainder of my cheap rum on the plane so they make me take a couple of big swigs before I kiss it goodbye and leave it behind. It's seriously easy going here man! At duty free I buy a big bottle of Fernandes Black Label Rum for $6 USD as recommended by John and Christie. Realising I had over an hour to waste in the departure lounge I curse myself for not chatting to Lisa over a coffee and mess up my Rubiks cube for the first time.

There's a whole coven of Muslims that fill up the plane, more triggers than I can cope with on my own. I spot a black American football player looking type as a walk down the plane and decide he's the one who's going to have to help me should things kick off. Every single trigger is coughing, spluttering and snorting. I decide there's an endemic in their community and am keen not to catch it. On landing in Guyana, immigration and customs are a nightmare. The Muslims are re-locating and have 3 suitcases each. Customs insist on opening up every case. After a long wait I get waved through. Arrivals is just a tin shack - no cash point. Two official taxi drivers instantly start arguing over me. I choose the younger one who claims the other guy pushed in and wasn't waiting his turn. His name is Raoul and it costs me $25 USD to go some 25 km to Georgetown. Whist overtaking on double yellows and swerving around stray dogs we chat about the Rasta language, man.

Georgetown, for a capital city, is a piss ant backwater village in the middle of nowhere. Raoul points out Parliament, the high courts, the cathedral, etc. Like every other building they're all just ponced up wooden shacks next door to each other, set back from a dirt track (sorry, I mean main road). The place has a feel of an old fashioned wild west town to it. When we arrive at Tower Hotel at midnight, a girl jumps in the taxi and some guy asks Raoul to make sure his prostitute gets home safely. After checking in I'm led to my room via the pool and bar. J-King (not Jo-King) sees me in. It's lush; a double bed, desk, chairs, shower, air-con and has dark wood panelling all round. As he leaves J-King informs me he's head of security and that should I want any girls I should let him know. He repeats himself with a sincere look and asks if I understand. In my messed up, rugged state I wonder if I look like a real adventurer, or just a dick? I head to the bar for a local beer (Banks) and whilst drinking it overlooking the dark pool I realise I had just argued with the bar staff (as the bar had actually just closed). I'm tired, dirty, had a rough couple of days and especially in my get-up, I feel like an adventurer. Maybe my confidence is growing after all? I ponder over J-King's proposition but the logistics don't work out. I need a good shower, some laundry and then I should really get some sleep. Maybe mañana.

Posted by Steve Eynon