The road to the Guyanese border was smooth and the 10:00 bus from Boa Vista was comfortable with air con and soft reclining seats. This would be, by varying degrees, the most comfortable transportation we'd have for some time to come.
The bus made a quick stop in the border town of Bonfim. As we arrived at the Brazilian border post the officer was in the middle of berating a Guyanese woman for an unclear reason. We let all their Brazilians go first (partly because they took almost no time, partly because most of them were ahead of us anyway, and partly to show respect and deference in front of the ornery Policia Federal officer). But we were still through the border before the office closed for lunch at 12:30.
It was a 20 minute walk to the Guyanese border post, across the bridge over the Takutu River and past the fun side-of-the-road changing over/underpass (Brazilians and all other South Americans drive on the right side of the road [at least in theory] except for the Guyanese and Surinamese who drive on the left).
We'd crossed the equator on the way up to the border, so we were happy to get inside the Guyanese border post and out of the sun.
We showed the health folks our certificates of Yellow Fever vaccination and were duly stamped into Guyana.
We walked another 2km or so into the centre of the Guyanese border town of Lethem. The town was hot and the roads were red and dusty.
There were lots of slightly ramshackle but pretty houses, but the commercial district seemed to consist entirely of large warehouse-like stores selling clothes, homewares, hardware and food. Clothes and homewares were mostly Chinese imports and seemed to be geared largely towards Brazilian cross border shoppers, while the food and hardware were more for the locals from the outlying Amerindian communities stocking up on staples or goods for their own shops. Indeed, even in Lethem the population was mostly (probably 90%) Amerindian, with just a sprinkling of the black and Indian Guyanese who make up most of the population further north. At first it seemed incongruous to hear them all speaking English, especially with the traditional Guyanese accent (think Trinidadian or Jamaican).
We found ourselves a hotel, managed by an interesting American named Archie who'd been living in the region for ages, several years of which was spent mostly removed from human society up in the mountains that rise out of the Savannah some 30km from Lethem.
At the nearest of the warehouse shops we managed to change some US dollars into Guyanese dollars (the currencies may share a name, but it's about 200 GYD to a USD), then stay out of the sun for the rest of the afternoon while we read up on the surroundings and hung out with the Golden Handed marmoset who lived in a cage near the front of the hotel (it's pretty common for the locals to keep native species as pets).
As it cooled down we wandered out to find a fruit knife and a SIM card. Along the way we passed the local swimming hole. It was still pretty darned hot, so I was delighted to strip down to my shorts and join the crowd. I only left as quickly as I did because of the odd (though not at all painful) feeling of little fish nibbling on the backs of my legs.
The warehouses selling to the out-of-towners didn't really have what we were looking for, but kindly directed us to a little dairy in the residential area that did. I was so delighted by how friendly and helpful the young woman working there was, traits she shared with pretty much everyone we met in Lethem. It certainly LOOKED like a typical border town, but felt much more cheerful then they typically do.
That evening (this close to the equator, right near the equinox, days are almost exactly 12 hours long, lasting from 06:00 to 18:00, with the light vanishing very rapidly as soon as the sun hits the horizon) we sat down for a great, huge meal of fried fish and chips accompanied by Banks Beer (Sarah) and locally brewed Guinness Foreign Extra Stout (me). The Banks was a typical, slightly oxidized rice lager, but the Guinness was fabulous. Rich and sweet, molasses, coffee with a hint of Marmite.
We chatted with a Canadian citizen at the next table who was leaving his home in southern Venezuela after 17 years living there. This conversation helped to confirm the wisdom of having headed straight to Guyana.
Adding to the novelty of speaking English to him (and to all the town's other residents) was sitting and watching cricket on TV with a few more beers after dinner. Jamaica and Barbados were facing off in the Carribbean Premier League. By coincidence, Kiwi players featured strongly, with Martin Guptill's 73 being the high score for Barbados and Colin de Grandholme taking Steve Smith's wicket and scoring the winning runs for Jamaica.
Next morning we sorted out the location of the bus stop for minibuses headed north to Annai village. They stopped through a small walkway from the main street in front of Betty's Creole Corner. We'd found the place, but obviously were a bit confused about the time, as we had three hours to jaw with Betty, eat some delicious Chana (seasoned chick peas), practice putting up my hammock between two coconut trees, lay in the hammock reading and play extensively with Betty's grandchildren (they loved borrowing our sunglasses and putting them on everything. "Plant has glasses! Counter has glasses! Wall has glasses!")
From Lethem it was only 130km to Annai, but it was a slow 130km, and we arrived at 19:00, comfortably after dark. Only when we arrived did we realize that Annai was really a pretty small village, and not really the kind of place you can just show up and expect to find a room for the night. Thankfully the bus driver helped us out (getting on the phone and saying to someone on the other end "They's two foreigners here. They's lost," --pause--, "two foreigners. They don't know Nuthin'." This was said in the nicest tone possible, and before long the caretaker of the regional government rest house (mostly used by visiting officials) showed up, opened it up and gave us the biggest, nicest room in the place.
So as it turns out, while Annai may not be the kind of place you SHOULD show up and expect to find a place to sleep, it's the kind of place you CAN do so.
The next morning we woke up and set out to explore the village. We'd already heard some energetic music pumping in the distance at 07:00 or so, and figured it must have something to do with "Heritage," which we'd been told the previous night was starting that day.
We weren't too clear on what heritage was, but the picture slowly formed as we walked around.
First was the crowd of kids weaving clothes and decorations out of palm fronds in amongst the thatched roof houses.
Then the group of middle aged men who invited us to try some what sounded like "curry." It clearly wasn't curry. We later learned that it was Kari, short for Parakari, a local fermented beverage made from cassava. With them we learned the greeting in the language of the Mucashi people who make up most of the inhabitants of the southernmost region of Guyana (known to the Guyanese government as Region 9 and the locals as The Rupununi).
During this conversation we learned that Heritage was Amerindian Heritage Month, celebrated in indigenous communities all over Guyana and kicking off for the region this weekend in Annai.
We wandered off to another shop and tried some more 'kari (a little chunkier and less sour than the first lot, which turned out to be my favourite of the karis we tried). And thence to the Benab, the wall-less, circular thatch-roofed structure that acts as a community space and meeting place. The ~40m diameter benab in Annai was (so the sign in front said) the world's largest, and the day's activities were meant to be kicking off there in just a few minutes at 10:00.
To be fair, they actually did. The group we'd seen earlier making their costumes marched into the benab right on schedule, blowing their own fanfare with reed whistles.
Thereafter, however pretty much nothing happened on schedule. Indeed the whole weekend was marked by a weird combination of disorganisation, excitement, (apparent) apathy, pride, irritation and community spirit.
As mentioned, absolutely nothing started on time. On day two the cultural competitions were meant to begin at 09:00 and just barely managed to kick off before 13:00. For some of them (e.g. men's cotton spinning) the MC was pleading with the crowd for a second participant so that first and second prizes wouldn't both go to one person.
And each day the second of the daily football matches threatened to be cut short by the dark. Then at night the MC prodded and occasionally scolded the crowd to applaud the groups of singers and dancers, the pageant contestants and the poem reciters.
But for all that, the benab was packed every evening with pretty much the whole town. The stands showing off traditional goods ('kari, fish stews [we were offered a chance to try one of these and its white river fish was spicy, herbal and delicious], sweet potato beer, hand spun cotton, woven cassava presses and baskets, parrot feather jewelry) were well staffed by enthusiastic volunteers. And everyone was clearly enjoying the celebration, chatting with their mates, drinking 'kari (sometimes rather too much... We spent quite a bit of time sitting next to drunk men who were enthusing about the events and other things, barely able to hear what they were saying between slurring, different accents and loud music), cheering the football. And at least the archery competition was well supplied with contestants. They used traditional wooden bows strung with hand spun cotton and viciously sharp metal tipped arrows that more often than not went THROUGH the target, which made scoring a slightly difficult process. Sarah even entered the women's competition... Her one hit-target out nine arrows was good enough to ensure that she didn't finish last. The pageant contestants dresses made of native materials were stunning (Scarlet Macaw feather headdress!) And course the dances that finished off each evening's proceedings were very well attended. When Sarah and I joined in to the traditional music on the first night everyone loved it (I think we even made it into the official video).
Through all of this, the ever-patient, ever-exuberant MC Mike kept rolling with it and did a splendid job dealing with the many and varied challenges of his job. And constantly making jokes about his name and the microphone he was holding (Mike, mic check, one two three... This is Mike on the mic, now I'm going to hand the Mic [not the Mike!] over to Jeanette).
All in all our time in Annai was a lot of fun. It was great to be part of the celebration. While it had much in common with the staged native cultural shows you get on tours to some places, this was by and for the people themselves. And for a lucky few visitors.
The next morning happened to be my 43rd birthday. Happy birthday me! We knew that buses headed north towards Georgetown would be passing by around 08:00 after leaving Lethem at 04:00(!)
Unfortunately while we got up in time it was pouring rain out and we felt ill inclined to make the 2km walk out to the main road. But surely when we got to the Oasis rest stop(/hotel/restaurant) at 10:00 after the rain had stopped we'd find some other traffic headed north, right? Nope.
After a yummy breakfast of fish curry and huge cups of coffee we took turns standing out by the road looking for a lift.
Nothing doing. And actually very little traffic of any kind after about 10:45. So we sat and read and enjoyed the shade. And the location right where the Serengeti-esque Savannah meets the tropical forest. And waited.
Finally around 15:00 a truck fitted with passenger seats pulled up. They were teachers headed home to the village of Surama, having been to a strike meeting (high school teachers in Guyana were on strike on this, the first day back at class). They suggested we could wait there until 20:00 or so when more buses would come, but that we might as well come with them, as the buses all stopped for the night near their village and we could easily pick one of them up there.
Great suggestion as it turned out. From the truck we got to see the last of the wide golden Savannah as it entered the dry season. And the first of the thick, dark green tropical forest.
We got a closer look at this when we arrived at Surama Junction. It was a small clearing with a few trees, a few signs and a rest stop. Even just walking down the roads a few hundred metres had you feeling like you were in the heart of the jungle. I took an even more rugged route down a small logging (?) trail for a few hundred metres and marvelled at how I could feel so comfortable in the wilds of rugged mountains or desert, or even temperate forest, but so completely lost and nervous when alone in the tropical forest.
Near sunset Sarah and I walked down the Surama road together and in addition to the constantly buzzing insects and pretty small birds, also heard and saw spider monkeys, green winged macaws and scarlet macaws up above us in the canopy.
In addition to checking out the forest, we got to hang out with Madana, the proprietor of the rest stop where all of the buses overnight at the Surama Junction. Her story was amazing. A single mom of six sons, she'd seen two of them die in accidents, but raised the rest all to happy and prosperous adulthood. And in the meanwhile built a business 10km away from the nearest village which was itself pretty much in the middle of nowhere. She helped us hang our hammocks and even cooked a meal for us (she'd more or less stopped cooking until her rest house kitchen, which had burned down, was rebuilt. This had taken a while, as Surama was completely cut off by road from the rest of the country by for much of the wet season, but with the dry season starting the road had become passable and maintenance crews were out repairing the worst sections every day.
Around 21:30 the buses started showing up. We made a deal for onward transport with one driver. After an abbreviated sleep (we woke up to leave at 03:37!) we got to see some more of the improved (but still far from good) road.
The road in question, as the only road link to a foreign country (there's a ferry to neighbouring Suriname) is the second most important in the country. And while it's not a BAD road, it's a so-so road with a lot of bad sections (I was pretty impressed with how our driver made it though some of the rutted, potholed, muddy and puddly bits in a 2WD Hiace). Interestingly, it also passes through the Iwokrama Forest Reserve, one of the best preserved pieces of tropical rainforest in the world. The Rupununi is pretty much the equal of hyper-diverse eastern Peru and Ecuador in terms of number of animal species (it's behind on mammals and birds, but has far more fish, partly because during very wet seasons the Essequibo and Amazon drainage basins join up, giving the Rupununi species from both).
The reserve is closed overnight, re-opening at 04:30, thus the short sleep stop at Surama. We checked in to the guard post at the entrance, then got to see the jungle rising out of the night's mist, the sun coming above the trees just as we reached the ferry crossing of the Essequibo River.
The Essequibo is the third longest river in South America. The Pontoon as the ferry was called pushed off from the far side pointed about 45 degrees to the shore as it fought the fast and deep current for the first half of the crossing. We boarded on foot and said goodbye to our van as we disembarked, preparing to spend a day or two in the tiny settlement on the north side of the crossing.
Our home for the duration was run by a wonderful woman named Annie (and a couple of her sons) on behalf of its owners. Annie's story was strikingly similar to Madana's and she was in the process of building her own little restaurant/bar/guesthouse.
When we arrived she said that there were rooms available but that if we wanted to string our hammocks up in the benab we could do it for free. She then prepared us a great breakfast of omelette, roti and watermelon.
Pretty much our whole stay was spent sitting in the benab reading, popping up to the house for breakfast and dinner (the heat usually makes me less inclined to eat in the middle of the day). And of course taking occasional walks down to the river to check out the rapids and see who/what was crossing on the ferry.
During one of these I got chatting with one of the ferry service workers. Early on in the conversation he asked me "where is Nigeria," and then, "where is Syria?" It went on from there and at his request I explained (insofar as it's possible at all) why people are fighting in Syria. Eventually it transpired that he'd been corresponding with someone on Facebook who was looking for his help to (variously, at different points during the interaction) smuggle some valuable minerals that she and a few of her platoon members had discovered after a battle OR help her leave Nigeria and come to Guyana to escape the certainty of following her sister to an early grave. I wasn't quite clear on how the woman had gone from the Syrian military to wanting to escape from Nigeria. Others had cautioned him before and I likewise tried to do so. Gently without basing the argument completely on cynicism about random internet contacts (from Nigeria) who need help (money). This was aided by one of the photos from her supposed flight from Syria (or was it Nigeria) being an Air New Zealand 747-400. So I could at least point out that Air New Zealand hasn't flown the 747-400 for at least five or six years, and they've never flown to Syria or Nigeria at all. Hopefully he continues to get good advice.
We also hand fun talking with Fredericks, another of the ferry service workers and some of his friends and family who worked at the fancy Iwokrama Lodge just down the river. We were meant to take a trip out on the river with him in his boat, but we didn't manage to find him at the appointed place and time.
Not that we completely missed out on wildlife. There were plenty of cool birds, including some that looked like miniature puffins, more macaws, treesful of black vultures and two species of toucan. And more spider monkeys, plus a good sized troupe of smaller light grey ones.
It really was an idyllic place to spend a couple of days. Once Annie gets her place done (which she anticipates being soon... If you're traveling the Linden-Lethem road, make sure to keep an eye out for Annie's Native Delight just north of the Essequibo ferry) it will be even better.
She and her family were tremendous hosts (after dark while the generator was turned on we watched Kung Fu Panda one and two with pretty much the whole crew), and we were a little sad to say goodbye when we unslung our hammocks and tromped down to the ferry at 05:45 to meet the northbound minibuses as they headed across.
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