And so it begins

We’ve been back in the States for three months.  It’s been quite emotional for me – a lot has been going on.  

However, it was time for me to pull up my boot straps and get living this life we’ve been given.

First stop – kids and grand babies.

On a brilliantly clear day I made my way to Charlotte. Sleepy from a 2:50 am alarm and a days worth of travel that by 8:00 pm EST I crawled into bed and woke up refreshed and acclimated.

It’s been a whirlwind.  The boys now live about two hours away from each other – so much better than being 2/3 of the USA.  I’m super grateful – traveling between them is easy.

Bill kept down the fort at home for a bit and we’ll be together tomorrow. ❤️ Woot woot!

Monday we’re off to the second largest continent to pick up where we left off in December.  

Stay  tuned – it should be an adventure!

 

With Sadness – Walvis Bay, Namibia and Beyond

We didn’t fall off the edge of the earth.  I stopped the blog as it seems so inconsequential compared to the devastating news that my stepdad passed away.

We (and the doctors) thought beyond hope that he would improve once he got “home”.   

Michael’s decline happened quickly and thank goodness we were in port when we got the news. With two hours notice we booked flights, packed and jumped ship. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived God had called Michael to His home.

We flew out of Walvis Bay, Namibia after a day of touring.

Situated just north of the Tropic of Capricorn.  It’s the second largest city in Namibia and was once part of South Africa – gaining their independence in 1990.

It is the driest country in Sub-Saharan Africa and considered to have the oldest desert (called the Namib Desert) in the world.  It was tribal until Germany colonized it in 1884.

Their primary language is English however everyone seemed to be speaking one of their 15 other languages.  89% of the population are Christian.

The town is clumped around the port and beyond that is endless sand and mirages.  It was remarkably tidy – zero graffiti.

*click on photos to enlarge

We went on a 4 wheel drive excursion to see “the desert”.   I had seen photos of The Namib Desert where humongous sand dunes kissed the shore of the ocean.  This is what I envisioned seeing.  Unfortunately, it was too far away.  With ship board excursion credits we opted for a desert 4 wheel drive experience.  The day was beautiful and it was just us and another couple – perfect size.  It turned out to be the “Chamber of Commerce” tour.  A drive to the Moon Landscape (similar to the Badlands in South Dakota) on graded dirt roads where all the 4×4’s stopped with a break to see the Welwitschia plant – referred to as a “living fossil”.  It is found growing in the nothingness of the Namib Desert and Southern Angola. Some plants are said to be between 1000 and 1500 years old.

Walvis Bay is home to gazillions of flamingos – white and pink.

It was fun being off the boat.

Namibia – the vast nothingness of sand was overwhelming as we glanced out the plane’s window on our way to Cape Town for our long journey to the States.  The wind etched windrow upon windrow patterns in the sand like waves in the sea.  Fog laid low over Atlantic Ocean greeting the desert shore.

We stayed over in Cape Town before the next leg of the flight back to Southern California – 37 hours from door to door.

Now we’re with mom.

Next year we’ll finish our trip…

May the spirit of Christmas shine in your heart and light your path.

São Tomé, Sao Tome

If you get a trivia question asking what country’s capital is the same name as the country here’s your clue…

*click on photos to enlarge

We went to the capital city São Tomé located on the Island of São Tomé. This island country is located in the Gulf of Guinea and off the Northwest coast of Gabon.  Two islands make up the Democratic Republic of São Tomé and Principe.  Colonized by the Portuguese and once a trade center for the Atlantic slave trade.  Volcanic soil and its location by the equator made it a perfect place to grow sugar and cocoa. In the early 1900’s it was the world’s largest cocoa exporter and the islands were referred to as “The Chocolate Islands”.  Today 85% of its GDP is foreign aid and 90% of its food is imported.  This country of 200,000 gained its independence in 1975 and is mostly Christian.  The residents today are mostly decedents of the slave population.

It definitely reeks “island life”.  Humid!  Dilapidated but gorgeous, colorful Portuguese colonial buildings were closer to the shoreline and the heart of the city center.  Tin structures, rickety wooded homes and concrete structures dot the hillside.  Orange stain leaches up the sides of homes like Easter eggs dipped in liquid henna.  Everything in the yard is dusted in the matching color.

Bill referred to a couple of streets as “Rainbow Row” reminding him of the colorful homes that line East Bay Street in Charleston, South Carolina.

We spent lots of time exploring on foot. It was so hot and humid that by the time we returned to the ship our tops were completely soaked in sweat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lomé, Togo

Located on the Gulf of Guinea.  Until the early 19th century it was a European slave trade outpost where Togo and surrounding areas earned the name “The Slave Coast”.

One of the least developed countries in Africa. Germany controlled Togo until the end of World War One at which time rule was transferred to France – they gained their independence in 1960.

Their official languages is French however many “local” languages are spoken. The kids learn both French and English in school.  

Like the Ivory Coast and Ghana babies are named according to the day of the week in which they are born. Their dads are also allowed to choose an independent name. The weekday name must be on their birth certificate.

It exports coffee, cocoa, copra and oil palm kernels.

We didn’t do much here.  Our walk around the town wasn’t exciting.  Old, dilapidated, ugly concrete buildings lined the streets.  The bit of a giggle was the Hotel Palm Beach that must have been something special in its day – now abandoned.

When we first started our walk a young man captured Bill and tried to sell him a used (Bill had no idea) pair of shorts.  Surprising Bill took the bait (on purpose) and purchased the shorts for 5 euros.  I think the gentleman was generally surprised.  The interaction was priceless.  He didn’t have change so he asked Bill to wait while he danced down the street to break the 10 euro bill. 

Out in the distance an old, decrepit pier caught our eye.  My favorite thing to photograph.  Something with a past, declining, fraught with mystery.

The beach, long and silent was virtually deserted.  The accumulation of trash a clue that we were the only fools out in the heat of the day.

*found this on TripAdvisor about the pier:

Sekondi-Takoradi, Ghana

Sekondi-Takoradi, Ghana. The capital of the Western Region.  Referred to as twin cities. 

Tall commercial buildings pierce the horizon while dilapidated colonial buildings dot the countryside.  

Gridlock traffic wreaked havoc to any sort of flow.  It took about 45 minutes to move out of the hustle and bustle as we maneuvered our way to a coastal fishing village.  The blurry photos are from the bus window – click photos to enlarge.  

The chiefs and village elders spoke to a crowd of cruisers while Bill and I chose to roam and visit with the locals.

Living conditions were rudimentary at best.  I needed to use the bathroom and was invited to a back corner walled area that was about 3’ x 3’ with a wet mosaic tile floor.  The floor barely slanted towards the edge of the wooden structure.  That’s it.  No running water, no drain, no trash – only two small buckets.  Imagine my confusion. Bucket? Floor? Bucket? Floor?

A fellow female cruiser approached me later and asked floor or bucket? I asked her without answering and she said she was told floor….  Ain’t life grand?

A few spoke English so we were able to converse.  We talked politics a bit.  Their election is coming up in a couple days and their “biggest” issue is compulsory schooling for children.  Some want it and others think it’s a waste.  We talked with two who had differing opinions.

The village children were delightful.  I taught them to fist bump with an explosion.  The first child warily and bravely humored me and then one child after another lined up to give it a whirl.  After a few minutes they were so animated that they acted like they were falling backwards with each explosion. Their smiles and laughter were contagious. 

A couple moms and big sisters asked to have their photos taken and I received a marriage proposal from a giddy young man.  HA!

In this particular village the fish are salted and smoked. 

The rural commercial fishing area was lined with long wooden boats, some with piles of knotted up used nets stacked high.  Left over piles lay on the sand waiting to entangle and cling to the shoes of daydreamers. 

People were hard at work weaving and stacking nets, cleaning fish, selling/buying goods and washing clothing.  A fishing expedition can last from one to seven days.  From here it’s not hard to imagine that the most common occupation in Ghana is fishing. 

My light skin and white hair had some stop me to say how beautiful I was.  Which, at my age and full of wrinkles felt like at any moment a camera crew would jump out to say “You’re on Candid Camera”. 

During such an event one woman, with her wares on top of her head, took both her hands and stroked my hair over and over – smiling from ear to ear.  It was so awkward but I reminded myself about curiosity and humanity.  We who can step out of our comfort zones get to actually embrace one another.

It dawned on me that only one boat had a shade canopy with a single man weaving under it. His partner sat four feet away in the sun, with a towel on his head, dripping sweat. In my best sign language I complemented the smart guy and tried to ask the other man why he was in the sun.  Encouraged by the complement, the shade man motioned for me to walk around the boat to his side to watch him weave. 

A school grounds visit was spectacular.  I can’t even express the sheer joy that I experienced.  There were hundreds of kids from all ages.

A group of mostly elementary kids gathered and I whipped out my phone with my FatBooth app open and ready.  I took a photo of a child and then asked them to wait one moment while my phone munched away and came back with a photo of her with a “fat face”.  They roared – laughing and falling all over one another – each egging the next on to see what they’d look like.

One of the girls asked me to play music so I put on Katy Perry’s “Firework” song and the dance party began.

Before we sadly had to depart I asked them to all jump for a photograph.  Craziness ensued. What a blast.  I could have stayed there all day.

My heart was full.  It was a good day!

Abidjan, Ivory Coast (Côte d’Ivoire)

When we neared port the sky was heavy with fog and the burn off from the gas towers beaconed us like sirens on a rocky shore.

The Ivory Coast gained its independence from France in 1960.  French is still its primary language however 60+ languages are spoken.  This suggests it is still quite tribal. There are two capitals – Abidjan is the economic capital (where we docked) and Yamoussoukro is the political capital.

Today was our first shore excursion with the cruise line.

It was to be a panoramic drive to the town of Grand Bassam.  Abidjan is a large city with LA like high rises on the horizon.  The traffic was utter gridlock.  Two motorcycle police escorts guided two busses like Frogger through the congestion.  At times, they closed lanes on our side and when possible had us driving in the lane of oncoming traffic. The front row seat offered the perfect amount of excitement.

Photo ops had to found between the tour notices taped to the window, a broken windshield and rear view mirrors.  Our stops were a tiny museum and two craft fairs where hungry shopkeepers begged us to take a free look.  Needless to say we lasted about 20’ at the first market and didn’t enter the second.  Other than getting to watch “life” from the bus, the tour was a bust but we understand that developing countries like this are doing the best they can to entertain us weary travelers.

I love watching the constant movement of people.  Driving, walking, selling…. The world is a buzz.  Woman are skilled at carrying their “stores” on their heads – from food to sandals. Without business license rules/laws, others just take their umbrella, stick it in the ground and set up shop!  No rules.

Interesting – babies are named by the day of their week on which they were born.  They are also given family names but their birth certificates list their weekday names.  Boys names differ from girls.

Away from the city the French colonial influence is quite evident.  The architecture of that era, the ubiquitous pale yellow paint combined with the latitude create a feeling of French Indochina.

65% of the population is Christian, 25% Muslim and the balance Traditional aka. Voodoo.  Be sure not to tick someone off or they just might make a pin doll with your image.

 

 

Banjul, The Gambia

For all you prayer warriors out there please add my stepfather, Michael, to your prayers.  He can use a healing hand.

The city Banjul is located on St Mary’s Island (Banjul Island), where the Gambia River enters the Atlantic Ocean.

The Gambia (formerly know as Gambia) is Africa’s smallest country in the continent and is nestled in by Senegal.  The river runs the entire length of the country. English is their primary language. 
For those who watched Roots it’s Kunta Kinte‘s ancestoral home. Two-thirds of the population is under the age of 30.

Their economy is mostly dependent on peanut (groundnut) production and export.

Click on photos to enlarge.

We took a bus ride into town.   Trash was everywhere and the air thick with dust from dirt roads.  It is a Muslim country and being respectful I was completely covered, from wrists to shins, in the 94 degree temperature.

The people we encountered were super sweet and friendly.  A couple woman even asked me to take their photos.

Dakar, Senegal

What an emotional day.

I got up early to meet my parents while they waited for their passports from immigration so that they could disembark the ship to fly back to the USA.  My stepfather was having health issues and they wanted to be “home” to deal with them.   I learned the day before that they had made this decision but watching it happen was so draining.  Helping them get to the taxi felt like walking the gang plank.

In the meantime, Bill had been getting sick and by the afternoon he hit the wall.

I was full of worry which didn’t do a darn bit of good but my mind “traveled” there.  I went from – Should I accompany my parents for the hour drive to the airport to make sure they get to there ok?  To – I can’t leave Bill because he’s so sick… blah, blah, blah…

It felt like the twilight zone (still does).  My stepfather’s scooter sits outside their door. It’s like they up and disappeared.  Their room is empty but their clothes are still hanging in the closet – left for me to finish packing to ship their luggage upon disembarkation.

By the end of the day my parents made it safely to the airport and got on their flight. Bill spent 2.5 hours in the medical center and returned feeling much better after treatment.

And life continues….

Mindelo, São Vicente Island, Cabo Verde

We docked in Porto Grande Bay.  310 miles off the coast of Senegal.  São Vicente is one of the smallest of ten islands (nine inhabited) referred to as Cabo Verde.  Even though the name means “green cape” the island is barren, receiving only 5” of rain per year.

Mindelo is the largest city in the archipelago and 90% of São Vicente’s 81,000 residents live in the city, half are under the age of 25.

Cabo (Cape) Verde was colonized by the Portuguese during the 15th century and gained its independence from Portugal in 1975.

The islands popped out of the ocean via volcanic rock some 40-50 million years ago.

Click to enlarge photos.

It’s getting warmer as we head further south.  On this bright day fishermen a long the shore line were busy cleaning and carving fish.  Each working with a different variety. This man below was scaling his fish using a tin can with holes poked through the bottom.  Genius!

The large open air seafood market was not real busy by the time we got there.  However, sidewalk vendors selling fish and small amounts of vegis seemed to gather a crowd.

From the turquoise water with bright white sandy shores to the candy colored buildings from the flats to the tops of the hills, this island was a pleasant stop on our way to Africa.

 

Arrecife, Lanzarote, Spain

IFE, Lanzarote, spainArrecife – Spanish for reef – referencing the volcanic rock formations in the coastal water.  Part of the Canary Islands.  This one called Lanzarote.

Our last stop in Spain.  We’re west of Southern Morocco  on an island in the Atlantic Ocean and no where near mainland Spain.

The cruise write up about Arrecife – “The sights are scare yet interesting…. Its most notable quality is that it’s a working town that earns its living from something other than tourism”.  Sounds perfect!

The walk to town took us through a large marina full of sail boats and over lava rock bridges .  The tide low and little pongas tipped to their side waiting for the water to lift them up.

The volcanic rock is visible all around the shoreline – from the dark formations in the water to the bridges, steps and landscaping.

Most buildings suffer from benign neglect but the ones which received a coat of paint sure stood out.  The white walls and colorful doors pop. It’s a little part Greece, Mexico, the Caribbean and Spain!  Laid back and chill.

 

 

 

 

 

Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Spain

After Cádiz we had a very windy day at sea.  So much so the upper outside decks were closed.

Next stop – Las Palmas – capital of Gran Canaria Island.  It rests about 93 miles west of the Moroccan coast.   According to a study by the director of climatology at Syracuse University, Las Palmas enjoys “the best climate in the world”.  High five to that.  It was the first day since we left home that it was warm and the sun was shining brightly!

We cabbed it to the historic town of Vegueta, a UNESCO World Heritage site, to drool over the beautiful architecture. Colorful buildings with wrought iron balconies lined the narrow cobblestone streets – a little Merida, Mexico déjà vu.

Surfers and sunbathers also enjoyed the beautiful day.

* Update on Notre Dame from and article that Bill read this morning.  The church is 860 years old. 2,000 artisans have worked on the restoration at the cost of $760,000,000.00.  The work is expected to be completed in 2026.

Cádiz, Spain

We boarded Oceania’s Riviera cruise ship out of Barcelona on a partly cloudy day.  It’s small by comparison with 1250 passengers.  However, it feels huge compared to our last Oceania cruise that had only 690 passengers.

Our room is palatial – not much smaller than the tiny house we moved out of two years ago.  Last time we had an inside cabin not much larger than the bed.  This time we have a balcony and there’s enough room to throw a party!

My mother and stepfather are on board and just down the hall.

The first day was a sea day.  Relaxing and invigorating at the same time.  It felt great to get back in the gym after being away for 2 weeks.

The first port of call was Cadiz, Spain.  The historic town was literally out our balcony door.

Cadiz was founded by the Phoenicians some 3,000 years ago making it one of the oldest cities in Western Europe.

In 1980 the remains of a Roman theater were discovered and partially excavated.  Said to be built during the 1st century BC.  It is claimed to be one of the largest theater ever built in the Roman Empire.  I think someone with Napoleon syndrome made this statement and the tourism board ran with it.

It was great fun exploring the narrow streets that just oozed “Spain”.  Tapas and a caña (beer) at a street side cafe made it oh so perfect. The temperature was ten degrees warmer and the rain was finally gone.

Un día perfecto.

 

Hola Barcelona

A quick flight from Paris to Barcelona, and unfortunately, a quick stay también.  Two nights and one full day.  This the gateway to a cruise down the western coast of Africa.

It’s a love story.  Our son moved to Spain 16 plus years ago, met a gal, and fell in love (ultimately married and had twins).  We visited them, soon after they met, and fell in love with Spain (and our daughter-in-law).  Since then we’ve toured the country many times, walked the Camino de Santiago Frances and Portugués and lived in Salamanca for four months where I went to Spanish Immersion language school.

Click photos to enlarge.

Stepping off the plane felt like coming home. Discussions about moving here have surfaced many times.

The hotel was located on La Rambla – the heartbeat of Barcelona. The area near the hotel is under construction – an eight yearproject with three more years to go.

A progress check at the Sagrada de Familia was first on the list.. It’s never ending.  Even though it was rainy and the sky heavy with clouds the stained glass windows radiated the minuscule amount of exterior light into a brilliant blast of color.  ¡Espectacular!.

My mother and stepfather had arrived in Barcelona the day before us and with them I got to celebrate my birthday downing tapas and vino.

La Boqueria is a favorite stop:

The sun magically appeared on the morning of our departure giving us time to soak in its renewing rays (nothing like the cold, dark sky to make one appreciate the heat from the sun) before we boarded Oceania’s Riviera cruise ship headed south.

!Hasta pronto!

 

Bonjour Paris

Thank goodness we were not seated by a window upon landing in Paris for the sky was so thick with clouds that the ground was not visible and I would have had a heart attack anticipating a plane crash.

It was cold, rainy and windy but it was Paris so who cares.  Our arrival day was marked by the ringing of the church bells at Notre Dame.  The first day since the fire in April 2019.  Restoration crews are still hard at work.  The church doors will open for mass on December 8th.

Click photos to enlarge.

We bundled up and headed out to find the Institut Catholique de Paris where Bill went to a semester of law school in 1973.  That was easy to find but the hotel where he resided was a bit trickier..

The Mercure hotel in the Latin District is a couple blocks from the Seine where our double bed fit snuggly in the room and the tiny two foot shower’s rain head shower was so low that Bill had to stand towards the corner to be able to stand erect.

We had visited Versailles many years ago in the summer when everything was in full bloom, and the weather was perfect.  This time it was cold and a haunting blanket of fog hung low reminding us that winter had arrived.  Nothing had changed on the inside except this time the creaking of the wooden parquet floors, like my back in yoga, resonated in the background as we and hundreds of our new friends toured the ornate rooms.

On the outside the statues were bundled up, the fountains turned off,  and the fall leaves hung on by a thread.  The lawns were still bright green and majesty of the whole place loomed large.  It made us think of what it would have been like to live there in the winter with no heat. Brrr. The vast staff necessary to maintain the grounds and buildings could house a city.  Magnificent.

Still heading down reminiscent row Bill booked dinner at Lucas Carton – a Michelin star restaurant where our good friend George took Bill 51 years ago.  The interior decor had changed completely – no more gold leafing.  A tasting menu had been added to the menu – both parties had to agree to the same.  No a la carte for one. The oldest staff member has been there roughly 25 years – no one employed long enough for Bill to reminisce about the good old days.

The Eiffel Tower added diamond like sparkling lights that popped up at random times making this beacon on the horizon even more spectacular.

From one cafe to the next, we wore down the treads on our shoes as we walked around the city and enjoyed every minute of it.

Au revoir and merci beaucoup Paris.

The opera to see Mayerling.

59 Rivoli – artist loft

 

 

T-Minus 3 Days and We’re Outta Here…

Where has the year gone?

In the spring we had the privilege of going to Guyana, Brazil, French Guiana, Suriname, Trinidad, and Grenada after flying back east to see our youngest son and family.  It was a whirlwind trip.  One that was postponed from last year and well worth the wait.

On our return, and by the grace of God, I was able to hop on a plane to southern California to be with my dad before he passed away.  I’m forever grateful. The smile on his face when he saw me will forever be imprinted in my memories, and the time spent with my stepmother was invaluable.  God is good.

I was home for a few days, then off to Montana to see the family. I returned home to regroup, grab Bill, and head back to Montana to help our eldest son and his family pack up their house and drive to Georgia.  We were in two vehicles towing two trailers with our twin four-year-old granddaughters and two dogs. Bill and I rode shotgun, switching back and forth between cars, playing cruise directors for the girls.  It was a great trip!

I tallied up domestic air miles, going back and forth to the East Coast to see the kids. We rocked out to Lionel Richie and Garth Brooks in Las Vegas and vacationed in Lake Tahoe for several days. I worked the primary and general elections as a poll worker (tomorrow will be insane).  Bill took a tour down memory lane as he celebrated his 60th high school reunion with a bunch of “young at heart” old people, and the rest of the time has been spent volunteering, going to yoga, and weight training. Picking up weight training is my meager attempt at sticking my finger in “getting old’s” eye.  Bill said no to weight training, opting for copious hours working in the yard.  He thinks he’s 30!

First stop, Paris.  To reminisce and indulge a bit…

See you across the pond.

Hello Grenada – Island of Spice

A quick 35 minute flight from Trinidad.  Grenada is an island (21 miles long by 12 miles wide) in the West Indies and an independent commonwealth of the UK.

It’s our vacation from our vacation.  Three days of vegetating by the clear, warm turquoise waters of the eastern Caribbean Sea.

Dreadlocks in my space!

See ya in the USA….

See ya South America – off to Trinidad

Paramaribo, Suriname is an hour from the airport.   Our flight was at 5:00 am so we booked a stay in a guesthouse 10 minutes from the airport.

We arrived after dark and upon exiting the van it felt as if we were dropped off in Vietnam.  Hot and muggy.

Our room – perfectly frigid, basic and spotless.  The bathroom down the hall was a stifling 130 degrees without any air movement. It appeared to have 4 rooms but were the only guests.

A very sweet husband and wife team run the guesthouse although only Sonja got her name above the door.

Sonja’s husband said he’d be ready and waiting  at 2:45 am to drive us to the airport.  Why so early?  Of course knowing I had to get up that early my body decided to stay awake the whole, short night.  UGH.

The airport terminal building was a large heavy plastic tent.  Two airlines had flights out that early in the morning.  We thought we’d be the first to arrive but were amongst the last.

We were headed to Trinidad nicknamed Land of the Hummingbirds .  An island 6.8 miles off the coast of Venezuela – the 5th largest is the West Indies.

After gaining an hour back in time we arrived at our hotel while everyone else was still sleeping.  Thank goodness our room was ready.  After a quick breakfast we headed to bed.  It was raining, we were dead tired and why not?

This was only a quick one night trip. 

The hotel was next to the 270 acre Queen’s Park Savannah where stunning mansions were built between 1902 and 1910,  known as the Magnificent Seven.  Something I wanted to see.

The rain paused and the clouds parted mid-afternoon so we grabbed the opportunity to walk to the park.  Fortunately, I left my good camera in the room.  About a mile out and after having seen the homes the sky was darkening.  Hoping to get back before the rain fell was wishful thinking.  Crossing the treeless park looked to be faster than continuing around the perimeter of the park.  It mattered not because five minutes later the sky opened up and bawled its eyes out.  Saturating us in minutes.  Bill’s umbrella and my raincoat didn’t stand a chance.

The rain was so abundant the streets became rivers – Bill had on his flip flops.  We arrived back at the hotel 20 minutes later absolutely soaked to the bone.  The front desk staff brought us a towel and put the wet floor sign down after we sloppily made a path to the elevator.

We wrung out our clothes, took a warm shower and headed to the covered rooftop bar. 

Cocktails, snacks and a few hands of cards closed the day.

That was our stay in Trinidad.

Back in Suriname

Back to Paramaribo, Suriname to finish what we started.  We met a great group of people on the border crossing boat who all spoke English.  A lady who currently lives in French Guiana having escaped Vietnam in 1975, a man from Laos and another from Cambodia all going to Suriname for the Easter weekend.

Like the masochists we are we decided to walk in the heat of the day to the Arya Diwaker Hindu Temple – a mere 5 plus miles. 


We passed through the bustling Central Market where herbs and dried greens were stacked high and sold for medicinal purposes.

Having been warned that the women shopkeepers didn’t like their photographs taken, I took heed and asked a gal for permission to take photos of her goods, promising to exclude her.  She kindly said yes and oh what a stir that caused.  Another shopkeeper came running up to cuss me out.  In my best English I told her to take it up with the person who gave me permission.  Bam.

We took a boat trip up the Suriname and Commewinje Rivers that led us to Nieuw-Amsterdam, Rust-Werk, Johan-Margaretha and Plantage Frederiksdorp.  Like visiting the landlocked country of Eswatini (Swaziland) last year – it felt a bit like forced tourism.  I’ll be kind and just say…

We enjoyed being on the water. The breeze from the boat’s movement cooled the pools of sweat on our bodies.  We played Where’s Waldo with the frolicking dolphins that live in the brackish waters.  Our boat weaved and bobbed in the swift river current.  It was the highlight of the day.

Plantage Frederiksdorp looked charming on the internet.  It’s an old plantation turned hotel/resort.  Our last stop.  A two hour stop!  UGH! Two hours.  It was suggested that we relax by the pool.  Apparently good and relaxing for people with no sense of smell!! The moldy, black, stagnant water sitting in the canals around the pool and bar reeked so badly that I had to hold my breath and briskly walk back towards the entrance to get some relief.  Poor Bill was also gagging but wondered where the fire was.  I didn’t want to have to take a breath until I was clear of the area.   Under the shade of a big tree we did relax and read.

Below the surface and unseen, drug and human trafficking are evil problem in these adjoining countries – a gateway to the United States and Europe.

Our take away from Suriname is the people.  Very warm and friendly.  We loved that, from our point of view, many cultures communed without animosity.   Our boat captain said it still a work in progress…

We’re super glad that we explored this part of South America.  It’s not on the bucket list for most Americans but we’re honored for having been the few.

From Bill:  Guyana in indigenous lingo means “Land of water” and included two additional land areas north and south prior to colonization. There is much water. Basically one paved road runs from Venezuela to Brazil on the coast where more than 50% of each country’s population lives.

The populations are very diverse, mostly from importing slaves, or post-slavery, “indentured workers” from Java, India and somehow, China. Its a bit strange to see some of these nationalities on horseback and tractors, or to hear unusual languages spoken by differing nationalities (e.g. Chinese speaking  French). However, the dominant nationality is African, presumably because there were more slaves than slave masters.

Cayenne and Kourou, French Guiana

Back to Cayenne to our little apartment.  It was actually great if we only could have moved it to a different location.

*click on photos to enlarge

French Guiana has a strong Creole culture.  They speak French and Creole – very few speak English.  It’s part of France, henceforth the E.U. and uses the Euro.  The locals feel like France’s ugly stepchild and are quite bitter about France taking the gold and oil profit from the region and sending it back to France.

Per Wikipedia – The first French establishment was recorded in 1503, but they did not establish a durable presence until colonists founded Cayenne in 1643, were forced to leave by Amerindian attacks and then finally established a permanent settlement in 1664. They lost it again to the Dutch, English and Anglo-Portuguese until 1814 when it returned to French control.

After France ceded Louisiana to the United States in 1804, it developed Guiana as a penal colony, establishing a network of camps and penitentiaries along the coast where prisoners from Metropolitan France were sentenced to forced labour…. Approximately 56,000 prisoners were sent to Devil’s Island.

Per Britannica:  In 1852 Napolean III decreed that convicts with sentences of more than seven years were to be sent to French Guiana, and Cayenne became known as the city of the condemned. The prisons were closed in 1945.

Cayenne is hilly and charming as heck with old French colonial wooden houses and swaying palm trees resting between the Cayenne and Mabury rivers.

Worse than the large wide river in Oiapoque the narrow rivers near Cayenne completely stop navigation at low tide.  The boats look like shipwrecks from a storm.  I can feel the hurl rising in my throat when our cabbie talks about the local fresh fish sold in the streets of Cayenne.

The ruins of the hilltop Fort Cépérou allow for beautiful long views of the city, river and beyond.

An hour west of Cayenne and heading back towards Suriname is the town of Kourou.  Our next stop for a couple days.

Kourou is home to the home of the Guiana Space Center.   The main spaceport of France and the European Space Agency. 

According to space.com:  The French government began launching satellites there in 1964, and offered to share it with the European Space Agency when the latter was created in 1975.  ESA contributes two-thirds of the spaceport’s annual budget every year. The spaceport has also been used for launches for the United States, Japan, Canada, India and Brazil, among other countries.

Like many launch sites worldwide, Kourou is located near the equator. Its latitude is 5 degrees 3 minutes north, ESA says, which makes it a good location to launch missions that will operate at or near the equator. That’s because the Earth’s rotation acts as an extra source of propulsion for the rocket as it brings the satellite into space, saving fuel and money. It also allows for satellites to be heavier since less fuel is required.

Off the coast of Kourou is the famous Devils’ Island part of the three Îles du Salut, or the Salvation Islands known from 1852 to 1953  as “the Green Hell”.   A penal colony housed more than 80,000 men (only 30,000 survived).  The movie starring Steve McQueen tells the story of Henri Charrière, the author of Papillon, and his efforts to get away.

L’ile St. Joseph and Ile Royal are open to the public.  An hour and a half boat ride from Kourou.  Devil’s Island is permanently closed.   

The coconut population – in the palms and on the ground was innumerable.  At a quick glance the faded piles of coconuts looked like skulls. The islands were stunning, a stark contrast to the horrors of the past.

It reminded me of Alcatraz in San Francisco, California and Robben Island in South Africa.

It was hot and humid!

After French Guiana we headed back to Suriname to spend a bit more time.  I’m not a big fan of backtracking but flying out of French Guiana is insane – flights are only to Paris and Martinique.

Oiapoque, Brazil

A shared van showed up right on time.  It’s quite a remarkable system that we’ve experienced in Guyana, Suriname and now French Guiana.  These drivers pick up passengers at their homes, hotels, etc and drop them back off as well – there’s no main terminal like a bus company.

We rode from Cayenne to St. George’s (French border).  The only other passenger was a Polish guy who spoke no English but recited all the countries where he has traveled in the world.  The list was exceptionally long.  He only possessed a tiny, half full backpack that could hardly hold another set of clothes his body odor confirming such a thought.

The shoulder-less roads were windy and the ground undulating with the rise and fall of the jungle.  Wild banana and papaya  trees lined the road, as well as an occasional rusted, burnt out car with its tires missing.  Do they not have means to remove them or this is a public service announcement?  It did give me pause nonetheless.

Our French and Portuguese speaking driver whizzed along breaking for the one lane bridges that sprang up forcing the cooperation of drivers in both directions.

At the border we thought we’d cross the Oyapock River by boat but we signaled the need for a passport stamp, confusing the driver.  He drove us to the police station just before the entrance of the Franco-Brazilian Binational Bridge.

This bridge was finished in 2011 but sat unused for 6 years, citing problems on the Brazilian side.  It was finally opened due to pressure from French Guiana.  It’s the first bridge between French Guiana and a neighboring country.  Since Brazil has not built a customs facility the bridge is only for personal vehicles- no commerce.  It’s only open for 4  hours in the morning and 4 hours in the afternoon and closed on weekends.

The police at the French Guiana border waved his hand in the air when he realized we were only going into Brazil for hours, signaling that we didn’t need a passport stamp.  He kindly called us a taxi and we were on our way.

The immigration office on the Brazilian side was in downtown Oiapoque.  When we explained that we’d only be there for hours the English speaking immigration officer laughed and said he’d stamp our passport as a souvenir.

With his suggestion for the best restaurant we parted ways with our Polish world traveling friend and headed for lunch.  The sleepy little town didn’t offer much so we filled our bellies and strolled.

Fishermen in all these countries net fish from boats on the big rivers and ocean. Some hang their nets in the river and check them every 5-6 hours. Some boats go to sea for 14 days and only have ice to preserve their catch – no refrigeration.

Oiapoque sits on the edge of the Amazon basin, and looks like a thousand other small river towns all the west to Peru – one story wooden buildings, dusty dirt streets, mostly indigenous people, folksy crafts for sale and all the action is along the river

The low tide renders the boats useless in the brackish waters at the river’s edge.  Several fishermen were working on their nets while others were just hanging out.

Per Wikipedia: At the beginning of the 20th century, the village of Oiapoque hosted a political and criminal concentration camp called Clevelândia. In 1922 an agricultural outpost called the Núcleo Colonial Cleveland was transformed into a camp. Many Brazilian anarchist militants were sentenced to hard labour here. Of the 946 prisoners interned at Clevelândia between 1924 and 1927, 491 died. Many of the survivors returned to São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro sickened with malaria

Leaving Oiapoque we crossed the border at the river’s edge since immigration wasn’t an issue.  One of the passengers in our boat was a local English speaking lawyer/musician who relayed stories about the area.

Silver dollar pancake sized raindrops pelted us for a time on our ride back to Cayenne – alternating between deluges and sunshine.