Tag Archives: French Guiana

Cayenne and Kourou, French Guiana

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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

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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.

Oiapoque in the distance

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.

Suriname to French Guiana

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The wooden long boat ride from the Suriname border to French Guiana across the Maroni River lasted 15 minutes.

We had read that we needed to be sure to go to the immigration office at the police station on the French Guiana side because most boats cross further down the river and bypass this process.  The assumption was that there would be waiting taxis to take us to the capital, Cayenne.

Yeah, well, not so much…  Thank goodness the female, French  immigration officer spoke English and she guided us in a specific direction where we might find one.

Note to self…. don’t ever pack your Tumi suitcase for an international trip again – never, ever!  I don’t even like my Tumi.  It was a backup for Charleston and used very little.  It was the smallest suitcase, which was important.  The wheels are tiny and the pull handle is flimsy.

I had to pull that stupid suitcase down the bumpy, gravelly, pothole filled road.  We couldn’t use the safer earthen walking path that paralleled the street because I had my Tumi! Bill brought our old work horse Eagle Creek roller that has 28 years and several trips around the globe on it. You can’t ruin that one and it even turns into a backpack.

The area started out quasi industrial then turned residential /commercial.  There was a group of guys hanging out at an apartment complex.  One popped up and asked if we needed a ride.  Of course we did but Safety 101 says “heck no, we’re just out for a stroll”.  Bill and I looked at each other trying to telepathically decide how to answer.  Yes. We need a ride.  Follow me.

We walked towards the shore (good sign) where he introduced us to Kinglal – Bob Marley with 30 years on him – wearing a long knitted cap with his beard tucked behind his t-shirt and sporting a yellow, green and red polo.

We followed him to the shore where the “non-immigration” boats arrive.  What a racket.  He showed us his van and asked us to wait as he had two more passengers arriving.

Kinglal was a man in charge – completely engrossed in the busy situation unfolding – passengers getting on and off the boats, suitcases and bags of goods going to and fro, at the same time he’s checking for his passengers and people are trying to visit with him.

One passenger finally showed and the other should arrive anytime.  Wait – just wait.  An hour and a half later and thoroughly ticked off – stood up by a client – he loaded us up, drove 30 feet, stopped and told us get out and get in another van.  He grumbled about how much time he had wasted – blah, blah, blah….

Off we went.  Rolling hills and jungle for three bouncy (van’s shocks were shot) hours before we showed up at a grungy apartment complex where we’d be staying. There were no hotels available (a downside to traveling without specific plans) and this was Plan B.

We had no local money,  no one spoke English and the neighborhood looked sketchy.  Bill said he didn’t want to be out in the dark and the sun was beginning to set.  Down the street were the Golden Arches.  Assuming they’d take a credit card we headed that way and yeah – we ate there.

A Chinese market (that would be a tiny market owned by the Chinese – between French Guiana and Suriname they’ve got a monopoly) was next to the apartment.  We ventured in to see if we use our credit card to purchase food.  The gal agreed to let us to use our debit card.  Score!  We were able to get water, snacks, and wine.

Since we weren’t overly thrilled with our accommodations, we decided to catch a ride to the border town of Oiapoque in Brazil the next day. Just a day trip. It looked like it would be a great way to fill the day until we could change our sleeping situation.

Guyana, Suriname, French Guiana and Brazil are contiguous.  We’re moving East and we’ll have to backtrack later on.

We spend the evening researching the process, found a driver and headed to Brazil.