Tag Archives: Travel

Abidjan, Ivory Coast (Côte d’Ivoire)

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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.

American flag
Cassava

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.

Melting metal
Endless satellite dishes

 

 

Banjul, The Gambia

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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.

Mindelo, São Vicente Island, Cabo Verde

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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.

This portrait was chipped out of the concrete.

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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…

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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.

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 – the Smallest Nation in South America

The immigration process in Balate, Suriname was quick but the line that led to the counter was long.  We were the last to go through.

The van driver in Guyana said his brother would be waiting for us on the other side along with the same passengers.  Well that ship sailed and we were ushered into a small rickety non-van.  The only seats available – one in the second row and one in the pull down 3rd row next to the luggage.  I was snug as a bug and comfortable.  My view was hindered by the crusty filth on the windows, which bottled water and toilet paper couldn’t clean.  At least I had the luggage to lean on.

*click on photos to enlarge

** my dirty window is below

Filthy window

This part of the drive lasted 3.5 hours.  The young father of two sitting next to Bill started talking to us near the end of the trip.  He is an entrepreneur making and selling natural soaps, and edible food enhancement oils.  He spoke Dutch, English, and Creole. He’d been to the USA with a  UN learning program a few years back for 5 months.  Quite remarkable.

90% of Suriname is covered in rainforest.  The highest proportion of any country in the world per Wikipedia.

As early as the 4th millennium BC Suriname was inhabited by the indigenous.  The British arrived in the 16th century and then the Dutch took control in the late 17th century.  At this time the sugar industry was huge and plantation owners imported and used African slaves until it was abolished in 1863 – then indentured servants were brought over from Asia – the Dutch East Indies and British India.  In 1954 the Netherlands took control and finally, in 1975 Suriname gained its independence.

It is the only country outside of Europe that speaks Dutch.

Dutch

Our destination- Paramaribo – the capital.  Located on the banks of the Suriname River and a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Suriname is one of the more diverse nations globally with no one ethnic group forming a majority.  Maroon, Amerindian, Chinese, Hindus, Javanese, Creole, Dutch live and worship side by side.  Add to that a mosque adjacent to a synagogue in Parbo (the local name for Paramaribo, as well as the popular local beer).

On Sunday Chinese and Javanese markets open up selling fruits, vegis and their national food dishes.

Downtown, the colonial Dutch architecture is stunning.  If I squint I glimpse Charleston.  Block after block of tall and proud homes line the streets.

 Crews were setting up for a huge Hindu celebration called Phagwah which was to take place the afternoon we were leaving.  A German singing sensation named The Gentleman (reggae music) and his entourage checked in our hotel with quiet fanfare – one of the headliners for the celebration.

Due to hotel availability, Easter, immigration office hours, etc we decided to head east to French Guiana allowing us to return to Suriname without interruption.

The process for getting to French Guiana was much like the last border crossing.  Land – river -land.  It took 2.5 hours by van to Albina which rests on the Maroni River that separates Suriname and French Guiana.

The ride was stunning.  There was a single lane in each direction with no traffic and not many buildings – it was mostly jungle. Goats and cows grazed in the side of the road.  Where there wasn’t jungle wide canals lined the road separating farmland from the beach on one side and jungle on the other.

As we neared French Guiana the iron rich ground gave way to sandy white soil.

A new high school has been built closer to Albina and children who once took a 2 hour bus ride to Paramaribo for a 7:00 am start time now get to sleep in.

It looks as though, in these three countries, that there is one road, north and south, two lane and paved.  Virtually any other road is dirt, except for the one to the gold mines.

They all seem to have some agriculture and industry between the shore and the jungle/mountains. There are livestock and cowboys on horses, but they don’t look like South American Gauchos.  The sky was gray from burning the jungle.

This immigration process took a whole minute – fastest one ever!

It was a short walk to the river where we boarded a long skinny wooden boat which delivered us to Saint Laurent du Maroni, French Guiana in 15 minutes and our next adventure begins….

Guyana – Land of Many Waters

I wondered who would be on our flight from Miami to Guyana since Guyana is not a big tourist destination.

Lined up, one after another were millennial aged guys sporting beards, baseball caps and wearing either a polo shirt or a checkered button up.  The lack of women  was noticeable.

Over the past decade, Guyana has found huge amounts of oil and gas under its coastal waters.  We assume the guys are part of the workforce or there’s an international log rolling competition in the country.

We landed at the Cheddi Jagan International Airport about 10:15 pm.  Research showed that the closest hotels to the airport were in the capital city of Georgetown an hour’s drive away (for a point of reference later on, we paid $50.00 for the taxi ride to our hotel).

I made up in my mind that since there were no hotels along the way it had to be jungle. Not at all. The main road was lined with commercial buildings, restaurants and homes.

Compared to our home town it was bustling.  Major businesses were closed but mom and pops were open and active.

The line of traffic heading towards the airport was steady and our lane was clogged with construction vehicles.  The taxi driver said two more flights were due in.

*click on photos to enlarge

View from our hotel
View from our hotel
Hotel

The capital of Georgetown sits at the mouth of the Demerara River and the Atlantic Ocean with approximately 235,000 inhabitants.   Named the Garden City of the Caribbean.

A British colony was established in 1781 and named for King George.  In subsequent years it was renamed and ruled by the French and Dutch.  Reverting back to Georgetown after it was recaptured by the British in 1812.

It’s the 3rd smallest and one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, and the only English speaking country in South America.

Per Britannica – Georgetown is the chief commercial and manufacturing centre of Guyana. It exports sugar, rice, and tropical fruits, as well as timber, balata, bauxite, gold, and diamonds from the Guyanese hinterland. Large sugar refineries are located in the city.

Per Paige – open, stagnant, garbage filled and extremely smelly canals/drainage ditches sadly line all the streets.

The town is full of beautiful, wooden colonial houses suffering from benign neglect.   

The area closet to our hotel (the receptionist’s name was Nevada) was industrial with lots of commercial and government buildings, as well as the U.S. and Canadian embassies.

Why are churches often locked up?

Our personal favorite was exploring the Stabroek Market  which sits on the river’s edge and opened in 1792,  bustling with the sounds of Creole rising above the hum of money exchange.

As we ventured away from the main downtown corridor fenced-in eclectic homes popped up like bunnies on viagra.  Most are made of wood and some raised off the ground with stilts.

It’s visually obvious that Georgetown and beyond rest below sea level.  Now – the dry season water fills the ditches and canals.  I’m afraid to think of what the rainy season brings.

It averaged 87 degrees and according to our weather app felt like 97 with humidity hanging around 70 percent.

For the same cost as an hour taxi ride from the airport we hired a driver to take us out of the country and deliver us to our hotel in Paramaribo, Suriname.  A mere 12 1/2 hour journey…..

It could have been an hour and a half flight but we would have missed the journey.

It began at 4:00 am in a mini van with 5 other people for a 3 hour ride to the ferry which took us to the border of Suriname.

The Guyana countryside was fascinating.  The main road was lined with homes (all fenced) with a wide canal in their front yards.  Wooden walking bridges allowed access.

*These photos were taken from the car (except for the first two).  The driver made us keep the window closed because the A/C was on.

Every so often a portion of a canal was full of the most beautiful, large lilies.  Horses and burros pulled long carts with construction goods.  Palm trees swayed tall on the horizon and every half a mile or so a new sign popped up announcing the town’s name.  On both sides of the border there was farming, felt like Iowa with large harvesting equipment, but it was primarily rice.

The ferry immigration process was rather quick and a two hour wait for the ferry allowed time to curl up on a bench and catch some zzzz’s.

It took 45 minutes as an old makeshift tug boat pushed us across the Corentyne River to the border of Suriname.

We’ve added Guyana to our future travel plans where we’ll hop on a small plane and travel inland to the jungle – one of the last untouched and pristine in the world.

Catch you on the other side of the river…

The Start of a Big Travel Year 2024

And we’re off…… flying toward the sunrise.

It’s been a quick 9 months (say those words to a pregnant woman) since we returned from our last international voyage as we made our best effort to follow the Silk Road – ending with a Spanish decompression where tapas/pinchos y copas de vino ruled the day.

A South American journey was scheduled last year before heading to the Central

Asia when covid knocked on our flimsy door and forced us to cancel.

Since then we’ve bebopped the USA visiting kids/grandbabies while somehow filling every moment in between. I don’t know if it’s keeping us younger or wearing us out! Either way, it’s etched a long road maps on my face. Tee hee.

For the next few days we’ll fuel up on grandbaby hugs before heading to Guyana.

Stay tuned….

 

Heading West and By the Numbers

A four hour train ride took us from Pamplona to Madrid.  We got lost in the mesmerizing landscape grinning every time a small village with white stone buildings entered the scene.  Lush were the hillsides and fields of agriculture.

We walked by the Atocha Station a couple of times while in Madrid but discovered a lush garden inside after departing the train.It was an easy listless day – train and then a taxi to the hotel near the airport for our flight back to the USA the following morning.

It was an eight and a half hour flight to Newark where we were to have a quick layover and be one our way to Charlotte.  Upon landing lightening crashed in around us and the plane stood still on the tarmac as the airport closed.  An omen.  A half hour later the plane was cleared to head to the gate.

Unbeknownst to us the airline industry and particularly United was in melt down mode.  It was utter chaos. Cancelled flights and stranded people.  Our connecting flight to Charlotte a victim.

It was 5:00 pm.  A United agent told us it would be days before any  seats would be available. “Check online.” The internet confirmed the worst.

We had places to be!  The following day was our grandson’s first birthday and our son had taken time off of work – we didn’t have days…. who has days???

Quick change of plans – we rented a car and headed to Charlotte driving until dark.  It was 1:30 am Madrid time by the time we stopped for the night somewhere in Maryland.

We arrived at our destination 21 hours late but in time to celebrate.

We visited family, broke bread, raced cars and played with our grand babies. 

United continued its melt down and we feared we’d not make it home to Nevada as scheduled.  It all worked out – both flights harmoniously were delayed and we made it home.Now we shift through months of mail, dust off the house and get ready for summer.  We head out again in 8 days.

Our trip by the numbers:

13 flights, 1 cruise ship, a few boat rides, multiple trains, lots of car rides,  one tram – 34 beds and 18 Countries: South Africa, Eswatini, Lesotho, Mozambique, Madagascar, Comoros, French Comoros, Seychelles, Omán, EAU, Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Spain.

I wore everything that I packed, left one shirt (on purpose) and threw out 2 that I ruined.  I way overpacked even though we just had carry on.  Another lesson learned (again).  Way less is even more!

Thanks for following along!

 

Pamplona, Spain

The five kilometer walled “old city” of Pamplona (Spanish) and/or Iruña (Basque) is well preserved. Founded in 74 BC by Roman military and political leader, Pompey.  Due to its strategic location it was fortified right way.

* Click to enlarge photos

The Camino de Santiago Frances meanders through town.  It was on our third day of the Camino that took us through town 10 years ago. Through being the key word.  No time to explore – we had miles ahead of us.

Bill partied here one night 50 years ago and was determined to find the bar so we booked a week’s stay at an Airbnb to allow us the time to investigate.  He didn’t remember the name or the location so we drank or way through town trying to figure out which one held Bill’s barstool.

Our apartment was on Estafeta Street right above a popular restaurant/bar. The street is renowned for its 300 meter path where six bulls and thousands of crazy masochists converge for the running of the bulls during the San Fermín festival.

In 11 days, our balcony and all the ones up and down the street, now quiet and unoccupied, will be full of onlookers peering down to the mayhem below. More than 1.5 million people will fill the town.

Preparations are under way.  Stores advertise white and red in honor of the celebration – some empty store fronts are shored up with painted murals and fencing has been installed to keep people out of areas. It’s hard to fathom the masses for the festival.

We spent three days on portions of the Camino.  The first day we followed the arrows to Cizur Menór and it only took 20 minutes to get lost.  I had to pull out the GPS to get oriented. The next time we hiked in the opposite direction.  It was like Where’s Waldo trying to find the trail makers.  We taxied to Alto del Perdón and walked back – backwards on the trail again!  Yes, we got lost but not for long.

Searching for arrows that guide the Way and not knowing where they lead was thrilling.  We talked about a reunion walk in the future.  We’ll see how that pans out.  One thing we learned is that we’re not as strong as we used to be.  Super light packs and a few extra days to walk would be essential.

Pamplona pays homage to Ernest Hemingway. A city that he loved and wrote about in his 1926 book The Sun Also Rises.  Some of his favorite haunts still stand today attracting tourists and local alike.

San Fermín

We gobbled up as many pinchos as possible and tried to soak in every ounce of Spain as possible.

Hemingway’s book is downloaded on my Kindle to read as we head west – going to let Pamplona linger a bit longer…

 

La Próxima Ciudad – San Sebastián, Spain

We got up early to catch a 6:30 taxi.  The previous night we tried to hire one for the morning and the driver assured us there would be lots of them waiting.  No pasa nada. Don’t worry.

All there were was a bunch of drunk and tired party goers.  We had allowed ourselves 35 minutes for a 10 minute drive and one guy told us he had been waiting an hour.  Panic!  There are no ride share companies in town.  A taxi was it.

The guy was exhausted after going to three parties in three different barrios where he drank and danced the night away.  He said he had a great time as he tried to keep his eyelids open.

I expressed my concern that we’d miss our train and he kindly offered to share his taxi.  Twenty minutes later our chariot arrived.  The remaining people who got there long before us freaked out that we were getting in a cab out of turn.  It was explained and all was well with the world.

Bill tried to give our cabbie friend money and it was turned down with a – it’s for Spain and from Salamanca! ¡Buen viaje!  He certainly saved the day.

The 1.5 hour train took us to Valladolid where we switched trains for a 4 hour journey to San Sebastián – also known as Donostia/San Sebastián (Basque and Spanish).

Famous for their pintxos/pinchos (Basque/Spanish). The Spanish dictionary defines a pincho like ‘a portion of food served, sometimes with a cocktail stick, as an aperitif’. The word “pincho” comes from the verb “to pinchar” which means “to pierce”. The pincho is normally served on a piece of bread or other, served usually with a cocktail stick which you can eat in one or two bites.

* Reality is that it takes multiple bites to finish off a pincho! The person who wrote the definition must have been famished and unless you’re a glutton two of them are a meal!

The train ride was stunning.  A reminder of all the things we absolutely love about Spain.  Lush, forested mountains, quaint villages, rolling farm land and fields of vegetables inter-dispersed with thousand poppies.  Often it feels like we’ve stepped into a fairy tale.

We had been to San Sebastián many years ago for just a few hours when Carlos and Isabel took us on a field trip from their hometown about a half hour away for pinchos and a beautiful afternoon lunch.

San Sebastián is on the coast of the Bay of Biscay and 12 miles from the French border.  The Basque Country.  Where the Urumea River runs along side the town and spills into the bay.

*click photos to enlarge

“We could live here.” rolled off our tongues. The old architecture, the beaches, the long La Concha beach walkway, the forested lush hills, pinchos and bars.  I thought I heard Bill said that but upon reflection I think I imagined it.

Our VRBO was in a much quieter area than Salamanca. The bars across the street closed at 9:00 pm.  Yes!

Everything was new to us so it was enjoyable exploring.  A historical city on the beach was a new kind of perfect.  A best kind of yin and yang.

Much to my surprise at Playa de Zurriola in Gros (across the river) nudity was a thing.  This isn’t a hidden beach.  It’s right there!  Wide open for all eyes to see.  Yes, they were kinda on the corner but you had to walk past that area to get where you’re going.

Yup! I’m a prude. But the kids, do what you want away from kids…

Of course we stopped to soak it all in.  One old dude stripped off his clothing, ran to the water jumped in and frolicked in his nakedness.  I was particularly surprised by his willingness to swim in the cold water!  Just saying.  About 10% of the women sunbathed topless and G-string bottoms were worn by most.

It was kinda funny but this American who sun bathed next to us must have felt some new sense of freedom and was topless.  It had to be her first time since she had tan marks from her bathing suit top.  We watched her swim in the bay and she actually did frolick.  She raised her arms to the sky and spun circles.

It reminded us of three burners we saw on their last day of Burning Man stark naked with super white short tans lines – smiling ear to ear with their new found freedom.  Perhaps we’re missing something.

Onwards….

We refrain from shopping when traveling but this time while exploring we stumbled upon a walking shopping district where sirens sang me into a rocky oblivion!

San Sebastián is certainly an international destination and for good reason.  We enjoyed every minute of it.

Protest
Slot machine at the train station restaurant