I just spent an absurd amount of time writing in a little notebook, getting finger cramps, before realizing it’s the 21st century and there is no reason not to type my journal. Especially since I can add it to my blog that only 3 people read but makes me feel self-important anyway.
So…Guyana…Rain.
In Thailand there were those magnificent downpours and Guyana is the same way, except instead of lasting 10 minutes and leaving the air cool and light, it just lasted for four hours and there is no drainage system to speak of so everything is flooded. Stores were shoveling water off their floors, people walked on the sidewalk up to mid-calf (p.s. I have pledged not to carelessly exaggerate in this blog so you can trust I actually mean mid-calf whereas in all my previous writing, mid-calf would have been translated to barely-ankle) in water, cars drove through water up to the chassis (Is that good for car parts? I fell like there are some important things under there that work better when dry?)
To exchange money I had to balance walking on a plankabove a foot of water only to reach the end and have nowhere to step except into the water- my sneakers and jeans may never be dry again (really poor wardrobe selection). It’s like Morocco where in certain times of year your clothes may just never fully dry—come to think of it Norway was the same way with my perpetually wet sweatpants, though that was more from cold and not this dense, point-of-saturation air.
Our plane couldn’t land because of the rain (I love how honest the pilot was “Ladies and Gentleman, we’re going to keep circling until we can see the runway”). When we did land it was into what seemed like an open, un-lined parking lot. The flight crew announced that there were very few umbrellas so we had the option of braving the rain or waiting to be walked in one-by-one. I was too excited for this waiting nonsense so I rolled up my pantlegs and walked on in (pant leg rolling = completely ineffective).
For the first time ever my bag was the absolute first to arrive at the baggage claim so I quickly consolidated and rolled through customs where the lady didn’t even flip over my declaration form to see that the angel on my shoulder won the “to declare or not to declare (my pharmaceuticals)” battle. I don’t really know much about Guyanese prisons so I decided to risk the annoying luggage check and play it safe. [see mom, I’m a good girl]
As promised, Roy was waiting with a sign that said “LS” so I’m guessing he misheard my initials but it was pretty clear he was the one I was looking for. We walked to his car and I did an awkward trying-to-get-in-the-right-side-door move, forgetting that this was a British Colony so people drive on the left. Shaan has a car here—do I trust him to not relapse into US driving styles and kill us? Or really am I just projecting my own directional inability? Probably the latter.
Speaking (writing) of which, there was a great sign that reminded me of Singapore (click) that read “STOP THE CARNAGE, ARRIVE ALIVE” aimed a bad drivers.
Roy was good company on the hour-long ride to Georgetown. He explained to me the intricacies of the sugar market (I feel like I should know the difference between beet sugar and cane sugar but alas…). He pointed out rum distilleries, scrap metal plants, soda factories, and breweries all while intermittently singing along to 60’s ballads sung by women (“Baby I’m yours”)
I closed my thumb in the car door when I jumped out to change some money and have a sweet under-the-nail-bruise. I hope my fingernail doesn’t pop off because a)that’s gross, and b)I feel like I’d get the wound so dirty and pathogen-filled here.
Shaan’s apartment is sweet which I discovered only after a long battle a la “60 keys and one lock” game (dammit! Exaggeration. There are only 7 keys). The apartment is fully furnished with three bedrooms, laundry etc. You know, the sort of thing that would cost 3 million in NYC. The construction is very open- the walls to the bedrooms don’t go all the way to the ceiling and there are vents built into an entire wall. Bug proofing this thing would be imposs so I broke out the Deet and slept like the dead under a mosquito net.
Shaan and his friend called to check on me to make sure I was alive and after my coma nap I rolled out to get some lunch (after a necessary wardrobe change- skirt and flip flops so wading through the shallow river that is Shaan’s street was less problematic). I pushed down all memories of everything I learned about standing water in infectious disease epidemiology and trudged along.
Cars are beeping at me (unless I’m being really self-centered) which I can’t totally figure out and may not want to. Perhaps it’s “hey a white girl!” or perhaps it’s “you are doing something egregiously wrong!” or perhaps it’s beeping at something completely un-me-related.
Ahh, awkward food ordering in new places! I went to a Chinese restaurant Shaan suggested. The accented English here (or I guess differently-accented English ((xenophobic hussie))) can be tough to understand. I ordered vegetarian thinking a)I haven’t eaten a vegetable in three days due to a combination of my cooking-laziness when Noah isn’t around and the vast nutritional wasteland of airports and planes, and b) I figure I’d ease my way into things that are more likely to get me sick. I ordered tofu stir-fry but then the waitress came back to say they were out of tofu and asked me what I wanted instead, assuming I had the menu memorized. I said anything vegetarian and she said “Okay, mushroom dish” which I instinctively agreed to (click) without processing and after she left I remembered I hate mushrooms. I love how when you’re traveling your brain only works at 70%. I lucked out and apparently they were out of mushrooms too so she told me I’d get a broccoli dish—and I did. Literally. I received a plate of warm broccoli with that mucus-y sauce that seems to cover all Chinese food made in countries other thatn the US (and presumably China). Noah can back me up on this as we vegan-ed our way through Europe eating at Chinese restaurants specializing in the mucus sauce.
Shaan’s on his way back now and then it’s planning for jungle trip time!
Am I setting the bar too high by having such a detailed account of day one when it’s only half over? Probably more likely, I’m doing you dear readers a favor and letting you know how tedious this blog will be to read, so you can start ignoring it sooner as opposed to later (Except Noah and Supna who are required to read it in painstaking detail because that is one of the conditions of our relationships)
I can't believe you described that sauce as "mucus-y"... I feel kind of traumatized.
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