A point to bear in mind is that everyone we’ve met in Guyana with the exception of our first unfortunate encounter has been very pleasant. So I’m forced to the conclusion that I like order and stability and predictability. I’ve said this about myself in regards to Chile, still my favorite South American country and I say it now about Guyana quite possibly my least favorite.
For instance we made a reservation in Linden at a lovely pet friendly apartment. On learning that we had a dog the reservation evaporated. Another air b and b was only pet friendly on the listing. Becoming wiser we checked directly and of course Rusty was not welcome. One lovely spot we reserved sent us a message as we were racing darkness from Linden to say a plumbing disaster, not specified, meant the apartment was no longer available. So we were driving to Georgetown with nowhere to stay then Layne saw a restaurant and wondered if we might stay the night.
They were a lovely young couple running a family business and when we asked for dinner and a place to park they freaked out. But they did have rooms with air conditioning so we took one at $50 and it was good enough.
They could not understand the concept of charging a nominal fee to park and sleep so we dropped it. But they did reassure us it was safe with a security guard next door and they both are armed with permitted handguns. That gave us pause: no wild camping in Guyana then!
With a secure place to return to even if it was an hour out of Georgetown the capital we felt we could move around. Rusty was happy in the cool room so we left him behind for his own comfort but I will tell you we decided pretty much right away there was nothing for us in Guyana. Layne was adamant and I was not far behind.
If you have ever heard of the “third space” in urban planning Guyana has not. The idea is that the livability of an urban society is measured by the number of spaces to hang out that are neither home nor work. It’s more than simply having cafés or bars, the idea is to design places where people not only can, but want to congregate. Duval Street was one such before they took out the benches. Or for that matter any number of parks or public hangouts. Key West has lots; Georgetown has none that I could see. Except perhaps this median strip:
We had to drive the coast road for a bit and because I had checked Google satellite view I was not disappointed. However if you had hoped or expected Georgetown to show off its Atlantic Coast… here’s what you get, for miles:
A cement wall with advertising hiding any mention of an ocean beach. On the other hand the government has expedited construction of the new bridge over the Demerara River, tall enough to accommodate ocean going freighters that we saw docked far inland at Linden:
But the bridge will also improve speedy access to the upscale neighborhood of Versailles across the river. I had figured that if the retired brigadier the honorable whatnot prime minister lived in Lethem that damned road would have been paved long since.
The fact is Guyana is soon to become a major oil exporter and one would like to imagine this shabby little backwater might become a new glistening Kuwait, not a fate many of us might enjoy but this is a country of stark unrelenting poverty.
I call Guyana the half assed country. We look to upgrading the output of solar on our roof to the advantage of new technology as our 400 watts of old flexible panels put out ten amps an hour on a bright sunny day and we should get at least three times that. But Guyana, among the sunniest of places is plagued by constant power outages. This is a country that can’t operate an electrical grid for 800,000 people and their deployment of solar panels is modest at best.
Traffic around the capital is awful. Most drivers are actually polite and patient, yielding to cross traffic and stopping for pedestrians in crosswalks. There are a few drivers who ride the shoulder, cut into line and so forth but they are a minority. If it weren’t for the incessant road works and subsequent traffic jams driving could be quite pleasant at least on those short random strips of finished repaving.
The whole country seems to be permanently under construction which you’d think is good but there is no progress and lots of sand berms construction equipment and narrow lanes filled with traffic. No job ever seems to be ended with a finished product. Every replacing job is in progress. There are no sidewalks, no bike paths, rest areas, roadside parks or natural beauty.
Door to door sales:
Would you care to live in a subdivision called Glazier’s Lust? Me neither.
We walked into a Chinese restaurant to get some food to go. It cost us $32 for an order of ginger pork and beef with broccoli and one order of white rice. We had left overs for dinner but basic food isn’t cheap here. And they don’t take credit cards anywhere outside international hotels. 
For us the worst part of Guyana is the way people stare at us. It may not be meant to be hostile but we wave back and they look away. It’s not Latin America where people often engage and express curiosity and talk to us. Here we enter that Chinese restaurant and silence falls over the room and all eyes swivel on us. It’s unnerving and makes us dream of Brazil where a cheerful good day brings smiles and struggles to communicate. Here it feels like we intrude.
Not that people we have engaged with have been hostile and officials certainly have always been helpful. But meeting people on the streets never feels easy or natural.
Guyana feels unknowable and un workable. We line up to leave the country at the ferry terminal. It’s a place where cars line up the night before as demand is high and there is but one slow ferry and a complicated paper trail to follow to board. Trucks sometimes spend two nights parked waiting for space to board. And yet there are no plans to increase ferry services and there are no facilities at the terminal, no shops no food sellers no nothing. In Mexico waiting would be a party.
School children in formation barking out marching commands in British Army parade ground English.
I find myself missing Latin America, cities with plazas, benches, old people mixing with young. I miss the ready smiles of Brazilians struggling to understand me, the lack of self consciousness. I am aware we have missed something here.
I doubt we will come back. Layne is adamant but I’m always ready to try again. Maybe after they have spread some oil wealth around. 
I keep seeing odd speed limit numbers until I realize 65kph is 40 miles per hour in old money. and 32kph is 20 mph. The past intersects the present in Guyana. 
I remember Bedford trucks from my childhood in England and here they still are:
Lucozade a healthful fizzy orange drink from my sugar infested childhood, and here it is:
Berbice Bridge, now toll free an election campaign promise fulfilled.
The Atlantic Ocean:
The president has promised a beautification program for Georgetown in his next term. There is much to beautify.
The Ministry of Agriculture, Quarentine Division in the Mon Repos neighborhood where you get your pet export papers. Why are they even necessary? Lovely helpful people but pointless paper shuffling.
One day I’d like to come back maybe, and see a new refreshed Guyana full of oil money distributed to build a decent country for all. Maybe on some other planet in some other galaxy.
