Layne has been worrying about the ferry to French Guyana, the only way out of Suriname short of going back to Guyana on the northern ferry. There are no roads through the interior of this country to Brazil so you either cross the northern river, the Corantijn, or the Maroni River to the south.
And since September 22nd the ferry operated by the French government has been out of service after one of the engines threw a rod.
The captain got sick too and there was no reopening announcement. We visited the French embassy to ask for an update and they knew nothing
Layne was deeply worried not least because the idea of driving back across 550 miles of dirt road where she contracted malaria gave her the heebie-jeebies. We have to be out of Suriname October 8th when our extended temporary import permit for GANNET2 expires so we couldn’t wait indefinitely and customs seems really reluctant to grant extensions. Ironically the police extended our permits to stay here till Christmas no questions asked but we need GANNET2 of course.
Finally we got the news that the ancient ferry, called a “bac” ( barge), La Gabrielle long overdue for replacement should be back in service on Thursday. Apparently the Suriname navy shipyard helped repair the elderly be gone and hydraulic transmission and the French authorities hope the ferry will continue to operate for the rest of the year uninterrupted.
It’s a classic story worthy of “Don’t Stop The Carnival” by Herman Wouk. The French have a new modern ferry The Malani ready to go but they can’t get the paperwork sorted out even after Suriname built a new stronger dock to accommodate the larger vessel. So they bumble along failing to act in a stereotypical tropical lassitude.
We meanwhile needed lunch and planned to try Indonesian soup but when we went to park near the Souposo restaurant, that really is the name, the piratical figure above flagged down and said we could park next to his eatery. It was simply an offer to get our tank off the street but we thought soup can wait let’s try this place. We got soup in the end anyway.
I never imagined I’d have split pea soup here and I later ended up reminiscing with Bruce about a famous split pea restaurant called Andersen’s in California’s Central Valley.
We also got a plate of fried plantains and peanut sauce all for $5 the bargain lunch of Paramaribo. Roberto had his own story to tell, a life of living in the US in Florida and New York and tiring of running his own restaurant in the Big Apple this coming home to a slower pace of life in his home country. I keep hearing these stories of immigrants who end up at home, obviously because the ones still in the states are rarely encountered on the road…but there are lots like Roberto.
That and a drop off at the laundry was enough travel for the recovering malarial patient and we retreated to the apartment and our sleeping dog.
Iit is slightly shocking how much he likes to sleep in his old age. His hotspots are slowly growing back so he is much more relaxed. When he wants to go in or out he stares at the door but most of the time he sleeps, on his bed, on the couch where I annoy him by running my hand compulsively through his fur and most often on the cold hard floor. I don’t think he’s happy to know the ferry is back in service.
