Ariane Mon Amour

 Our first wild camp since Brazil did not go brilliantly. We overused the rooftop air conditioning and emptied our lithium battery bank around midnight. Next time we will use more fans and less air conditioning because our batteries are older now and hold less charge, noticeably so. They like the ferry, are due for replacement. Possibly in Uruguay. Such are the gloomy thoughts of a man in a van at two in the morning sweating, snuffling from a persistent cold, and wondering why his dog prefers sleeping outside.

He spent all night outside happy as a clam. He woke me up (I did get to sleep from time to time) barking but by the time I got out all was calm. He owned the night jungle, but I was half impressed and half worried he might make it a habit  as he knows what he likes and I like him sleeping safely inside. We got busy with washing ourselves and then driving ourselves back to town. Departmental Road 7 back to Sinnamary from our wild camp:

“Our postal workers love to serve you; respect them.”

And so to breakfast:

My wife got a photo of the young woman who served us breakfast except you can’t see the giant blue orchid over her right ear. You may be surprised to learn this food stall in Sinnamary was crowded with big butch manual workers from the water company and electrical utility waiting to catch her eye…and order breakfast. We got meekly in line and ordered some small empanadas and the last lumpia (soft egg roll made with tapioca shells). The empanadas were filled with custard which was a surprise as we expected something savory and Layne doesn’t like tapioca so le petit déjeuner was a bit odd.

Back on the highway digesting that most bizarre breakfast. 

I think there are still some roadway improvements to come on this rather tired highway however traffic was light outside the Kourou-Cayenne corridor so the eccentric one lane bridges were mere curiosities not inconveniences. 

And so we came to Kourou in the early morning.

Had we known Kourou was the tourism capital of French Guiana we’d have stayed around here I guess, not in Cayenne 35 miles away. Oh and they like their parks here.

This is just part of a huge beachfront area called Grand Park de la Cocoteraie (“coconut grove”) and it filled to capacity Tuesday evening as launch time approached.

I’m not sure how much they really do recycle but they have bins, trash cans, picnic tables and everything you expect to see in a public park. The thing is, outside Argentina and Chile these facilities are unknown. To see them again is a reminder of the world we left behind, national parks, public forests, roadside picnic areas, stuff you take for granted in the first world. Don’t do that! I miss those public open spaces every day. 

From this small public space at the tip of the city of Kourou you can see one of the major tourist attractions, made famous in books and movies as the home of Papillon, Devils Island. 

Above you can see Dreyfus Tower named for the other famous prisoner held on those islands, the Jewish military officer unjustly accused of being a traitor. I have a tour booked on Ile Royale the largest and most accessible island of the three so there will be more to say on the subject of Devil’s Island in my next post I hope. 

This place is called Rocky Point, Point Des Roches on the eastern end of the city, and our plan was to come back here to view the Tuesday night launch of an Ariane 6 rocket from the European Space Center, which coincidentally is Kourou’s other claim to tourist fame.

It’s called Point des Roches or Rocky Point because it’s a point and it’s rocky. Imagine that! We went on a walk about in the afternoon heat:

It was hot as blazes. 

The Hotel des Roches has apparently passed its peak but a dozen years ago reviewers raved about the views and how this hotel was unique on a sandy waterfront with ocean views. 

A muddy foreshore is not tourist ideal. 

We went to visit the space center on our way to Cayenne to check in to our apartment rented to escape the relentless heat. But first le déjeuner and for lunch Layne had noticed a food truck. 

We had a baguette sandwich with chopped steak under the pine trees in the breeze. It was lovely and we lounged with Rusty under the table. Our landlord had told us sternly we could not check in early so we had time in hand until 3pm in Cayenne an hour and twenty minutes away. So we went food shopping. 

Rusty needed the rooftop air in this parking lot. 

We saw a lot of very high prices and some weird stuff because food shopping is always a cultural ice breaker. Who, for instance, makes sandwiches shaped like this sliced cheese? 

You want weird chips? The French have them and we dove deep trying the funky goat cheese flavor. 

I am used to wine snobs looking down their noses at boxed wine so wasn’t I surprised to see the French of all people embracing this American convenience? 

Then we took a detour to check out briefly the scene of the rocket launch. Security was tight, police and gendarmes were all over the place, military patrols were all over the space center and there was a sense of stress in the air. The launch was scheduled at 6pm, our check-in was at 3pm and we needed to be back for six. 

Who needs Cape Canaveral say the French. 

Our plan is to come back Saturday to check out the museum. We just drove straight in and parked, very easy, among lots of people coming by no doubt getting ready for the launch. 

We drive to Cayenne 33 miles away checked in to our tiny $100 a night apartment (with outdoor kitchen and swimming pool) tons nap and drive back to Rocky Point with fifteen minutes to spare. 

We sat at the base of the Dreyfus Tower. 

What a night for it. 

And then it appeared silently but exactly on time popping up over the roof of the hotel. 

It’s an Ariane 6 rocket hauling I believe a navigational satellite but I’m not sure. Honestly it was just astonishing to watch. 

I saw a launch at Cape Canaveral years ago but this rocket seemed so much more intimate and close up in this wild tropical setting. 

There was a comment from a reader saying they had seen it in Maryland which I thought was a misprint. 

But what do I know? I was sent a news article saying the plume was widely seen over the northeastern US. I was surprised to put it mildly. 

And so it went with the inevitable sense of let down when we realized it was time to turn away. 

It was time to go. We expected a mad rush for the hundreds of cars but no such thing happened. 

It was actually very orderly as most people were staying behind for an evening of the park. 

And so home in the dark. It’s France it was easy. 

What a day. 

French Guiana

 It has been an interesting couple of days in this slice of France, the place with the highest per capita income in South America and, who knew, the toughest Internet access at least for us. 

We left Paramaribo around 10:30 Monday morning with about a two and a half hour drive along the coast of Suriname, on the only road south to the ferry at Albina.

As always the highway passed through jungle and savanna, a few villages and with not even a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean. If you come to the Guyanas don’t expect any beaches or waterfront accommodations. 

It was a fundamentally boring drive on a well paved road driving of course on the left - I haven’t reversed the photo! 

The further we got from the capital, the more profound the poverty. The only breaks we saw in the jungle were wooden shacks with neat little gardens as usual, but not the sort of middle class housing we saw in Paramaribo.  We sailed through the police checkpoint as no one wants to deal with the complexities of a foreign vehicle. 

It was evident this end of the country is the poorer part of Suriname. 

Albina, the port town at the end of the road was dusty and decrepit and I was all taken trying to find the ferry terminal instead of photographing the poverty. We found the terminal but the gates were closed and there was no signage and I thought Google Maps had it wrong so I was looking for other possibilities when Layne said she saw a man coming. Indeed he opened the gates, showed us our place in line and where to get stamped out of Suriname. From the inside looking out: 

Then we sat in line for about half an hour under the blazing sun waiting for La Gabrielle, the ancient ferry to chug over from St Laurent to pick us up. It was too hot for Rusty to go outside and no one even asked about him so his $165 government export permit languished unused in our document folder. 

The Bac La Gabrielle is not a large ferry and is long overdue for replacement but the French government for whatever reason won’t license the bigger and newer “Le Malani” ferry to take its place. So we all had to squeeze on to this little boat for the thirty minute ride across two miles of water.

I dislike ferries as they are generally an interruption in the smooth flow of traffic that would flow over a bridge but this ferry is totally French, running weird unpredictable hours that change daily and it never ever runs on weekends. Half the crew was white and it felt more like Brittany in a heatwave than equatorial South America as I watched the captain nudge us all onboard, seen here in my wing mirror. 

The landing on the other side was easy compared to some ferries we have had to ride and I paused to let the locals get ahead while I took a picture. 

French Guiana is an overseas department of France, number 973 on the license plates. Think of it as being similar to the “Commonwealth” of Puerto Rico. If you are born here you are French, the laws and customs here are as French as in the Île de France wherein resides Paris. Statistically it’s the richest territory in South America and the smallest with a population of 300,000. It is one seventh the size of Metropolitan France and the land border with Brazil is France’s longest such border. It is also hellaciously expensive here though we did find some cheap-ish cheese. Gasoline is $8:27 a gallon and diesel is $7:60 though from the amount of traffic you would think they were giving it away for free. We’ve been in more traffic jams in two days than the previous six months. That below is the “Malani” waiting to be put into service:

The entry procedure was ridiculously simple. If you are an EU citizen you get to stay with no limitations (except your budget) and European car insurance works here too. We handed our passports over to a black police officer in his office from which he never exited. He told us to talk to customs, two young enthusiastic white men who enjoyed practicing their English. They asked me for my passport and I gave a Gallic shrug and said he has them. There ensued the weirdest interaction. The police officer snarled at the customs men who retreated and asked us to wait. Meanwhile they were debating the value of a car gifted to the driver who was not a diplomat but had diplomatic plates on his green Range Rover. I listened to the debate but missed the ending as our passports appeared and we paid 95 Euros (about $110) for two weeks car insurance. That was the only transaction we did with the friendly customs guys. No temporary import permit or other car related paperwork. 

We then paid, in all the confusion 43 Euros for the ferry ride, almost $50 and the customs guys asked if we had alcohol and I said one can of Guinness; they laughed.  One asked if I was a Republican or a Democrat and I just said I was traveling which made him laugh. The other customs agent said gloomily there are lots of Venezuelans and Haitians here and I got the impression they like President Trump’s anti immigrant rhetoric, and we’ve seen a lot of similar sentiments from European overlanders. 

No one looked at Rusty or cared to see his vaccination passport or anything. So as soon as we had our insurance from Customs who didn’t inspect our van other than a quick license plate check, we drove out into France. Or at least into Saint Laurent du Maroní, St Lawrence on the Maroni River.  Like Albina in the other side this town reeked of poverty and border blues so we drove through electing not to stop.

Besides which impression every single restaurant in town was closed on a Monday. A few had been open in the morning but we landed at 2 pm and got on the street around 3:00pm and there was no food to be had. We ate cashews from our stash from the Tulip supermarket in distant Paramaribo and got on Route National 1 to Cayenne 150 miles away.

St Laurent du Maroni. 

I thought the cemeteries in Suriname were weird with jumbled plots and graves made of bath tiles so I was glad to see they look more like what I’m used to, here in tropical France:

For the next two hours we drove through jungle on a decently paved road, mostly, and saw no signs of human life, no houses, no villages, no nothing. 

The road dipped on small hills unlike anything we saw in Suriname but it was all jungle all the time. 

And we were of course back to driving on the right. 

I waved to the man in the picture below as we drove past, and he stared at me with the sort of cold dead stare that gave me a shiver down my spine. He was probably just surprised by the unusual gesture but his stolid mahogany colored face looked pissed.  It was a nothing moment that impressed itself on my mind in this particular place of no signs of human habitation. 

Iracoubo was the first village we passed through and there was not much there. This is rural France far off the beaten track. 

A new bridge is being built with a traffic light to control traffic. Haven’t seen that in a long time! Usually we just go and hope for the best. Vive la France!

And unlike Suriname where there is absolutely no signage on the highways there is an abundance here.

There are also picnic areas along the highway and modest parking pull outs which you don’t see in many countries. 

The sun was at a bad angle but in this photo you can see a paved parking lot for a picnic area. 

The tiki huts are called carbets (“car-bays”) in French Guiana and we could have spent the night there wild camping had we chosen. 

There are no facilities other than trash cans but it’s the sort of public spaces we haven’t seen since Chile. 

Oh and the right of way is clearly and frequently marked here by the European yellow diamond. 

Our plan was to have a late lunch or early dinner in Sinnamary, a small town off Highway 1. The turn off was properly signposted of course. 

It turned out to be a pretty little town but of course the restaurant with the great reviews was closed on Mondays. 

It seemed like the whole town was closed at five pm on a Monday. 

Nothing daunted, Layne had spotted a food tent near the church  and we turned back after Rusty got a walk. I went along to interpret but the lady selling the food grew up in Guyana and spoke English. 

We got two orders of bami (Indonesian noodles) with chicken at 9 Euros ($11) each.  It was a delicious dinner. 

I had seen a trail head behind the town up Departmental Highway 7, la route de l’anse- the road to the beach.

And that was where we spent the night. The trail head had a parking lot as  I had hoped but the trail itself was closed owing to the planned launch of a rocket from the space center so we parked and had our dinner. 

The Tuesday rocket launch was why we came to French Guyana on Monday and we were glad to see it. 

But that was on Tuesday in Kourou, another action packed day on the road in France.