Le Bac La Gabrielle

 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. 

Javanese Market

 She got tired after an hour wandering  but we did make it to the Sunday market five minutes from our apartment. The landlord had mentioned two markets in town on Sunday mornings, the Chinese  one and the Javanese street food which Layne and I got to visit yesterday but we did spend time inspecting some street food and hauled our loot home successfully.

There are moments Suriname confuses me or annoys me or leaves me baffled with strange bureaucracy or Dutch speakers angry at us for only speaking English, stuff like that  but then you get to the street food and that’s where we died and went to heaven Sunday morning. It doesn’t look much, a block long, but it is divine. The sign says “House for sale” according to Google translate but I can’t imagine living a block from this Sunday market…I’d end up there every Sunday drooling like an imbecile. 

First up was a waffle, classic Belgian -Dutch snack food, but have you ever seen them like this? Heavy duty breakfast coming up. 

I went with crème brûlée for some reason and it was like custard on a firm waffle which for some reason they give you a stupid plastic fork to eat it. I picked it up like a tostada and managed not to spill it on myself. 

And then we wandered the street checking the savory food after my late breakfast. “Kaaiman sate” is alligator satay (grilled on a stick) but we stuck to chicken (“kip”) which I find less dry than alligator.  

Peking duck was everywhere because this may be called the Javanese market but it is more than just Indonesian.

And pork crackling just because it’s good I guess. I think of it as Latin American but maybe they eat it in Indonesia too: what do I know? 

These Chinese steamed buns are on a totally different order of deliciousness than the puffy balls you get in the US with a pinch of meat in the middle. This is a meat pie with Chinese flavors in a delicate slightly crisp steamed bun. 

One of these please…lobster? Okay then. Layne’s backpack was bulging by the time we left. 

We stick out enough as tourists without dragging cameras into the market but my iPhone 12mini did not reproduce the bubbling hot oil in the woks. The smell was street food causing salivation…

The vendors were cheerful and patient with our excitement, our fumbling with paper money and our English only menu. It was great fun as they didn’t even mind being photographed. I got a pandan mochi and Layne got chocolate because I like the floral Far East vanilla-ish flavor of the green filling and  she is boring and goes for familiar chocolate. Oreo cookies are everywhere which I find totally weird but you’ll find them n supermarket shelves, in smoothies and ice cream and now patently in Asian desserts. 

I was pleased to see cashews, the edible fruit for sale:

I was so astonished this guy below in blue, spoke Spanish I forgot to photograph him but it was a fun moment as we bought tomatoes and tiny very sweet bananas. 

I see dogs and monkeys on chains and a few street dogs and live crabs dangling at the side of the street and then these fish. First World  sensibilities have no place on the road. I went home and hugged Rusty extra hard. He took it like a man and went back to sleep. He likes stationary air conditioning. 

We went into the Chinese market as Layne wanted to find satay peanut sauce similar to what we had in Domburg and while she went off led by a cheerful Chinese employee (who spoke English…yay!) I wondered the yea and sauce aisles marveling at the range of stuff for sale in a genuine Chinese community. Just the teas blew my mind as I love tea:

Then we drove home.

It took less than ten minutes and I snapped pictures as we went. 

You are seeing more of Paramaribo than anyone you know. Fancy Florida type homes:

Suburbia: 

It’s very European, not Latin American, very little street life, no sitting around in public with the grandkids on Sunday morning like you might see in Colombia or Peru for instance. 

I’ve learned a lot about not being able to speak or understand the local lingo, that sense of looking through a window and not knowing what’s going on. And yet we do get to speak some English. Without that this country would be a total fog. 

Suriname doesn’t expect to see tourists because everyone here visits to make a connection, to renew family ties, to work, to be a missionary, to do something. We are just drifting with no connection to the country and that confuses the less educated. So when we ask them to speak English it’s because we want to know, not to impose our culture or values or white-ness.  But that curiosity is outside their experience and it makes them defensive if they don’t speak English or speak it well. That’s the worst of being in Suriname, and there is no way around it. 

Rainy season is coming and the canals will need to drain the water away. We’ve seen back hoes scraping hyacinth plants out as fast as they can. 

So much greenery in this capital city and I find it charming. 

When eventually we get to French Guyana I will miss Suriname with its wild culture, irritating language barriers and its gentle drivers always on the wrong side of the street. Why they drive on the left is just another mystery. We enjoyed the market so we decided to make our departure date from Suriname on a Monday just to have one extra visit. This would be ideal road food. 

Domburg Marina

 When I told some Dutch travelers we wanted to stay at the marina in the village of Domburg, a town on the shore of the Suriname River, they got excited. He’d lived in Domburg in the Netherlands for a few years and the name was evocative.

I’ve never been to Domburg in the Netherlands but I doubt it looks much like this place. The village is about eight miles inland from the Atlantic and it takes about half an hour from downtown Paramaribo to get there.

Google sent us on the river road which is horribly torn up by the trucks hauling from the various industrial facilities along the river. Photos never show the true awfulness of torn up asphalt but I’ll try here as this was the worst road we’ve encountered in Suriname.

The river is a marine highway for bauxite and other chemical plants and the truck traffic doesn’t spare the road.

For me this was a thirty mph highway. Hold up! Speed bump.

State oil facility? Maybe? 

I had expected more suburbs and residential living along the road. We found a mixture of poverty and mansions, many unoccupied.

And a number of Muslim mosques and Hindu temples in this wildly multi cultural country. 

The driveway to the marina was rather rough.

No idea what this said but Bruce and Celia in Arizona asked a Dutch neighbor who obliged.

"Roman catholic church

Our Holiest Savior.

Every Sunday at 10am.

Friday Mary devotion at  18.30"

Because there is a church next to the marina…I had no idea what it said at the time.

This was the sign I turned left for into the sandy driveway. Notice this one is in English. 

This is one of those buildings that remind me (and maybe Doug) of Key West when there were tumbling buildings around: 

The marina parking lot. Before we arrived in Suriname we had thought to camp here to be close to Paramaribo but we discovered on iOverlander that Erik the new manager has forbidden dogs so we went straight to the apartment we had decided to rent. Let’s face it we are more comfortably placed than living in this parking lot: 

I liked Erik, a nice guy aside from his anti dog policy which we didn’t even bring up, as Rusty was snoring at home in the air conditioning. Dogs and Suriname don’t mix well. 

The food was delicious, chicken satay for Layne with a light fresh peanut sauce, while I had a flaky white fried ocean fish of some sort in a crispy light batter along with my favorite yuca fries. I went with alcohol and had a glass of Parbo draught while Layne had a juice. 

It was a good lunch helped along by a river breeze and a pleasant view of the Suriname River. 

Satay and the light savory peanut sauce.

That scenic river view; you have to I shine the breeze. 

We wrecked our lunch while Erik took care of the other customers. 

The marina is a just bunch of moorings in the river which exhibited a strong current and this is dry season. 

Then we drove home to a sleeping dog. We had to cross the bridge out of Domburg and when we were two thirds of the way across a local got on the bridge blocking us so I had to back almost the length of the bridge which luckily I was capable of doing. As you can see there isn’t room for two to pass! 

Sometimes you just meet assholes in this country just like any other I suppose. I waved and gave him the bird but he declined to make eye contact. 

On the way home unaccountably Google’s Maps sent us a short way inland where we left the bumpy narrow rural river road past the chemical plants…

…and found our way on the obvious main highway back to the capital city.

And that was Layne’s Saturday outing. She’s getting stronger day by day. 

200 Suriname dollars is US $5. 

Back to the city.  

We saw a bunch of “banden” signs which we eventually figured meant tire repair shops. That’s how we drive through Suriname, one word at a time. 

“Go” is one of the nicer gas stations and regular gas is about $4:20 a gallon.  The only recognizable brand I’ve seen is an occasional Royal Dutch Shell gas station in a country filled with its own brands of petroleum. Oil money is supposed to raise the economy sooner or later as they open up newly discovered off shore oil fields. 

Those Key West style houses: