Back In Paramaribo

 Up at 5 am, a big hotel breakfast, a cab ride to Schipol airport on a cool rainy dark morning…back to Dutch all the time. Sigh.

And an uneventful nine hour flight across the Atlantic. I  left at nine and arrived at 3pm thank you time change. The Paramaribo airport is pretty small and easy to get around especially after Amsterdam.

Two views of the presidential palace as the taxi swept me home on an hour long drive. I was tired.  

The Marriott near the Suriname River, Paramaribo’s big chain hotel. 

So aside from drawing out the taxi ride to keep you in suspense the big question I am evading here, is how was Rusty? Pleased to see me of course after he got over his shock. 12 hours later he is glued to me still, worried I might leave him again. 

The awful part last night was after a nap in my arms and a walk we were going out to dinner with Dale who spent last week with Layne while I was in Scotland. I had steak after I tore myself away from my boy and it was delicious even as I salted it with my tears thinking of Rusty home alone again even if for just a couple of hours.  

He was going to be more comfortable in the apartment but they way he looked at me as I left with Layne and Dale tore my heartstrings. But Dale and I did get dessert to make up for it. He and Layne had fish: 

After we got back to the apartment, despite my exhaustion Rusty and I went for a long neighborhood sniff and as I write this he’s lying on my feet not willing to be apart from me. Dessert was berry cake and white chocolate ice cream.  

The owner came out and chatted. He was born in The Netherlands and worked in other peoples’ kitchens and decided to open a restaurant in Suriname with his wife. 

Passie means passion as conceived for a craft or skill. It doesn’t translate well into English so he kept it Dutch to avoid confusing sexual or romantic passion with the kind he wanted to express but can only do so in Dutch. 

A good evening for us adults while Rusty and I are tight again. Up next we start the process to get his exit papers with a planned departure for French Guiana next Monday.  Dale has already flown away and I will miss him. 

Chaos

 I don’t like commercial flight, the loss of control is annoying to a man who drives his own home around South America. Monday proved the point  but first a few last pictures of Leckmelm as I sat around waiting for Lucy to pick me up to take me to the airport. It had rained and it was cold but it was lovely and parting is such sweet sorrow.

Campbelltown Cottages, I’ll miss you too.  

Calmac is the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry from Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides seen here pulling into Ullapool. 

It was like a bad joke but when Lucy showed up I had just received word from KLM my flight was canceled. I was booked on another flight to Amsterdam in two days and after we called the airline they said they wouldn’t put me on a flight to Paramaribo in two days. I had to get to Amsterdam Monday night.

In the end Layne in Paramaribo and Lucy in Scotland got an alternative going and I was scheduled to fly out of Edinburgh at 6pm. We had to fly by car to Inverness 90 minutes away  to make the train that would get me to Scotland’s capital. 

It was a pleasant journey as it turned out. A wedding guest I’d met in Ullapool was on the train and we made friends with two other travelers next to us and the four hour journey passed easily enough through lovely Scottish countryside. 

And it left on time. The race was on. 

This kind couple helped me on my way and gave me their lunch sandwiches they didn’t want. I bought a cup of tea and I was grateful for the food as things hadn’t been going well enough for me to organize lunch on this impromptu journey. I had been expecting to be in Amsterdam by now. 

It was a pleasant ride at 90 miles per hour but it had to end and I had to figure out the next stage. 

Lucy had sent me instructions so a short walk got me to the tram (street car) stop with a ticket bought online and I was on my way to the airport. 

Everything is online nowadays in Europe and everything is paid by credit card. I haven’t had a reason to use cash and I bought tickets and made reservations on the phone flashing a QR code to pass through ticket barriers. No human contact needed I guess.  

But the Edinburgh airport made sure I got my steps in. 

The gate had a sign above it I liked “haste ye back” which I shall be sure to do. Maybe with a more reliable airline than KLM. 

The Easy Jet flight took off on time and I was sitting next to a mother and I think daughter laboring under some stress as the daughter, a teenager maybe, kept bursting into tears, and I had the feeling there had been a death or something in her young life. Unnerving but I kept close to my book. 

Easy Jet is a budget airline, my ticket cost around $130 I think, and apparently included an al fresco boarding system which offered a light spattering of rain for a bonus. 

My sister suggested I fly on this leg with my British passport hoping perhaps it might get me through the checks more easily. On this day if I had any luck at all it was bad luck. Passport control was packed and since Brexit the British are lumped into the “all passports” line which took an hour. Fantastic. 

I had hoped to arrive around three, check into my room at the Hampton Inn and take a train to Amsterdam to go for a walk. No such luck. 

Nice room but not much time to enjoy it. I have a wake up call at 5am to go back to Schiphol airport for an easy, problem free flight to Paramaribo. 

I hope. 

Goodbye Scotland

 Layne told me there is supposed to be a rocket launch at the European Space Agency launch pad in Kourou in French Guyana on November 4th.

Since we decided to drive to the Guyanas I had been hoping it might be possible to witness a launch and if we get a move on from Paramaribo we might meet the deadline. All of which is a splendid distraction to make it easier to leave Ullapool to start the journey home to my wife and my dog and my van. 

Ironically when we cross the Maroni River into the French Overseas Department of La Guiane Française we will be in the European Union and Scotland still won’t, as much as my sister the Irish citizen wishes it were. I felt that when Britain left the EU the case for independence for Scotland was reinforced and were I younger, I too like my sister would have claimed my ancestral right to Irish citizenship. These days traveling under the Irish flag would certainly be easier. 

It was before Covid the last time I was here and she and I had planned to visit Ireland together to visit Wicklow whence came our grandfather, a trip organized but scotched by the lockdown.  I will be back much sooner next time. I find it hard to leave this cold wet rainy place so warm was her welcome. 

A weather forecast of “some showers followed by sunny intervals” broadly speaking is the daily dose across the British Isles. Northwest Scotland is the one area where it always rains the most. 

The BBC nowadays gives the weather for “the four capitals” of Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England.

The endless parade of camper vans and RVs exploring the country from all over Europe. 

My sister ran for the UK parliament in London and came second. The next election she chooses to run in I shall volunteer. 

Oops - another RV driving the North Coast 500 tourism route around the Highlands.  

A last glimpse of Loch Broom. 

The UK is the nanny state refined to a pitch that tortures me. Yes I can get free health care here but government safety regulations are slightly loopy. All plugs in the UK are grounded which is great but they also have on/off switches which drive me nuts. Why would an outlet be turned off? For what reason? You plug in and your appliance turns on. Not necessarily…I have never missed  this “feature” on crappy 110 volt plugs in the States which work just fine. Rant over. 

A turf roof!

And of course the morning after breakfast at the hotel where the wedding guests stayed.  Baked beans egg sausage mushroom fried tomato and a square Lorne sausage that tasted like scrapple with meat. Blood sausage that is more delicately in Scotland as black sausage is made with oatmeal and actually tastes pretty good with a better texture than I am used to. Oh and thick cut bacon unlike anything you would see in the States with a slice of potato pancake. 

Bring your camper to Ullapool and you too can park on the waterfront. In Britain for reasons I do not understand one parks “up” instead of simply parking. British English is full of filler words with no purpose, if I’m being honest. 

The Summer Isles fogged in by Highland aerial moisture. 

Mysterious by night but just a street by day: 

Inevitable rain:

I was surprised to see two intrepid hikers in the streets of Ullapool. They had put waterproof covers on their packs so clearly they knew what they were in for:

Britain like Canada has privatized mail service I believe. I can’t believe anything improves with mail services pursuing profit, but I am apparently old fashioned. 

My family. 

Back to reality:

Layne spent part of her Sunday at the Javanese market in Paramaribo. 

I’ll check it out myself in a week. Just to cross the Atlantic will take eight hours tomorrow after an overnight layover in Amsterdam. The miracle of flight. 

Until next time, Ullapool.