Greetings from Georgetown Guyana,
After leaving Venezuela I jumped over to Trinidad in order to make a plane connection to somewhere in the Guyanas. That somewhere turned out to be Georgetown Guyana, a truly Third World capital city not unlike many I saw in Africa. The city center teemed with aggressive surly young men yelling at one another and the rare white face walking through their boisterous midst. The worst area is around the main city market where all the mini-buses scramble for passengers. Every bus conductor wants you to use his bus regardless of where you want to go, so information about which bus number goes where is kept secret; one person telling me one thing, someone else another.
Many people yell pleasantries as I wander the streets. Nearly everyone I pass on the street greets me in one way or another. Most are clearly friendly, but a large minority are either uncomfortable with the encounter, outright hostile or displaying predatory behavior. It is hard to tell which of the "hello's" are genuine friendly greetings and which are opening gambits for panhandling or something more sinister. I am convinced this is truly a city where strangers need to continuously be on their guard anywhere outside the few upscale hotels. Lonely Planet travel guide highlights security concerns for its readers traveling in Guyana.
My second day in Georgetown Guyana I went exploring the really seedy area where the minibuses congregate, ironically near one of the two KFC restaurants in town. While there a group of men clad in t-shirts and shorts, barefoot attempted to engage me in an extortion scam. As I worked my way through a crowded covered walkway near the riverfront, one man shouted in a commanding voice "Hey, Steve. Come here." Walking on a few seconds later his confederate dashed up to my side grabbing my shoulder and informed me that "Hey man, Immigration wants to talk to you." Fortunately, I immediately recognized their opening gambit and ignored the rest. Shaking myself loose from his grip I walked on without changing my stride or behavior, all the while looking for a window reflection that would give me some assurance the would be assailants had given up. They had.
The other KFC is in one of the upscale neighborhoods with a Pizza Hut next to it and about a half block from my second hotel, the $110 Roraima Residence Inn. It didn't take long to discover ATM machines only work with locally issued credit cards. However, several banks will arrange advances on international cards and one cashed a traveler's check for me. Gas is NOT cheap here, running about $3.50 per gallon. Because the country shares a border with Venezuela, smuggling dirt cheap Venezuelan gas into the country is a big business.
My Spanish, so agonizingly acquired during the past ten months is totally useless in Guyana where people speak what they assure me is English. Though a former colony of Britain, the English most people speak is so contorted only a native can understand most of it. When spoken slowly and in context I eventually managed to decipher some of it. Fortunately, people connected with the tourist industry have perfected a refined version... not unlike that spoken in other Caribbean nations.
Peace,
Fred L Bellomy
