Now we're safely ensconced back at the PT flat, we are free to spend several hours every day gorging ourselves on food in Coffee Bean - a café near St. George's Cathedral, which could feel quite Guyanese, if we didn't fill it with white people and out-of-tune Christmas carols - and that's where we are now.
It's awesome.
It's odd to be back in a place with roads, crowds and people who don't know every detail about your life. In August we walked tentatively to and from the sea wall bubbling with general, undirected excitement and apprehension, and jumped at every call of "white girl/white dog/white meat", and now we happily stroll around at night/in small groups etc. I've not forgotten that this can be a dangerous place, but so can anywhere. We're all a lot savvier now, and it helps that we can speak Creole. We corroborated this feeling of being at ease by heading out to a Brazilian nightclub the other night (now we've each perfected our Forró dancing, which involves a lot of ass shaking and foot shuffling. Also awesome).
We told our almost-carer Rishon (daughter of our in-country rep Kala) of our plans:
"Rockies?" She raised an eyebrow. "Good luck. If people start running, run in the same direction."
We glanced at each other and smiled nervously.
As it turns out, it was just as well she gave us this warning. At about midnight, we heard gunshots, saw fire, and were swept outside into the street in a wave of people screaming in Portugese. We stood around in a bemused circle for a few minutes, before shrugging and getting a taxi back to the flat. We're still not sure what happened, but we're all unscathed.
This morning we went to get our work permits stamped and visas extended. In true Guyanese fashion, we waited around for a long time in needlessly formal attire, before being interrogated as a group because one of the guys didn't get his passport stamped when he'd re-entered Guyana from Brazil. Then we had a snack. I've fully gotten to grips with all the paperwork and time spent doing nothing that living in Guyana entails.
On Friday we head to Tobago for a week. One of our contingent emphatically declared "if I remember anything about Tobago next week, it wasn't a success", and I agree to some extent. I'm all for drinking (several) cocktails on the beach, but can attest to the fact that I stop Forróing and begin simply spasming in a dress past about rum number five, so we'll see.
If I can find any wifi in Tobago I'll try to write something more, but I seriously have to go now because I have some bacon coming and I effing miss bacon. Bacon trounces staying in touch with people.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It's awesome.
It's odd to be back in a place with roads, crowds and people who don't know every detail about your life. In August we walked tentatively to and from the sea wall bubbling with general, undirected excitement and apprehension, and jumped at every call of "white girl/white dog/white meat", and now we happily stroll around at night/in small groups etc. I've not forgotten that this can be a dangerous place, but so can anywhere. We're all a lot savvier now, and it helps that we can speak Creole. We corroborated this feeling of being at ease by heading out to a Brazilian nightclub the other night (now we've each perfected our Forró dancing, which involves a lot of ass shaking and foot shuffling. Also awesome).
We told our almost-carer Rishon (daughter of our in-country rep Kala) of our plans:
"Rockies?" She raised an eyebrow. "Good luck. If people start running, run in the same direction."
We glanced at each other and smiled nervously.
As it turns out, it was just as well she gave us this warning. At about midnight, we heard gunshots, saw fire, and were swept outside into the street in a wave of people screaming in Portugese. We stood around in a bemused circle for a few minutes, before shrugging and getting a taxi back to the flat. We're still not sure what happened, but we're all unscathed.
This morning we went to get our work permits stamped and visas extended. In true Guyanese fashion, we waited around for a long time in needlessly formal attire, before being interrogated as a group because one of the guys didn't get his passport stamped when he'd re-entered Guyana from Brazil. Then we had a snack. I've fully gotten to grips with all the paperwork and time spent doing nothing that living in Guyana entails.
On Friday we head to Tobago for a week. One of our contingent emphatically declared "if I remember anything about Tobago next week, it wasn't a success", and I agree to some extent. I'm all for drinking (several) cocktails on the beach, but can attest to the fact that I stop Forróing and begin simply spasming in a dress past about rum number five, so we'll see.
If I can find any wifi in Tobago I'll try to write something more, but I seriously have to go now because I have some bacon coming and I effing miss bacon. Bacon trounces staying in touch with people.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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