The road less traveled—biking to Suriname to French Guiana

The biking began on a bauxite road near the massive Brokopondo Reservoir near Brownsberg Nature Park. A 3-hour drive from Paramaribo, the road wound its way around a couple of massive (up to my thighs) potholes through forest whose humid air was punctured by the screams of yellow parrots and whiskered monkeys. Yoo could see the parrots but only hear the capuchin monkeys. Since Dyan's own pet capuchin, Pally, had begged for an ear and back rub before the journey, I had a good idea of what was screaming from behind the massive forest wall.

 

Several "bushnegro" villages lined the highway. As we stopped in the midst of 200 swirling, pastel-yellow butterflies, a bare-breasted elderly bushnegro stopped to chat in Dutch. As she talked, we ate samozas (pastries filled with potatoes, onions and minced, spicy meat) and chicken rolls. They were awesome. Later we would stop and pick up fried bananas basted with peanut sauce.

Biking was a workout, but after the rolling hills of the forest the road leveled out. It led past the sprawling Suralco bauxite plant, which dominated the landscape. Passing through Paramaribo for a last time, I was smack by the diversity of the religions as represented by the various places of worship: churches, temples, synagogues and mosques. (In one case, a synagogue and mosque were standing side by side, separated only by an insignificant fence.)

Flora and fauna

Eventually the road would lead to the border town of Albina, Suriname. Purely driving, the Paramaribo-to-Albina journey would take 3 1/2 hours, but the bike part of it allowed us to stop and pick passion fruit. Mango, banana, papaya and a variety of citrus trees lined the civilized parts of the highway, but there were not many inhabited sections.

Where there were houses or thatched huts, often there were, on the ground, peanut bushes, string beans or snake fruit. (Among serpents in this area are the bushmaster and coral and owl snakes.)

Most of the route was paved highway meandering through lush jungle growth. The tropical green was occasionally decorated by bunchings of orange and yellow bird-of-paradise plants. Kwatakama (monkey hammock) trees towered over the vegetation. The tree got its name because the black spider monkeys like to stretch out and take naps on the branches.

Although these capitals sit on the same seacoast, the road that connects them, almost 350 kilometers long, never once affords a view of the ocean. Furthermore, because of the vast quantities of river silt flowing out into the ocean combined with what appears to be an almost stagnant lee shore, the beach scene along this entire coast is less than lively.

Leaving Suriname

Albina is the last stop in Suriname and the place at which I parted ways with Dyan. Although it was sort of a ramshackle kind of town, Dyan was not a ramshackle guide. He had enormous respect for the local people and customs and did not hesitate to express those beliefs. I was passing through. He was a permanent resident.

One thing I heard from him was his dismay that only one in six of his guests followed through with their own promise of sending photos back. (I e-mailed him five the day after arriving home.) He said that by giving photos back to the people, he is able to open up doors for future visiting guests and help create a local population more amenable to being photographed.

Waving good-bye to Dyan and his wife, Carla, I rolled my bike down the stone embankment and lifted it into a 35-foot-long dugout canoe. Powered by a 40 hp Yamaha engine, the boat blasted across the 2-mile-wide river (cost, $10). As often happens with a big body of water and low-profile boats, we passengers got soaked.

Introduction to French Guiana

St. Laurent lies on the other side of the massive border fiver and is home to a variety of quaint hotels.

French Guiana appeared, from the start, to have a more sophisticated infrastructure. The Customs and Immigration officers wore clean blue uniforms and appeared to have recently arrived from Paris.

From that first moment of entry, however, it was obvious that English was not spoken here. Whereas in Suriname the dollar seemed almost to be an interchangeable currency (6:1), here the euro was the currency. Although the official rate was 1:1.3, the hotel offered to change money at 1:1. Credit card acceptance was more frequent here, as was the presence of ATMs.

I chose the Star Hotel (phone 0594 43-2600), which, for $40 a night, gave me an extra-large, clean room complete with a bright, fluorescent overhead light and a view overlooking the town soccer field. It would be my last night with comfortable pillows.

St. Laurent, on the westernmost fringe of French Guiana, was the delivery station for the prisoners starting their incarceration at Devil's Island, the dismal setting graphically portrayed in the Dustin Hoffman movie "Papillon." The reception camp, Camp de la Transportation, has its gates open for all ,visitors (no charge) and is not only in surprisingly good condition but is a haunting reminder of what life was like for the prisoners there.

Unfortunately, if you were sentenced to Devil,s Island, you were not totally free when released. You had to stay in French Guiana for an amount of years equal to your prison sentence. (This was an attempt by the French to increase the population, an attempt which failed because 90% of the inmates died of malaria, yellow fever or snake bites.)

On to Cayenne

St. Laurent to Cayenne was 250 kilometers of meticulously maintained highway weaving its way through fragrant jungles across rolling hills. This 3-hour route can be done by the taxi collectif (shared taxi) system. I got in a van at St. Laurent's riverside and was told we had to wait until all eight seats were filled (fare; $28); Since it looked like the eighth person was never going to arrive, I pulled out another $28 and bought the seat next to me to expedite the departure.

On our way, a tropical rainstorm pelted the highway and turned the roadside into an aromatic brew of earthy smells. Along this route is the town of Kourou, site of the Centre Spatial Guyanais (Guiana Space Center).

Cayenne was touted by the Lonely Planet guide as one of the loveliest capital cities in South America. I thought it was sort of tacky. There seemed to be a lot of pesty drunk beggars stumbling through the streets. It gets high marks for its PUbs and eateries, however.

Staying at the Central Hotel (phone 594-256565 or e-mail central hotel@wanadoo.fr), I paid $44 for a room with three, beds. Although there were three stars engraved under the nameplate,on the door, there were no pillowcases on any of the pillows and nothing but a bare mattress on the third bed. The air-conditioner strained to keep the room at 76[degrees], and the TV sound was kaput. My request for pillowcases got me one. The mattress was lumpy and the pillows lumpier. Not three stars.

This last hotel experience not withstanding, I give ,this itinerary high marks for adventure and exploration and would unquestionably have had even better stories had I made the effort to visit the outstanding nature reserves nestled in the remote interiors of both countries.