Caribbean Beat — March/April 2020 (#162)

david di gregorio, courtesy the guyana tourism authority
Getting up close with giant
Victoria amazonica waterlilies at
Mobai Pond near Karanambu
Endless horizons
A decade and a half later, I remember my first arrival in the Rupununi like it
happened last week. Heading south along the unpaved red-earth road that
runs all the way to the Brazilian border, we’d driven for hours through dense
rainforest, the sky a narrow corridor between the treetops above us. We’d kept
our eyes peeled for an elusive jaguar, known to be spotted along this route,
though none appeared that day. As the Land Cruiser manoeuvred around
deep ruts and potholes, we almost didn’t notice a subtle shift in the vegetation
around us. Then suddenly — startlingly — the forest ended and we shot out
into open savannah and a landscape that felt infinitely larger. How far away
were those hills on the horizon? It was impossible to judge.
That night, after dinner in the village of Annai — home to
an airstrip and tourist lodge — I climbed the giant granite rock,
really the size of a small hill, that was the most prominent landmark
for miles around. It was the dry season, and the night sky
was utterly cloudless and immense. The moon was a sliver, but
the stars were so bright and numerous, I could see the savannah
landscape rolling away to the east, etched with foot-trails, and
make out the silhouette of the Takutu Mountains to the south.
Propped up on an ancient rock ledge, gazing across the Rupununi,
I felt the thrill of distance like a shiver. My ordinary life
at home in Trinidad, even the bustle of Georgetown, Guyana’s
capital on the coast, could have been continents away.
But the truth is, as remote and wild as the Rupununi can feel,
this savannah region of south Guyana, two hundred miles from
the Atlantic coast, is a mere hour’s flight from Georgetown’s
domestic Ogle Airport. Even travelling by land, the
Rupununi is a day’s journey (admittedly, bumpy
and dusty) in a 4x4 or an overnight drive by bus
from the city. The Rupununi’s wildness is real, but
its remoteness is a matter of the imagination rather
than practical logistics.
Similarly, whereas visitors to the savannahs
once relied on the hospitality of family-owned
ranches, the past decade has seen many Rupununi
villages establish community-run tourist lodges
with comfortable if not sybaritic accommodations,
easily booked via tour agencies in Georgetown or online. When
I first came here, communication between far-flung villages was
via word of mouth — messages moving along the savannah
rivers in small boats — or by shortwave radio. Improvements
in satellite communications mean that most communities now
have Internet access (and just last year the government of
Guyana announced plans to set up free WiFi in key north Rupununi
villages).
So the outside world isn’t really so far away (if it ever was) —
though the Rupununi’s dramatic scenery and wildlife try their best
to convince you otherwise. The red laterite savannahs, dotted
with sandpaper trees — so named for the texture of their leaves —
are home to giant anteaters and towering termite mounds, while
the Rupununi River and its smaller creeks are home to sleek giant
river otters and caiman sunning themselves on rocky banks.
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