-Timehri to Georgetown

I can feel my senses elevate as we descend into Timehri, and I see that I was right about the airstrip. The place is dark except for a dull glow of the runway lights and the sparse surrounding buildings. Even the streetlights leading out of the airport appear to be fewer or just simply low wattage. However, it’s the motherland and at 11:15pm we are finally on South American soil.
Timehri, even with the name change to Cheddi Jagan International Airport and a few more buildings or extensions added to the core terminal, is still the same as I remember it to be.

Upon disembarking, even at this time of night, the tropical heat hits us as we walk across a very soaked towel-mat that is disinfected with possibly a whole bottle of Pine sol. This is the method used here to prevent ‘Foot and Mouth’ disease from entering the country.

The immigration line is already long and it does not seem to help if you are a non-resident, as everyone is a non-resident these days, including myself. I remember trips here as a kid with Dad and Car to pickup returning friends and family, and I recall being able to look into this immigration room by sitting on a wall on the outside of the building, to get a first glimpse of the passengers. But now I cannot see out those windows, for they are either removed or just covered-up by a big billboard with commercial advertisements.

Finally after what seems like a long sweaty time, the ‘Residents Only’ immigration officer motions us over. I go first to the counter and quickly finish, but linger around after to make sure Jenn has no problems.

Again, as we come into view of the baggage section, I see the gigantic suitcases. But this time they are all strewn about, because here, there is no luggage carousel except for a small chute that spits out the luggage onto a small conveyor belt and since the baggage are so many, passengers end up grabbing and removing the clogged belt so more can come out of the chute. This means that eventually most of the baggage is left wherever they are thrown by the passengers as they reach for their own.

I find my blue suitcase after much looking, and luckily spots Jenn’s luggage too. But as I make a beeline to the suitcases, I have the unfortunate task of moving a few others aside. Just as they appear, they are as heavy as can be.

I rest for a while after getting our bags out of the baggage mess, and then we head to the customs officer line. As we wait, a baggage person looks at our baggage and asks if we have anything to declare, we say no, and he tells us to use the ‘nothing-to-declare’ line. This break gets us smoothly through the hot and humid customs area. We are conscious of the baggage boys attempting to handle our baggage for a fee, so we politely say no to them as we get to the arrival crowd.

I still remember waiting in the arrival crowd as a kid, and the shear excitement generated just to see people arrive. It was not uncommon to see a busload of family and friends showing up to greet their guests. Tonight, though being a bit wary and happy that a long day of travelling is about over, the sea of faces gives me a mental lift, to be part of this arrival ritual again. It is one thing that still holds true in Guyana – the excitement created by arriving passengers.

In planning this trip, Dennis and Denise, our family friends insist we stay with them, so we are now looking for Dennis or maybe Mike his business partner, in the crowd. It’s not long before Jenn points and reads a sign held by someone we do not know. It reads my name! Jenn looks at me and laughs because this is what we expect to see in movies, not in Guyana where I grew up. Our card-carrying friend did not wear a chauffeur’s cap and suit, and he was definitely not happy to be carrying the sign. We nod to acknowledge him, and then move around the barricade to introduce ourselves to Mike, before heading to the parking lot.

Mike is quite tall and very tanned, almost black in the present light. He is soft spoken, and we chat as we follow him to the VIP parking lot. I question Mike about VIP parking and he explains he can park here because of the regularity of Dennis’s airport projects. I’m disappointed, for I was hoping the explanation to be something about us being VIP!

Jenn gets in the back and I sit up front with Mike in Dennis’s Toyota 4Runner, as we head to Georgetown. I am immediately awakened again to the left hand driving rule. It’s very dark on the roads, so I have to look closely for landmarks by memory. Ricks&Sari sign is still located at the first ninety-degree bend in the road after we leave the airport, and later I see the T-intersection where the public road and the Sosedyk/Linden Highway meet. The intersection is as spacious as I remember, and the road demarcations are still very pronounced. To my left, as I pass the intersection, are the stalls used by fruit vendors to sell pineapple, bananas, papaya, mangoes and other fruits to the heavy passenger traffic that uses the road to and from both destinations.

The public road is twistier than I recall and is more pronounced as Mike makes sudden swerves to avoid dogs and other animals coming out onto the road. He says its best to drive in the middle of the road when there is no traffic around, since it lessens the swerving. It is not uncommon to see cows wandering onto the road either, and in extreme cases, the animals would actually lie on the road. But even with all the maneuvering by Mike, Jenn is about to nod off. We are so tired.

Villages like Supply, Agricola, Mucka, Diamond Estates, Friendship, Providence and Peter’s Hall comes back to memory as we pass them. We also pass The Demerara Harbour Bridge entrance or ‘the longest pontoon-floating bridge in the world’, which I am sure is not a record anymore, but still sounds good to say. Finally we take the East Coast Highway bypass route to eliminate the downtown area. Then as we drive cautiously through a red light for our own security and health reasons at the Mandela Avenue/Homestretch Avenue intersection, we come on to Sheriff Street, which has become an even bigger and brighter nightspot for the social crowd. At this time of day in the week, the entertainment part of this street is simply hopping with people, and the road is congested with parked cars. Buddy’s, the new three-storey pool hall, with a nightclub on the ground level, is busy and many patrons are hanging out on the open-air hallways that run the parimeter of the building. Socializing does not get any better.

Just as I think Mike is turning on to Ogle airstrip road, he makes a U-turn at the intersection, and heads back again in the city direction, then makes a left into Oleander Gardens and within one hundred yards we are at the Dias’s. Mike lets us in quietly, but in five minutes, Dennis is coming down the stairs to meet us. We do the slap and handshake that is customary, then I introduce Jenn to him as Mike gets us all a beer from the fridge. It is our first Banks beer and it tastes good. Very good. Dennis knows how late it is and knows about the early start we have tomorrow, so he quickly shows us to our room, and we literally throw ourselves onto the cool air-conditioned bed to sleep. I eventually have a quick shower, but I cannot recall really doing so. We have to get up at 5:30am to get ready to leave for a day trip to Berbice, and its now 2am!