Even though I have only been here one month, it feels like decades in Guyana time, where minutes seem to coagulate with the daily humidity and not go anywhere, sticking to you the way your clothes plaster to your skin after a long sweat-drenched run. The saying here is, “This is Guyana,” and it applies to pretty much everything. So the taxi cab you called for, and then confirmed an hour prior would be waiting for you, is no-where to be found. Well, guess what? “This is Guyana.” Or nobody shows up for the meeting you planned at 10 until 11. “This is Guyana.” It’s a hard custom for many of us in the military to acclimate to having been used to discipline and regiment. But, the lesson to be learned is to relax, not rush everything and enjoy life because, well, “This is Guyana.”
In my efforts to embody the lifestyle here I’ve decided to go running in the mornings along the seawall instead of cooped up in the gym on the treadmill. Now, I’m not one of those people who have ever enjoyed running, and to those who say how much they love to get up in the morning and go for a little 40 mile sprint – I think they’re all liars. In my defense, I love to play sports or participate in classes; aerobics, yoga, Pilates, etc. I just get bored running. So after dinner every evening I tell LTC Dillard, the doctor here, I will meet her in the morning to run. That way, when my alarm goes off and I pry open my heavy eyelids I do not decide to just roll over and go back to sleep, telling myself I’ll work out in the afternoon – which I probably won’t.
The seawall - it goes for many miles
So she and I meet downstairs to run during what I found out is the worst time of the day. All the locals actually work out in the evenings because the mornings are the hottest and most humid time. But determined to knock out our PT first thing before we get distracted by the days many requirements, we walk outside our gates to the ocean and I’m typically sweating by the time we climb the little steps to take us to the top of the seawall. The wall is about five feet high and maybe four feet wide where we start our jog. And though I grudgingly have to talk myself out of bed every morning, it is always well worth it when I get there.
The ocean is black and murky, like when you were a child and used to run in a shallow lake, churning up the floor bottom so it became mud. That is what the entire ocean looks like. Some say it is the sediments while others believe it is waste that makes it the color it is. The locals told us they call it “black water” and that’s just the way it always was. Sometimes the tide is close to the wall, other times it is far out and on those days you never know what you will see. The doc and I have run across some very interesting and adult items along our run. It’s a popular place to hang out at night; the Guyanese equivalent of hanging out at the mall or cruising the strip.
Several people also live along the wall. One has a tent, but most of the others randomly stay along the beach. This morning as I was running there was a man with a scraggly beard and skin darkened by countless days under the harsh Guyana sun. He stood on a small mound perfectly straight, holding a book prostrated in front of him as he looked directly ahead and prayed. Behind him were his yellow pup tent and a few belongings. I really wished I had my camera because it would have made a stunning picture.
Other mornings I’ve passed Hindu people setting up flags in the ocean, a part of their religious services. One of our drivers explained they do this at various times depending on their faith. Some do it weekly while other may only practice the ritual on random occasions when they feel so moved. A small group of people stood in the water and were sending gifts out into the sea. The sea faces the East and it was both beautiful and serene to see them wading in the morning hours as the sun began to burn overhead. And even though I don’t understand the rules of their faith, I still appreciate the metaphoric nature of their practices.
Further along the run is a large pipe going across the seawall jutting into the beach like a sore thumb. This is usually my turning around point. This morning, a young gentleman who looked to also live along the beach, though I had never seen him before, wanted to demonstrate his jumping skills to me. The pipe is about three feet tall and the young man, without a running start, easily hopped over it. He wanted me to give it a try but I just smiled, politely declined, and turned around to run back down the seawall. Right over the pipe is Salina’s, a restaurant set along the water on stilts with a wooden bridge leading out to it. It always looked very nice lit up by strings of small lights at night when we would drive by. But when I actually ventured over the pipe one day to see it, I found that it had a few more surprises than the average restaurant visitor would bargain for. It boasted having the world’s largest anaconda which was curled up in a chicken coup … with a chicken. Something tells me the chicken won’t be there the next time I go by. There was also a monkey and a Toucan in separate cages nearby. I think I’m going to pass on making dinner reservations. On second thought, maybe I should just give it a try -- “This IS Guyana.”
Amy
No comments:
Post a Comment