bicrom abroad

the first world as a holiday destination was a step into the unknown for us. the main negatives were the disappointments of uncooperative canadian wildlife and the ease of haemorrhaging cash. more generally, in the first world you tend to go from sight to tour to attraction, with the time in between being dead space; you simply do not get all the random sights and sounds that you would see in asia or south america, the smoking monks, barking dogs or propositioning hookers.
the major positives would be the ability to rent and drive cars without running the risk of careering into auto rickshaws/cows and the corresponding road trip opportunities. some of the drives we did were experiences in their own right and it is comforting to be able to toss your bags into the trunk of a car rather than some dusty train or coach luggage rack.it's also an unusual, and not unpleasant, sensation to finish a holiday not feeling like you immediately need another one, and we will be going back to work more refreshed than usual.
as such, this will not be our last trip to the first world: having said that, i'm not ready to hang up my backpack quite yet...

best sight: the picture postcard view from the top of the empire state building as dusk turned into night.

most disappointing sight: ground zero was plain odd, with grinning camera snapping tourists morbidly rendering what should be a place of sombre reflection into just another visitor attraction. has to be niagara though, nowhere near as impressive as its reputation suggests.

best journey: toss up between the drive up vancouver island and the sea to sky highway between vancouver and whistler, the latter wins because of the mode of transport.

best car: marvin the mustang (of course...)

biggest rush: should have been watching a bear snapping at salmon right in front of us but, as that is not an option, easing down on marvin's accelerator, hearing the growl of the V8 and watching the trees on either side morph into a blur.

biggest disappointment: only one bear was disappointing but no orcas at all was heartbreaking. damn you wildlife.

best food: a surprisingly great holiday for eating. scaramouche in toronto for some fancy anniversary dining, hot kati rolls in new york for a taste of home but my favourite was probably japanese tapas in hapa izakaya in vancouver. i didn't even know what an izakaya was before this holiday but i'll definitely be looking out for them going forward.

best city: new york, up there with the londons, paris' and rios of the world.


most expensive place: new york, unadulterated temptation on every corner.

most expensive purchase: vicki knows. woof.

new york is a city that carries the burden of impossibly high expectations but does a surprisingly good job of not disappointing. various visual cliches come to life in front of your eyes; gaudy yellow cabs staffed by surly drivers with tenuous grasp of the english language, joggers pounding the dusty tracks traversing the vast green expanses of central park, the swooping curves of the guggenheim, park, madison, scenes from the small and the silver screens constantly pierce through the membrane into reality as you meander through the city.
we marvelled at manhattan reflected in the waters of the east river flowing under the brooklyn bridge, went one hundred floors up the empire state building, circumnavigated the statue of liberty and generally saw all the attractions that we felt obliged to see. what made new york particularly satisfying however was the enjoyment to be garnered between the sights, the unexpected surprises that would never make a guide book but lurked around every corner.
from wandering around the meatpacking district to having a late lunch in chelsea and watching the out of work models and hipsters flounce by, new york had the intangible quality that you want a city to have and that you want to be a part of; much like london and paris, it is a city that would be great to live in so as to allow you to feel a smug superiority over all the gawping tourists. add to that three hot kati roll outlets and it is hard to imagine that we will not be back soon.

it may be because it's the first stop if you're heading east from japan but, for whatever reason, vancouver has a strongly oriental vibe, with japanese and chinese culture and faces everywhere. we had amazing food at the local izakaya on our first night, an izakaya being a japanese pub which, when transplanted to oh so cool vancouver, meant chilled out background beats over storming japanese tapas. monday was spent pottering around in the sunlight and cycling around stanley park, finishing off with some grimy but tasty mongolian barbeque action.
on a tip from one of the secretaries at work we hired a car to drive to whistler on tuesday. and what a car; marvin the mustang was a 5 litre v8 convertible which growled when you touched the accelerator and saw off all challengers on the roads with ease (and with seat warmers to keep your behind toasty when the top was down which, the first time you feel them in action, might make you feel like you may have accidentally soiled yourself). the sea to sky highway connecting vancouver to whistler is an attraction in itself, as you begin winding along roads hugging cliffsides perched over the pacific waters before the sea gives way to the rockies, mountains still tipped with snow even in the height of summer beginning to dominate the landscape after 100 or so clicks.
whistler is most famously a winter destination but at this time of year the young folk leave their snowboards at home and bring their mountain bikes instead to bump and jostle down the dusty trails peppering the mountainsides. we did some rather more sedate wandering, hiking around to catch the views in the crisp air, negotiating a collective of 300 indian conference goers rampaging through the mountaintop restaurant and leaving the staff scratching their heads and finishing off with a hot chocolate back down in whistler village. perhaps not the world class destination it is in winter whistler still provided enough by way of views and amusement for us, even in the predictable absence of any bears.
and that, bar a two hour sojourn getting lost on the way back (how do you miss vancouver?!) and some amazing cured meat and cheese at a pretentious but cool little winebar amongst the designer boutiques and crackheads in gastown was it for vancouver, and indeed canada. a good place to visit, a great place to live and blessed with some amazing natural beauty; if only the wildlife had been a bit more willing to play ball...

after a slightly underwhelming initial few days on the east coast of canadia our first impressions of british columbia gave us some more cause for concern. from the socially incapable woman at the hertz counter to the tacky neon clonetown lights of the victoria strip, vancouver island by night did not appear to offer much by way of charm. within half an hour of setting off in flic the focus on wednesday morning however the island began to come into its own, as we swooped northwards down tree flanked roads. after a few pleasant hours on the road we passed campbell river, the gateway to the north of the island, to find the three lane highways and starbucks' replaced by narrow single tracks ensconced in all year round christmas trees. having passed numerous signs warning us of impending elk, yet sadly no actual elk, we arrived in the tiny oceanside community of port mcneill and took stock. vancouver island was beginning to impress, the clear pacific waters prefacing still snowcapped peaks in the distance.
our main motivation for heading to the north of the island was to try and glimpse some of its less domesticated residents, namely grizzly bears rooting for salmon and killer whales menacing the coastlines. we knew we were due a bit of bad luck with wildlife watching, given that we had been so fortunate with the leatherback turtle in french guyana and the orangutangs in sumatra. seeing bears in the wilds of british columbia however appeared to be something we could feel relatively confident about. when i had mentioned to some of my canadian colleagues that we were going on a bear watching tour they had openly scoffed at me and told me to save my money, pack a lunch and sit in the car by the side of any of the roads for a couple of hours. undeterred, and filled with silent hope of watching a grizzly munch down on salmon, we had paid the (exorbitant) fee and as such set off in our small boat at 7am full of hope.
the journey to glendale cove was incredibly beautiful, chugging through the still, iridiscent waters of knight inlet reflecting the small mountainous islands dotted throughout the strait whilst thin shafts of bright sunlight illuminated the gentle mist settling atop the peaks. having transferred to a small skiff we bobbed down an alarmingly shallow river and waited for bear o'clock. and waited. and then waited some more. the setting was stunning and we saw a few massive eagles flying around, including getting within metres of one gnawing at a salmon in the stream, but bears were conspicuous by their absence. it was particularly frustrating because, having paid so much for the tour, the guides seemed to have absolutely zero idea as to what to do in the absence of bears. yes wildlife watching is fraught with uncertainty but it really felt that we would have had just as much luck under our own steam, loitering in hopeful expectation by some roadside.
when all hope looked like it was lost vicki made a pact with a higher being in which she did not think she believed and, absurdly, her aethist prayers were answered. one grizzly came strolling along the river bank, had a sniff in the water, acknowledged us with an inquisitive shake of the muzzle as it passed within 20 metres of our skiff and ambled along the river. and that was it. an amazing creature but, sadly, a slightly disappointing first day of animal watching (and what price for vicki that momentary glimpse?)
everything would surely be redeemed the next morning, as we clambered aboard another boat to go and see killer whales. we had actually briefly seen a pod of these leviathans on the way back from our bear encounter (albeit had not stopped to have a proper look as the bear tour company clearly did not want to step on the toes of their whale watching neigbours) and knew that there was a large group hanging around off one of the nearby beaches, a collective so reliably local that they were officially titled resident orcas. such titles are of course meant to be crushingly deceiving and, sure enough, this was the one day they decided to take a little day trip south and, consequently, went outside of our range. we saw a couple of lazy humpbacks not interested in showing their size or their tails and, as always, sea lions and dolphins but the trip had been all about the killer whales and not seeing them battered our traveller souls a little.
all in all then vancouver island proved to be a bit of a mixed bag. visually absolutely stunning, we loved the road trip angle of our visit, speeding down windy roads with glorious mountain and lake vistas on either side. if we had no plans to see wildlife the trip would have been an unmitigated success in its own right, with the natural beauty on display more than  sufficient to render our time there a success. but we went with animals on the mind and, having failed to see them and consequently wasted a lot of time and money in our efforts, our time on island has to go down as a bit of a flush, albeit an incredibly scenic one. vancouver and new york to follow; very different but big cities are typically consistent at least.

i don't possess a suitcase. despite being in my thirties and having lugged the various paraphernalia required for life on the road around scores of different countries, despite having invested in travel towels and money belts and head torches and all manner of other travelling gear, this supposedly staple piece of equipment is something which i have never really had any need for. this revelation hit me, or rather was batted towards me by a mildly aggrieved wife, when packing for our first long holiday in the first world. crumpling shirts and jumpers into the bottom of my backpack is apparently simply not commensurate with the dress codes of toronto restaurants and the door policies of new york bars.
strange to think that a holiday into canada constitutes the unknown for vicki and i. yet after a few hours in toronto, of enjoying the now novel experience of being back in a city, the novelty had already started to wear off a little. toronto is very, well, nice; you can imagine it being a wonderful place to live but beyond that it's just a bit vanilla. fine for a couple of days, good for some romantic first anniversary dining and reacquainting ourselves with shops that open on  sundays and other wonders which are anathema to cayman, but not much beyond that.
even niagara felt a bit flat. after iguazu and kaiteur it was just a bit average, barely worth navigating the hordes of sweaty american and indian tourists. we saw the falls (and of course the floral clock; as ridiculously mediocre as it sounds), got drenched on the boatride, ate an ice cream and got back on the bus. all that was missing was the obligatory tshirt.
despite the apparent negativity of the preceding few paragraphs, toronto actually served its purpose and we had a pleasant enough time. after some long months in our respective offices a few days relaxing in a nice hotel room (albeit one which had a front door which looked deceptively like a bathroom door in the black of night; if vicki hadn't have put the chain lock on i would have been blearily displaying my wares under the bright corridor lights at 3am) and being back in a big city were actually just what we needed. we ate in an amazing restaurant for our anniversary, knocked back some kir royales, got some lebanese food and did some generic mooching. solid, textbook holidaying. but our trips abroad are always about more than just hotels and restaurants and, as such, we cannot wait to touch down in british columbia and really start seeing and doing some stuff. and if the developed world can throw up enough surprises maybe i will invest in that suitcase after all.

a strange but satisfying week. the guianas are anachronistic, wild, infuriating but ultimately rewarding. wandering the streets of st lauren or paramaribo is to see a brief history of european colonialism acted out before your eyes, the naked descendants of long discredited imperialism nonchalantly living and breathing in the twenty first century. there have been struggles with transport, accommodation and food but also incredible highs in lauren the leatherback and kaiteur. most of all the guianas have always been interesting, with attempts to achieve even the simplest of things having the capacity to produce unintended consequences which might take your breath away. fascinating rather than enchanting, i doubt we will be back but we are certainly glad we came.

getting the flight from parbo to georgetown may not have been such a girly option after all. having been dropped off at the small domestic "airport" by our beerchugging taxi driver we were greeted instead by what looked like a large, freshly painted warehouse staffed by bored, unprofessional looking surinamese. it felt more like the headquarters of an amateur flying club, an impression which was heightened when we saw our winged steed, a rickety old twelve seater cessna which looked like maintaining its structural integrity was a challenge, even before it attempted something as rash as trying to get airborne. we crawled our way into the seats directly behind the pilot, like schoolchildren getting a lift to school from dad, and watched with nervous anticipation as he twiddled some dials, pulled some levers and eventually rattled us into the air. having been on small planes before i was expecting a bumpy ride but it was actually a relatively comfortable hour cruising over the atlantic coast, and we arrived in georgetown pleased to have avoided a twelve hour bus/ferry journey.
georgetown is a funny place, with a dark reputation which casts a long shadow. it has an unpleasantly edgy feel, as though wandering the streets could, maybe even is likely to, lead to a criminal encounter. part of this is no doubt the preconceptions created by various warnings on the internet but it was unfortunately reinforced by the fact that we were continuously warned by apparently friendly guyanese to hold on to our bag or our camera tight. i would say we are relatively blaze about horror stories of street crime but in georgetown, for whatever reason, the warnings just felt like they stuck. it is the first place in the world that i can remember feeling uncomfortable walking the streets, especially as the sun began to go down. rio, bogota, other places have the reputation but georgetown seems to have the menacing ambience to back it up as well.
this atmosphere coupled with the absence of any real sights of note to view, wooden church aside, meant that we didn't really do very much on our first day in georgetown, holding fire instead for our trip to to kaiteur falls the following day.
kaiteur is one of those places that you read about in guidebooks but never truly believe you will ever witness: (allegedly) the longest single drop waterfall in the world, ensconced by virgin rainforest jealously hiding it deep in the amazon. a short hop in another tiny plane and a quick walk later however we were peering over a crumbling stone plateau at a cascade of water bellowing over the rock ledge and tumbling into a fine mist 700 feet plus below. the falls are an unbelievable, absurd experience, an assault on the senses which has to be felt to be believed. they lack the infrastructure of iguazu, which succeeds in giving them a particular haphazard charm. there is absolutely nothing to stop you ambling right over to the bare edge of the rocky outcrops directly to the side of the gushing water, and one false step on the occasionally slippery rock would have only a solitary inevitable outcome. we peered at kaiteur with nervous wonder from a few viewpoints, each time egging ourselves on to go closer and closer to the ridges at the very end of the ledges from which we tentatively dared ourselves to take photos, amazed on every occasion by the sight of hundreds of gallons of water casually thundering into the amazonian wilderness below.
after a few hours we got back onto our plane and headed back to georgetown, suitably amazed and pleased to have ended our time in the guaianas on such a high. a quick guyanese creole curry later we were rubbing our eyes at 3am and heading to the airport to get on our flight to miami, out of the heart of darkness and back into reality.

after another encounter with the friendliest border guards in the world at the french guaianese border, giving me another lift into town in their cruiser so that i could pick up the surinamese tourist card required to reenter the country, we set off across the sludgy marowijne river on wednesday morning en route to paramaribo. the three hour minivan journey was not without event, most notably discovering that our co-passenger in the front seat had the very seventeenth century ailment of syphillis and my darling wife having a slight incident in a roadside toilet (that incident being getting locked in it for ten minutes), but we still arrived in parbo in relatively good nick.
parbo is not, if being perfectly honest, one of the world's great capital cities. it is tiny for starters, and does not pack much into its streets. still we spent an enjoyable afternoon mooching around in the sunshine looking at the wooden buildings, some pristinely whitewashed others in varying states of neglect, most of which look like they have been shipped in from the set of a western: we were half expecting to bump into some busty wenches loitering for business from passing cowboys. still, this was very much the sleepy rather than the wild west, and we are flying to georgetown tomorrow (having chickened out of the all day bus ride) to cross the final guyana off our list: let's see how the brits stand up as colonialists compared to the french and the dutch...

one of the gallic foibles that the french have imported to this little corner of the world is a predilection for driving on what is clearly the wrong side of the road, so it was with some trepidation that we went to pick up our little rental car on monday morning. i have driven, almost exclusively successfully, in the states before, but had tackled its long straight roads in an automatic. our only option this time around was a manual, confusing enough when some haphazard french production line worker had, distracted by a baguette no doubt, placed the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car but even trickier given that both of our cars in cayman being automatics has made clutches and gearsticks start to feel a little alien. still, after a few hairy first gear moments on the generally well maintained but often perilously narrow roads of st laurent the wife, in an archimedean moment of revelation, came up with the invaluable aphorism "tighty righty loopy lefty" which we both recited religiously on approaching any turning. protected by this mantra we fended off the temptation to turn into oncoming traffic, grabbed some passable pains aux chocolates from the local boulangerie and headed off into the wilds in claude (the clio).
the road to mana continued to highlight the extravagant coalition of contradictions that make up french guiana. the roads are generally well maintained, as you would expect french roads to be. the tarmac fell away however not to sedate european hedgerows but intense red clay, flanked by brooding jungle through which wandered sleepy children who looked like they had just arrived from senegal or cote d'ivoire. one of the stranger things about this place is the apparent lack of genetic mingling. whilst africans and laotians happily crack beers together outside the local supermarche there are virtually no mixed race people or children that we have seen (albeit we have not made it out to cayenne, which may be a little more multicultural). people are very happy to live side by side, but the intercultural relationships do not seem to extend beyond that.
we were trekking out to a tiny hamlet called awala yalimapo in the hope of seeing the giant leatherback turtles come on shore to lay their eggs. these fabulous creatures are sadly endangered but plage des hattes, a stunning beach spoiled only by the murky brown water lapping the sand, is the best place in the world to see them come ashore. annoyingly, as we pulled up to the beach at around midday it became apparent that the day was going to be a blazer, the sun shooing away the clouds as it scorched down on us below. usually a good thing but terrible for turtle watching, as they only dare to leave their watery sanctuary when it is cool (indeed usually only by cover of darkness). after a few hours napping in claude we headed down to the beach and waited. and waited. and then waited some more. all around the shore was evidence of disturbed sand hiding hundreds of turtle eggs, but noone seemed to be keen to come up on a monday.
the truth was, and whilst neither of us said it aloud we both knew it to be true, seeing any turtle, let alone a giant leatherback, was by no means guaranteed: if anything, given that this was at the tail end of the season and we were restricted to the hours in which our eyes could see, a sighting was positively unlikely. the turtles make no concessions to the time and money spent by us getting here (inconsiderate) and their scarcity meant that it would take a massive slice of luck, even on this beach, to see one.
as we were both maintaining our game faces and getting increasingly internally gloomier, a hundred metres or so down the beach i saw a massive black mass spat out of the water, suddenly present on the sand. we scurried over and there she was; lauren the leatherback. speckled pink head, tired looking eyes, suitably leathery back and simply huge. even vicki wasn't interested in the camera, so stunning was this incredible leviathan. we watched her struggle painfully up the shore, her flippers so elegant in the water floundering helplessly on dry land, and start to dig a pit in which to lay. watching her was like a window back in time; her ancestors, lauren personally maybe, could have been coming to this beach for hundreds of years, drawn by instinct unaltered by the human world. there is something almost unevolved about these creatures (i suppose their cousins which evolved dragged themselves out of the water, decided they quite liked it and grew some feet): you could imagine them laying eggs on this beach keeping a weather eye out for dinosaurs.
after a while it got too dark to see and we left lauren to it. we got up at sunrise and saw the tracks of a few more leatherbacks that had come ashore under cover of darkness, and even saw a tiny little baby turtle shuffling centimetre by centimetre across the sand into the ocean (we formed it a guard of honour to protect it from prying dogs and circling birds). on returning to the beach later that evening we waited in hopeless anticipation but nothing else came up. which in a bizarre way only made our encounter the previous night more special, the realisation that these turtles really do come ashore rarely, particularly with any remnants of sun in the sky, and that to have witnessed one so intimately was a unique and fortunate experience.
back then to surinam before heading off to guyana. this is a holiday which in many ways is hard work rather than pure enjoyment: seeing lauren however has already made it all worthwhile.