Kourou

This place is mine.
1992. Easter weekend.
The only accommodation that seemed safe for a female travelling on her own was a 4 star hotel. Thank God for credit cards. The good thing was that I got my first hot BATH in 2 months.
In the middle of the afternoon I went for a walk to the jetty to find out where the boat to Devil’s Island left from. Some strange man comes up to me and starts having an animated conversation in French. Another chap on a bike rides up and starts arguing with him. My French is schoolgirl French that I haven’t thought about for at least 6 years and I have been operating in Dutch for the last 2 months anyway. But even I recognise the French for whore. So that’s why the other chap started arguing. Meanwhile I’m not sticking around and walk back to the hotel past the local gendarmarie.
And to top it off the boat isn’t running during the public holiday!
The place has a strange feel to it. I know from living in Suriname that this is the place where all of the drugs are passing through that the Surinamers are growing. There is a real space cadet [literally!] vibe about the place.