My boat from Holland arrived like clockwork on the shores of France with a satisfying crunch. Amazingly the journey had taken only five minutes and the boat was no more than a spruced-up canoe.
I was actually in South America, dangling in the middle of The Guianas, a trio of intriguing countries bunched at the top of the continent. I had left behind the former Dutch colony of Suriname to arrive at French Guiana, an overseas territory of France. At first glance the country seemed rather uninviting: there was no bus network, no hostels and a rumored cost of living that makes Paris look cheap. I needed to reach Brazil to the East whilst hopefully feeling out the country en route.
Border crossings in South America are unsavory at the best of times and Santa Helena was no exception. The sun was dying now and the town grew creepy. The hordes of unlicensed cabbies had surrounded me like hungry pigeons. Luckily a local French teacher who had seen my plight, Sonia, offered me some hammock space nearby. Before long I was dining on strange local fruits and foreign treats: we nibbled on crusty baguettes with pate, washed down with an oaky red from the Dordogne. It was surreal but intensely satisfying.
Morning broke and Sonia showed me the surrounding countryside, explaining that there was a huge diversity of intermingling communities here. This was evident when we stopped for an alfresco snack at a small town. Asian families served us simple rustic noodle soups as French tourists whizzed by the fragile streets in rented Citroens. Local children roamed on retro picnic bicycles. The lone British tourist, I sipped my beer and stared into the organized chaos.
Later, Sonia dropped me in Awala-Yalimapo, a wondrously exotic-named beach village that is home to the world´s largest population of leather-back turtles that emerge at night to lay eggs. Nearby I met Ivo, a friendly Scandinavian with an intimidating beard but all the right gear: we donned a head-torch and marched off together in the dusk to find them.
The animals were far larger than I had ever imagined. It was a captivating sight: a one thousand-pound beast had trundled up from the sea and was gesticulating wildly to make some sandy space like an excitable child constructing a beach-angel. Onlookers huddled around it in wind-swept ponchos as passing biologists pricked its skin for blood samples. Camera flashes revealed a bobbing head and a pair of piercing, inquisitive eyes. The hum of the monster´s snorting was still ringing in my ears as I plodded back to my hammock.
Back on the hot, bus-less road the next morning, I hitched a ride with a young French couple to Kourou, one of the largest cities. The couple, it turns out, had moved over from Europe to experience the ´exotic side to France´. Whilst other French foreign territories, such as Guadalupe, grab most of the headlines (and tourists), French Guiana, it seems, has a mystical draw that many find hard to ignore.
A key reason for visiting Kourou is the functioning European space station North of the city, which is one of the country´s major sources of employment. Tens of thousands of specialists fill the site; indeed, the local La Poste office brimmed to breaking point with space tecchies conducting their daily tasks. Tours of the huge site (think a steamy version of Dr No, then double the steaminess), is one thing, but the icing on the cake is to watch one of the three-monthly launches in the flesh. If you´re lucky enough (I had just missed one), you get the smugly satisfying opportunity to email ´Launch Control´ to confirm which rocket-pad they require you at.
Consoling my missed space endeavors, I went instead to the rugged Ihles de Salut (Salvation Islands), a former prison which the novel Papillon is based on. Stunningly isolated and unkempt, it is undoubtedly the ´tropical Alcatraz´, an eerie graveyard of rotting prison cells set amongst lush vegetation, rock-pools and palm-tree lined beaches. The lack of tourist facilities and miles of bony paths alongside shark infested waters only adds to its mysterious aura.
Overall, French Guiana certainly remains the awkward child of South America: tough to get through to at first but rewarding after a bit of persistence. Its natural beauty is unquestionable, but it’s a raw, unaltered and searingly honest kind of beauty. It makes no promises but equally is not tarnished with some see-through tourist ´gloss´ that makes everything shiny, clean and unadventurous. Whichever way you lean, one thing is for certain – the kindness of strangers in this country flows like a second currency. I made it to Brazil eventually, but not before a local girl on the border had pointed me in the direction of my next canoe.
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