Guyana's dreamy capital. The way I see it, from the mouth of the Demerara, a beautiful city, as light as feathers, flutters off down the coast. Perhaps – like its people (Indian, African, Portuguese and Amerindian) – Georgetown doesn't truly believe it belongs here, and so it hovers over the water. Nothing's firmly attached.
Guyana's dreamy capital. The way I see it, from the mouth of the Demerara, a beautiful city, as light as feathers, flutters off down the coast. Perhaps – like its people (Indian, African, Portuguese and Amerindian) – Georgetown doesn't truly believe it belongs here, and so it hovers over the water. Nothing's firmly attached. It was all built on canals and breezes, a city of stilts and clapboard, brilliant whites, fretwork, spindles and louvres. The streets are as wide as fields, and the cathedral seems to drift endlessly upwards, reputedly the tallest wooden building in the world. One area was even calls Lacytown, as if, at any moment, it might simply take off and drift away, home perhaps.
Naturally, with so much kindling, Georgetown is always burning down. During the nineteenth century, it was devastated five times by fire, and then another four times in the century that followed. There’s always a good reason for these fires, riots or an eruption at the Chinese fireworks plant. The latest victims, just before my first visit, were a cinema – one of the last in the city – and the Roman Catholic cathedral. Faced with these disasters, the 'Townies' would simply cut some more sticks, and start all over again.
You can read more about my travels in Guyana in Wild Coast
