I wasn’t the only guest to have arrived in Georgetown. As well as the December rains, a stroll through the mall, second-hand radio broadcasts, and exaggerated television adverts reminded me that despite the near-constant 30-degree heat, Christmas was imminent.
As I passed through my fourth week at the Lodge, the lifestyle has started to become routine. So much so, that I struggle to tell what day of the week it is.
We do not really follow the weekly calendar here, because days are largely irrelevant. Whether it is Saturday, Monday, or Thursday, it makes no difference. You get up before dawn, ensure the water pump is feeding the tanks, take your breakfast surrounded by cats, and complete as much physical work as possible before the heat of the day makes it too much of a struggle.
A week of no guests provided me with ample time to browse the various bookshelves around the Lodge and uncover the dated, and often torn, contents that had been quietly resting on the hardwood, busy collecting dust and bat droppings.
From flicking through the available publications, I was reminded of the rich history that both the Lodge and the region hold.
The week’s events began like a flood, but soon dried into nothing more than a trickle. I have decided that it is not the isolation that will kill you, but the boredom – and the bug bites, but we will get to that later. Continue reading “Life at the Lodge: 2) Walden”
It has been one week since I traded my flight to Panama City and some Central American travelling to leap unknowingly into the savannah of Guyana in the hope that a net will appear.