John Gimlette's Voyages

<p>Despite high rates of unemployment and poverty, the people of Georgetown (Guyana) always struck me as superbly upbeat. &lsquo;Something will turn up,&rsquo; people would say. Often they were right. Whilst half the city&rsquo;s labour force sat around, wondering what to do, the other half were on the move.

The Amerindians' first experience of Europeans was hard, and across South America there was widespread genocide. In the Guianas, however, it was slightly different although far from easy ... Initially, the Europeans seemed to assumed that the 'savages' (as they were called) had been provided for their pleasure.

A story in the stones. This is Kurupakari, where Guyana's old cattle trail once crossed the Essequibo River. It was here I decided to break my journey for a few nights, at Iwokrama (or ‘Monster Worm’ in one translation. The name relates to an Amerindian legend).

A highway eaten by the jungle. This is all that remains on the Rupununi Cattle Trail, that once stretched from the interior of Guyana to the Berbice River (where cattle would be taken on to the coast by boat). It was started during WW1, by HPC Melville, to meet a surge in surge in demand for beef, and would be one of the most ambitious private trails in the world.

A jungle monastery. Since 1988 there’s been a Benedictine monastery on the banks of the Mazaruni (Guyana), on Mora Camp. Inside, it's furnished mostly with books, and a few simple pieces wrought from hardwood. Not a cent has been wasted in the pursuit of pleasure. Along the hall, there's a row of cowls, and, around each window, a fringe of crusted lace.

This is Springlands (Guyana), a lively, sleepless place, with two new minarets, and lots of prayer flags in the sea. Everyone here seemed either to cut cane, fish, or sell stationery or teeth. In the market, there was one man to pull the old teeth out, and another to replace them.