-
Author Insight
Flying to the Amazon Without a Guidebook
Before I left Brisbane for French Guiana, my travel doctor jabbed me with a needle, wished me luck, and said he hoped I came home. He conspicuously left out the word safe. In this first chapter, I discover why. Follow me as I trade my neatly printed itinerary for a reggae-fuelled flight from Paris, a sweltering taxi ride past Cayenne’s strangler figs and armed gendarmes, and a motel room where two geckos are locked in a territorial scream-off by the door. I’d flown halfway around the world without a guidebook for a new boyfriend named Frank, only to realise the jungle had already swallowed my plans whole.
Book Excerpt
Surviving Nature
Any idea I have of proper travel etiquette flies straight out of the window during the nine-hour flight from Paris. It feels less like a commercial flight and more like a rowdy bus claimed by the locals, where reggae bleeds from headphones and women in bright, geometric headscarves trade seats to gossip while toddlers roll down the aisle like marbles. The crew handle the chaos with a weirdly infectious cheer, handing out extra-spicy stews and warm croissants between bursts of laughter. By mid-ocean, the party vibe is so thick I’m half-surprised the pilots don’t throw in a few barrel rolls just for the hell of it.From the aisle, a large Guianese woman leans right across Frank, whispering to me, ‘You won’t see a view like this anywhere else in the world.’‘Maybe not today,’ I say, squinting out at an expanse of dark slate sky.Having grown up on the fringes of the Gondwana Rainforests of Australia—where sapphire yabbies dart under mossy rocks and crimson parrots light up the canopy—I wonder if this far-flung department of France’s Amazonian territory can really outshine home. I shift in my seat, ignoring the doubts echoing from the departure gate. My cousin had asked, ‘Isn’t that the country where the penal colony is?’ My aunt snapped back that it was a department, not a country. My best friend insisted Cayenne was the most dangerous city on Earth, while my nan cried to my mother that I was heading to the Congo with a man I’d just met. Even the bookshop cashier at Brisbane airport snorted when I asked for a guide. ‘They don’t write guidebooks for places where nobody goes.’ That felt a bit harsh.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.