How I Packed For Five Weeks in South America in a Daypack

OK so it was a big daypack but, even though I usually carry a small-ish travel pack, this was the lightest I've ever traveled.

Why I did it

I had been through the Guianas (Guyana, Suriname and French Guiana - all on the Caribbean coast of South America) once before so I knew it was going to be rough going in beat up 4WDs or minibuses, over pot-holed muddy roads and I'd perhaps have to hike some distances with all my stuff. I also knew it was going to be hot as hell.

Why I was happy I did it

What I didn't know prior to my trip was that packing such a small bag would allow me to travel quickly and cheaply through southern Guyana via motorbike. This was only possible because my bag was small enough to strap on the back of the bike, thus sandwiching me between my stuff and my driver. Even if I'd had my normal travel pack it would have been too big and I'd of ended up having to pay hundreds of dollars more to charter 4WDs. Packing light gave me freedom, saved me money and let me enjoy some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen in it's full glory.

How I did it

I'd like to tell you that my packing process is highly refined, organized and detailed, but that would be a huge lie. In fact, I was working to deadline on two other Lonely Planet books and finishing up my taxes until the point I walked out my door to the airport. I don't do any of that "pack everything you need then remove a third [or half or whatever]." No, I just very logically think about what I need - not what I romanticize myself needing ("Teach Yourself Dutch" book? Disco shoes? Uh uh). This of course all depends on destination - if I was going to Italy for example and eating out at nice restaurants in a relatively wealthy country where people take fashion seriously, my packing list would have been much different. The Guianas are poor countries where looking too nice makes you stand out and become a mugging target.

What I packed

Clothes:

1 pair lightweight, wicking safari pants that roll up to capris

1 pair more city-friendly capris

1 pair long cotton pants

1 pair lightweight nylon shorts

2 T-shirts

2 wife beater-style tank tops

2 spaghetti strap fitted tank tops

1 nylon wicking long-sleeve button-up safari shirt

1 long sleeve cotton shirt

1 lightweight casual cotton dress

1 bikini

6 pair undies

2 pair socks

1 headband

1 hat

1 sarong

1 lightweight jacket

1 pair hiking shoes

flip flops

Gear:

 

Compact, nylon, mosquito netted jungle hammock

small binoculars

Canon G12 camera

Swiss Army knife

small sewing kit

iPod

Netbook

sunglasses

small travel lock

flashlight

plug converter

chargers

Toiletries

 

Everything I needed for showers/personal hygiene I carried in travel-sized bottles to fit in an 8-inch toiletries case.

Big tube o' sunscreen

2 tubes of insect repellent

First aid kit (my own compilation)

Individually packed wet wipes

meds

Tide to Go

Food & Drink

6 Luna bars

water purification tablets (because my Steripen filter is on the fritz)

Tea bag

Emergen-C packets

Books

 

2 guidebooks (I was there to update a guidebook so had to bring these)

3 ripped out portions of 3 other guidebooks

A big hardcover reading book I promptly lost and replaced with a small paperback

And this was too much stuff. I never used the hammock (I showed it to one of my guides and he laughed at me) so sent it back with a friend after two weeks. I could have done without one of the T-shirts, never used my binoculars and only wore one pair of the socks (I usually hike in flip flops). But otherwise I used everything and was glad I had it. I never wished I had anything more.

How did this differ from how I usually pack?

When I go to countries that have beautiful oceans I pack a mask, small swimming fins and a snorkel. Also, many countries I visit are Muslim, which means I have to cover up more and can't get away wearing my favorite tank tops. I usually pack a pair of ballet flats for nights out and the plane. But otherwise this is pretty much what I bring, just stuffed into a smaller bag.

When Fear Causes Bad Decisions: A Scary Border Crossing Story

It sounded easy: take a short taxi ride from the village of Lethem, Guyana to the Takatu River, hire a boat to cross the river, then wait for a bus on the other side (Brazil) to go to the Bonfim bus terminal with connections to Boa Vista.

I took the taxi and hired the boat, no problem. On the Brazil side of the river there was a graffiti-covered plywood bus shelter with a crowd of greasy guys and presumably prostitutes hanging around. They all glanced at me when I arrived and wearily put down my pack, but no one said hello despite my hopeful smile. A taxi driver came up and gestured if I wanted a ride. No, I said with confidence, I was waiting for the bus. Soon two men arrived by boat from where I'd just come from across the river, got in the cab right away and drove off.

About twenty minutes later I was still waiting for the bus and was now feeling the gaze of several of the men on me as I uncomfortably sat alone, the only foreigner and obviously a tourist. I smiled at the prostitute sitting next to me and asked her if she knew when the bus was coming. She said "soon," very reassuringly and patted me on the knee. Meanwhile several more groups of men crossed the river from the Guyana side and snagged taxis that were arriving regularly, about every 15 minutes or so.

After about an hour a thought crossed my mind: "No one knows I'm here. I'm at a dodgy border in no man's land all by myself. If some threw me in a car and drove away right now no one would ever know."

A guy who had been hanging out by the taxi area seemed to read my mind and came over to me.

"The bus should be here soon," he said in English. "The one that was supposed to be here an hour ago didn't show up but that happens sometimes." He was friendly. This made me feel better.

So I waited another hour. It was the afternoon now and I still had a long trip ahead of me. Plus I was starting to feeling scared. There were some pretty sleazy people at the bus stop and I knew that I was looking more vulnerable by the moment.

I started planning what I would do if it got too late to get to Boa Vista. I'd have to go back across the river to Guyana but I wasn't sure they'd let me back in without a Brazil stamp in my passport. What would the border guards do with a lone woman at sunset who had nowhere to go and was not legally in any country?

Just then the boat guy who had taken me across the river saw I was still there and came over looking concerned.

"The last bus to Boa Vista leaves at 4 pm!" he said. "What are you still doing here?"

I explained that I was waiting for the bus. He told me to wait a minute then went and talked to several people by the river.

"There's no bus," he said. "The border guards are blocking it from coming in so you have to take a taxi to the border patrol office then hopefully catch a bus from there."

It seemed obvious to me now that I should have just taken a taxi like everyone else and wondered why I had waited so long. Sometimes fear makes us act dumb - I had been in a semi-paralyzed state not speaking the language and being in a spooky part of a new country. Out of my daze, I got a taxi to the border office for an easy $2 and got stamped into Brazil; the bus arrived within minutes and whisked me to Bonfim. At the Bonfim terminal, I managed to hop on the last bus to Boa Vista just as it was pulling away.

The guidebook and all those helpful people had given me the wrong information. At the border office I talked to the guards and found out that the bus was often blocked there and sometimes it didn't run at all. Luckily, I was re-writing the guidebook and was able to change the details in the book. I guess it's my job to find out all these things the hard way - hopefully my bad decisions in the face of fear will save many people the trouble and desperate questioning I went through that day. As for me, I hope I never get stuck at a bus stop like that ever again.

Note: This picture is of the Essequibo River, not the Takatu River. I was too worried about my safety to take out my camera and take a picture at the border! Still, it looked kind of like this but with more people, more boats and a ghetto bus stop.

Diane Mc Turk: Savior of Giant River Otters & the Coolest Woman I Have Ever Met

If you haven't noticed by now, I really love Guyana. Every day I spent there was an unbelievable adventure, but meeting Diane Mc Turk, an ageless woman who has devoted her life to saving the Amazon's endangered giant river otters, was a highlight.

Diane owns Karanambu Ranch, a cattle ranch, wilderness preserve and eco-lodge at the north of Guyana's Africa-like Rupununi Savannas. Getting there requires either flying or driving overnight from Georgetown then taking a few hour-long boat ride. While visitors are lodged in comfortable, brick and thatch bungalows, it's still not for the faint hearted - the entire time I was there a snake was coiled in the rafters above my bed.

"Hope you don't mind not having the place to yourself," laughed Diane's nephew when he showed me to my room. "Don't worry, he's not poisonous."

Before seeing Diane, visitors usually get to meet her orphans, the playful giant river otters who wiggle around the grounds like happy dogs. Diane often shows up at meal time with the air of a teenager who'd rather be off with her wild and crazy otter friends, but once she starts talking in her documentary quality voice, she gets as carried away by her charm as everyone else and starts to enjoy herself. By the end of a visit most folks have heard wildlife tales that only a lifetime in the Amazon could produce as well as some surprising stories about Diane's 30 years in England when she worked as an actress and at London's Savoy Hotel.

"Men fall in love with her and women want to be her," Diane's niece who manages the ranch told me. "She is irresistible."

It's true, Diane with or without the otters emanates free spirit and a child-like magnetism. She stands as straight and slim as a fashion model and manages to look elegant as she pulls a canoe through the murky, caiman-filled river, feeds dead fish to her otters or wrestles the critters with her strong, apparently bite-proof arms.


Through her un-countable years of work Diane has rehabilitated over 40 otters and her ranch has been used as a research center and springboard for the animal's protection. But nothing beats getting out into the water with Diane and her "kids," Getting to play and frolic in the water with the otters was one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life.

Here's a short video I took of Diane and her posse while I was at the ranch:

Guyana Tales: Getting Friendly With the Neighborhood Caiman

After an over-night bus ride on a pot-holed dirt road through the Amazon jungle my father and I arrived at Iwokrama Field Station, hot, encrusted with dust and exhausted. The river, though opaque and brown, looked incredibly inviting.

"Is it safe to swim?" we asked our guide.

"Yes it's very safe," he assured us. "Just wait about twenty minutes because I have a few things to do before I can watch you."

"Oh we're good swimmers we don't need to be watched!" we said. We're both pretty intrepid travelers not used to having a guide so, although we appreciated his gesture, being babysat was not a cool idea or necessary.

"No, no, please just wait and I'll be down as soon as I can," he insisted

OK, we thought, no need to rock the boat on arrival.


Twenty minutes later the guide accompanied us down to the river. We swam around in the murky water, stretching our bus-stiffened muscles for about half an hour while our new friend watched vigilantly from the dock. Afterwards, we went back to our rooms, showered and went to dinner.

We were served by an absolutely lovely Amer-Indian woman who asked us about our day.

"I hear you went swimming," she said with a sweet smile. "Did you meet Sankar?"

"Sankar?"

"Yes Sankar, he's our eight-foot caiman."

My dad nearly choked on his manioc.

"Um, no we didn't," I said nervously as my dad gulped water, his face turning red. "Uh, is he friendly?"

"Well I'm not sure really," our friend said in her sing-song voice. "I like to feed him scraps of meat."

And with that she went back to the kitchen.

Photo of the Week: Kaietuer Falls, Guyana

I took this picture from the edge of Kiaetuer Falls - the drop from here is straight down 741 feet (250 meters). On average there are 30,000 gallons of water being shot over every second. Swifts nest in the fall's overhang and at sunset you can watch them dart in and out of the water; stretching away from the falls are swaths of virgin, misty and surreal Amazon Jungle. This is, by far, the most stunning waterfall I have ever seen anywhere, ever.

To get to the falls you have to either hike five days through untamed tropical forest (a dream trip of mine) or do what I did and fly in a chartered 5-seater airplane. I flew in with my father and a two-person documentary film team. The only reason I had the guts to go and stand on this ledge was that the documentary cameraman stood in the same spot and filmed the falls gushing for several minutes.

When my father saw him there he yelled to the other documentary partner, "That guy's got balls!"

To which she responded, "He's got three!"

Yet after the guy had been there awhile it looked pretty safe and not so scary so I slowly inched out to where he had been standing. The water was only up to my ankles and the current at the far side here wasn't strong. I held out my camera to the edge and *snap*.